Folding some papers into an oversize bag, she looked up, saw Christina flying across the yard and offered her daughter a smile that froze as her gaze landed directly on J.D. Her eyes, a gold color J.D. had always found disturbing, hardened and the skin stretched taut over her high cheekbones was suddenly suffused with color. “Hi, honey!” she said to her daughter as she scooped the three-year-old up from the ground.

“Lookie who’s here.”

“I see.” She seemed to steel herself in her sleeveless white blouse, still crisply pressed and stark against her tanned skin. She walked toward the front door and the slit in her khaki-colored skirt moved enough to show off her long, well-muscled legs.

Yep. There was a reason his divorced brother had fallen so hard and fast for Tiffany Nesbitt. The same reason that had nearly done J.D. in. Nearly.

From the foyer, Stephen cleared his throat. His voice cracked again. “Mom . . . Er, Mom. Uncle J.D. is here.”

“So I see.” She lifted a finely arched brow. White lines of irritation bracketed her lips. “Jay.”

“Tiff.” His damned pulse elevated a fraction.

“Looks like your timing is impeccable as always,” she said with more than a trace of sarcasm.

“What’s going on here?” J.D. asked.

Still carrying her daughter, she walked into the house and shut the door. “A misunderstanding.”

“With the police?”

“The juvenile authorities,” she corrected, her gaze skating to her son for an instant before returning to J.D. She flashed him a look that warned him not to dive too deeply into these murky waters. Whatever was going on, it was serious. Christina wriggled and Tiffany set her daughter on the floor. “You know, J.D., of all the people I expected to run into today, you’re the last.”

“I should have called.”

She lifted a shoulder as if she didn’t give a damn, but barely restrained fury snapped in her eyes. “Not your style.”

His jaw tightened, but he supposed he deserved the blow. “No.”

Stephen glanced up through the shaggy bangs. “I’m takin’ off. Me and Sam are goin’ fishin’ and swimmin’.”

“Sam and I,” Tiffany corrected as if on automatic pilot. “You’re supposed to be grounded.”

“I thought we had a deal.” Stephen rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I did all the chores and my homework.”

“Isn’t school out for the year?” J.D. asked.

Tiffany shot him another harsh glance. “Summer school.”

“Yeah, and it’s dumb,” Stephen grumbled. “Look, I just want to go swimmin’.”

Tiffany glanced at her watch. She looked about to argue with the boy, then thought better of it. Probably because J.D. had shown up. “Okay. But be back by five.”

“Ah, Mom. Come on, it’s summer—”

“Five or don’t go at all,” she said firmly.