She wanted to see him.

Jason Kerrigan tightened his grip on the wheel of his silver Mercedes as he headed up Interstate 80 toward Reno. Six months with no contact, then out of the blue a letter from Ashley Rand.

Not a letter. Little more than a note: "I need to talk to you," neatly penned, followed by her name, address and phone number.

Surely she didn't want to rehash that night at his apartment in Berkeley — not six months later. It might have been a mistake on a massive scale — never mind how incredible the sex had been — but he figured she'd said it all when she'd walked out without a word.

The tires squealed around another tight curve. He wrestled the car back into his lane as it hit the warning bumps. He'd just passed the town of Marbleville and from the Mercedes's GPS system, he knew the Hart Valley exit was another seven miles ahead.

What could she possibly want? Was she in some kind of financial bind and needed money? She'd never seemed particularly impressed with his wealth, but necessity could be a strong motivator. If it was money she wanted, this would be a short reunion.

He didn't have time for this. He should have pressed her harder to tell him what she wanted over the phone, saved him the six-hour round trip. Maybe she thought he'd have a harder time saying no to a loan face-to-face. Obviously, she'd never sat across the table from him in a business negotiation. Few executives in the high-tech industry relished a confrontation with Kerrigan Technology's youngest CEO.

As a Bay Area native, tiny little backwater towns like Hart Valley weren't exactly his cup of tea. Too many trees, too much dirt and likely everyone stuck their noses in everyone else's private lives. No matter what Ashley had to say, he wouldn't be staying long. He'd brought a change of clothes and his computer — he didn't go anywhere without his laptop — but he intended to finish his business with Ashley this afternoon and get home before his brother's bedtime at nine.

He spotted the sign for Hart Valley and pulled onto the exit ramp. A quick glance at the directions and he turned right, toward town. That much closer to Ashley and clearing up whatever she thought was so important he had to drive 170 miles to hear.

Even slowing to twenty-five, he was through the small town of Hart Valley in less than a minute. Which meant he was less than six minutes away from Ashley's sister's place, according to the GPS.

It was possible she wouldn't be there. He hadn't been able to guarantee he'd drive up this Friday afternoon. "Tentatively," he'd said, then when he'd called her back to confirm, he'd had to leave a message on her cell's voice mail.

So what if she wasn't there? He couldn't see himself sitting around at her home located in the back of beyond waiting for her. But to turn around and return to San José without seeing her didn't seem right, either. He'd committed himself to this visit; he'd follow through.

Stoney Creek Road came up quicker than he expected, and he had to hit the brakes to keep from missing the turn.According to the GPS, 2.2 more miles, then he'd arrive at the NJN Ranch. A knot tightened in his chest.

He slowed as the Mercedes's trip meter counted out 1.8 miles and he watched for the address. This wasn't like the city, with houses crammed side by side, all of them identified clearly with numbers painted on the front. The few addresses he'd seen along Stoney Creek were scrawled haphazardly on scraps of wood or on fence posts. They didn't seem to go in any order, either.

Luckily, the ranch had a large wrought-iron sign over the front entrance, the letters NJN prominent enough he couldn't miss it. As he turned onto the gravel drive, creeping along its bumpy surface, he saw a large, covered arena and a barn on the hill beyond it. He parked beside a silver hatchback and shut off the engine.

He glanced at his watch, then checked his PDA for new e- mail. Even in the few hours he'd been gone, it had piled up, just another reminder that this trip to indulge whatever nonsense Ashley had to share with him pulled him away from more important issues. Like whether Kerrigan Technology's recovery from its financial woes would continue or if the mistakes his late father had made would take it under.

Dropping the PDA on the seat, he climbed out of the car and by reflex hit the alarm button on his key chain. Taking a look around him at a vista filled with trees and grazing horses, he unlocked the car again.

There was a small house at the far end of the arena, an odd octagonal structure. As he started across the parking area toward it, a woman emerged from the front door, her face, her movements vaguely familiar. His heart rate accelerated, a knee-jerk response to those white-hot moments six months ago. When he got a better look at the woman, though, he realized it wasn't Ashley after all. Her hair was darker than Ashley's strawberry-blond and she wasn't as slender.

"Can I help you?" She gave him a businesslike smile as she shook his hand. "I'm Sara Delacroix, director of the Rescued Hearts Riding School."

A flicker of motion through the front window of the house distracted him. Was that Ashley?

"Sir?" Sara repeated.

"Sorry." He kept his gaze on that window. "I'm Jason Kerrigan."

