As he stepped forward to open the coach door, Devorlane Hawley fought the urge to wipe his hands down his thighs. Burning ears didn't trouble him. Nor did Tilly stomping about threatening to pack her bags. But he was troubled. He knew it as he twisted the handle, by the fact it felt sticky in his palm.

Ridiculous, when by tomorrow morning he'd be considering his boiled eggs and bacon with more interest-which spoke volumes. He abhorred boiled eggs and bacon. Yet there it ...