Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend

Rita Herron

Synopsis:

Shy, mousy Rebecca Hartwell had a shocking secret - she was in love with
the town's hottest bachelor, Dr. Thomas Emerson! Her feelings seemed
hopeless, but when the latest Hartwell bridal bouquet landed smack on
her head and Rebecca received an heirloom hope chest full of seductive
surprises, she suddenly had an outrageous idea. Dare a shy virgin ask
her secret crush to father the baby she yearned for?

He'd been burned by a Hartwell before, but Thomas couldn't get Rebecca
off his mind. The quietly lovely woman blushed fiery red every time they
met. She was hiding something?and uncovering it might just be the cure
for this doc's jaded heart and soul!

5

Dear Reader,

What a spectacular lineup of love stories Harlequin American Romance has
for you this month as we continue to celebrate our 20th anniversary.
Start off with another wonderful title in Cathy Gillen Thacker's
DEVERAUX LEGACY series, Taking Over the Tycoon. Sexy millionaire Connor
Templeton is used to getting whatever-whomever-he wants! But has he
finally met his match in one beguiling single mother?

Next, Fortune's Twins by Kara Lennox is the latest installment in the
MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA continuity series. In this book, a night of passion
leaves a "Main Street Millionaire" expecting twins-and has the whole
town wondering "Who's the daddy?" After catching a bridal bouquet and
opening an heirloom hope chest, a shy virgin dreams about asking her
secret crush to father the baby she yearns for, in Have Bouquet, Need
Boyfriend, part of Rita Herron's HARTWELL HOPE CHESTS series. And don't
miss Inherited: One Baby! by Laura Marie Altom, in which a handsome
bachelor must convince his ex-wife to remarry him in order to keep
custody of the adorable orphaned baby left in his care.

Enjoy this month's offerings, and be sure to return each and every month
to Harlequin American Romance!

Melissa leglinski

Associate Senior Editor Harlequin American Romance

HAVE BOUQUET, NEED BOYFRIEND

HARLEQUIN

6

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this
book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to
the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any
payment for this "stripped book."

To all my fans who wrote me wanting more of the Hartwells. Hope you enjoy!

ISBN 0-373-16975-2

HAVE BOUQUET, NEED BOYFRIEND

CopyrightŠ2003 by Rita B. Herron.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any
electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission
of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road,
Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of
the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same
name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual
known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books U.S.A.

Žand TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with Žare
registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the
Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com Printed in U.S.A.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was
twelve, but didn't think real people grew up to be writers. Now she
writes so she doesn't have to get a real job. A former kindergarten
teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for
romance and writes romantic comedies and romance suspense. She lives in
Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from
readers so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225
or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.

Books by Rita Herron

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

820-HIS-AND-HERS TWINS

859-HAVE GOWN, NEED GROOM*

872-HAVE BABY, NEED BEAU

883-HAVE HUSBAND, NEED HONEYMOON*

944-THE RANCHER WORE SUITS

975-HAVE BOUQUET, NEED BOYFRIEND

The Hartwell Hope Chests

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

486-SEND ME A HERO 523-HER EYEWITNESS 556-FORGOTTEN LULLABY 601-SAVING
HIS SON 660-SILENT SURRENDER! 689-MEMORIES OF MEGAN 710-THE CRADLE
MISSION Nighthawk Island

Don't miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following
address for information on our newest releases.

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

7

My dearest Rebecca,

You are a very special granddaughter because you remind me so much of
myself when I was your age. You were the first of Bert daughterd, the
one who brought a deep love into his marriage that cemented the bond
between him and your mother.

But you were the one who suffered the most when your mother died.
Although your own heart was aching, you pushed your feelings aside to
comfort your father and your little brother in their sorrow.

You showed such strength that the rest of us gained courage from you.
But when you retreated to that silent place where you grieved, you never
quite came back.

Always steady and strong, dependable and caring, you are loyal and
trusting to a fault. Believe in yourself now, Rebecca. Take time to
nurture your own dreams and talent, and love yourself the way you love
others.

