The bridge was seldom used, intended mainly for farm vehicles, but it did have a pedestrian walkway. He’d figured that out on the long-ago night his date ditched him here, getting back into her own car and driving off in a huff about something he couldn’t remember. Funny that he couldn’t remember her face or name either.

But every now and again, he came back to the bridge just to think.

Brilliant moonlight shimmered on the dark, flowing water, beckoning him onward. Parr entered the walkway, continuing for several minutes until he stopped at the middle of the bridge where the river widened and deepened into deceptive calmness. There was still a powerful current below the surface. He leaned on the rail, looking out and up.

The full moon was enormous, hanging low in the sky, its unearthly glow revealing flat fields that stretched for miles. The silvery landscape was drained of color, except for dots of amber high atop the light poles of the highway in the near distance. The roar of traffic was barely audible. If not for the way sound carried over water, Parr wouldn’t have been able to hear it at all.

Thoughts of Mary Beth preoccupied him, above all, the unspoken plea in her gaze—take me, take me away—that she never voiced. He’d forced himself to resist going further every time he gazed into her long-lashed eyes. Holding her close was sensual torture. Her every innocent move put him in mind of other, far more carnal temptations, although he doubted Mary Beth was doing that on purpose. She probably didn’t realize just how gorgeous she really was. Those lips, luscious and tender as sweet berries, and the silken, fire gold hair that he’d run his fingers through, and that curving body, alive with barely touched sexuality—it all dazzled him. Under those prim blouses and neat buttons in a row, there was another Mary Beth. He sensed her desire, not only for physical release that his brother wouldn’t or couldn’t give her, but for freedom to escape.

Parr wanted to shower her with the love she deserved, awaken her to the erotic joys his deepest male instincts told him she was capable of.

That was a dream that would never come true.

She wasn’t his. He couldn’t claim her for his own, even if his brother abandoned her. Not without fracturing the family a second time, an unconscionable thought for Parr. The Westons—his mother, brother, and himself—had found a measure of peace, but it had taken years.

He’d forged himself a good enough life, succeeded in his business, and had more than his share of fine women. Parr had always made sure they enjoyed themselves to the max. Admittedly, on his terms: no commitments. No drama. Just mutual pleasure and affectionate farewells.