Sara moved between him and the house. "What can I do for you?" There was an edge to her tone now.

Irritation welled up in him. "She's expecting me."

"She's my sister." Sara's hazel eyes narrowed. "She never mentioned you were coming."

"Is Ashley here?"

Silence stretched as Sara speared him with her gaze. "Just a minute."

She strode back toward the house and gave the door a peremptory knock before she opened it. Feminine voices drifted toward him, then Sara stepped out and motioned to him. As he walked toward the house, he heard Sara ask, "Do you want me to stay?" then heard a soft no in response.

Sara gave him a dark look as she passed him, and when he glanced at her over his shoulder, she still had her eye on him. He ignored her, starting toward the house.

Sara had left the door slightly ajar, and he started to push it open. He could almost see his long-dead mother wagging a scolding finger at him. Biting back impatience, he knocked and waited.

She had to be just inside, but several seconds dragged by before the door finally moved. When Ashley stepped clear, his world narrowed on that first glimpse of her face.

He'd remembered her as attractive, but her brains had placed her above most of the gorgeous women at school who couldn't resist the allure of his money. What he hadn't recalled was the silkiness of that strawberry-blond hair, how enticing her soft brown eyes were.

Then his gaze drifted down, giving in to the impulse to take in all of her. If her face had sent his imagination racing, his first sight of her body stopped it in his tracks. He understood that what she'd called him up here to discuss was far more complex than money.

Ashley Rand was obviously, noticeably, most certainly pregnant. And if he'd learned any math at all back at Stanford and Berkeley, the baby was his. * * *

How could she have thought she'd ever be ready to face Jason Kerrigan again? Standing just across her threshold, he looked even more stiff and formal and coldhearted than she remembered back at Berkeley. His neat, gray polo shirt and impeccably creased charcoal slacks screamed boardroom rather than backwoods ranch. No doubt, dirt wouldn't dare come to rest on that pristine fabric.

"Hello," she said, at a loss as to how to muster any other greeting.

He didn't answer, his gaze fixing for a moment on her face before it dropped again to her six-months-pregnant belly. Under his scrutiny, a nausea kicked up that rivaled her eight weeks of morning sickness. She had to resist the urge to shut the door in his face.

His perfect patrician brow furrowed. "We used a condom."

She tried to smile, but her face felt too stiff. "Best- laid plans."

His gaze locked with hers. "Why did it take so damn long to tell me?"

"Everything about that night was a mistake. I wasn't keen to revisit it."

His jaw worked. "I still had a right to know."

She should have called him the moment the test stick turned blue. But sometimes she could hardly believe that night had actually happened, that two near strangers — barely friends — had burned for each other that way. Then, after the ultrasound and Dr. Karpoor's startling news, she'd needed time to wrap her mind around her predicament, time to get past the panic. It had taken her this long to get up the courage to call.

Even now she was reluctant to share the miracle inside her. "How do you know it's yours?"

He didn't even blink. "It's mine."

She dug her heels in at his arrogance. "How can you be sure? I wasn't a virgin."

He fixed her with his dark eyes. "You might as well have been."

While she reeled at that bald assessment, he looked past her into the house. "Can I come in?"

Again the impulse surged inside her to shut the door. If she ignored him, maybe he'd leave, then she could pack everything up in her bug and disappear. She certainly had enough experience disappearing.

But things were different now. She started teaching at Hart Valley Elementary in another week, had a classroom full of second-graders to educate. It was what she'd trained for these past several years at Berkeley. Not to mention Sara and her new baby. How could she leave her sister and nephew behind?

He put a foot up on the threshold. "We need to talk about this, Ashley."

She imagined Jason stepping inside, the small space filled with his presence. Back at Berkeley — until that night — she'd never entertained the least lascivious thought about Jason. But now memories crowded her mind, his skin against hers, his mouth everywhere. The images overwhelmed her. She would be an idiot to allow him into the close quarters of her quirky octagonal house.

She needed a chance to get her head on straight again, to reestablish Jason as the prickly, straitlaced man she recalled from school. Anything else she might be feeling was just hormones and not worth crediting.

Pulling the door shut behind her, she squeezed past him onto the deck of the front porch. "Let's take a walk."

He followed her down the porch steps and toward the pasture and paddocks where the horses dozed. As they passed the tack room, she grabbed the brand-new bucket of treats Sara had left there. Before she'd gone more than a step, Jason plucked it out of her hand. "You shouldn't be carrying anything heavy."

She tried to take it back. "It can't be more than five pounds."

He pulled it out of her reach and read the label. "Five point five."