I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will give you all the
joy a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

Chapter One

"Who's getting married next?" Alison Hartwell Broussard waved her bridal
bouquet of roses in the air in open invitation, looking pointedly at her
cousin Rebecca.

A few shrieks answered in reply. "Me!"

"No, me!"

A quiver of longing rippled through Rebecca, but she remained silent,
hugging her arms around herself in a protective embrace as she stood
beneath the sprawling branches of a live oak. She was the least likely
of all the single and female bridesmaids at her cousin Alison's wedding
to tie the knot.

Her model-gorgeous sister, Suzanne, would probably be next. That is, if
she ever decided to settle down with one man. Right now, marriage and
monogamy were two words missing from Suzanne's vocabulary.

Rebecca was the very opposite.

She ached for marriage. For one man to love her and hold her and make
her feel special. To give her a child.

Unfortunately, the man she yearned for happened to

8

be Thomas Emerson, a man who had once been engaged to Alison.

A man who had his pick of women in town. A man who might still be in
love with Alison. A man who'd barely noticed Rebecca.

Well, except for the time she'd dropped an entire platter of pastries on
his head at Vivi Broussard's wedding. He had gazed at her through the
whipped cream dripping from his hair as if she might possibly be the
biggest klutz in the world. Which she was.

Especially when she got nervous. And being around Thomas Emerson made
her extremely nervous.

"Come on, ladies, line up." Alison stepped beneath the trellis of roses,
an early-winter breeze carrying the spicy scent of flowers through the
air. "Brady and I are ready to leave. He's finally promised me a
honeymoon." She slid her arm around Brady's waist. "I only had to marry
him twice to get it."

Laughter and cheers erupted. Alison's sisters' husbands, Jake Tippins
and Seth Broadhurst, grinned wickedly, obviously remembering highlights
of their own honeymoons.

Brady slung an arm around his new wife. "Honey, it'll be worth the wait."

More laughter followed, envy mushrooming inside Rebecca. Her three
cousins had all married this past year in the gazebo on top of Pine
Mountain at Grammy Rose's, and their husbands obviously doted on them.
She wanted that kind of love, that mind-altering, earth-shattering bond
with a man.

But every time she got physically close to a man, she lost her cool.
Rational conversation fled, and she stumbled all over her size-seven
feet. And sometimes, God help her, sometimes she even stuttered.

"Becca, come on." Suzanne jerked her toward the small crowd of women
gathering on the lawn, their long dresses fluttering in the wind. "Angie
and Caitlin are about to attack Alison for those flowers."

Rebecca laughed at her twenty-three-year-old twin cousins-daughters of
her aunt Shelby who giggled and squealed-vying for the place in front of
Alison. Although the twins shared a sibling rivalry born of being
identical, they also shared a loving sisterhood, as did Hannah, Mimi and
Alison. For some reason, she and Suzanne had never quite had that
connection.

Probably because they were so different.

Another stab of envy assaulted Rebecca as Mimi nestled her three-month
old baby to her chest. Rebecca's own biological clock beat inside her
like a drum. She desperately wanted a baby.

But a husband had to come first.

"Back to earth, Becca." Suzanne waved her hand in front of Rebecca's
eyes, but Thomas gazed their way, and Rebecca froze. A frown marred his
lips, his charcoal-black hair gleaming in the early evening light. The
immediate pull of attraction that engulfed her slid through her nerve
endings, sending a frenzy of delicious sensations spiraling through her.
Sensations that paralyzed her.

His six-foot-plus muscular frame filled out his dark suit. His broad
shoulders almost seemed massive in the crisp white dress shirt. The
sparkle of laughter normally present in his light-green eyes was
replaced by a dark, faraway look, arousing her curiosity. Was he wishing
Alison had married him instead of Brady?

10

Contemplating going to him and offering a comforting hand, Rebecca
started across the lawn. But her heel caught on a twig. She took a step
forward and nearly plunged to the ground. Yelping, she reached for
something to steady her, or at least break her fall, but found nothing
to hold on to, not a chair or a tree or a table in sight. Thomas pitched
forward as if to break her fall, although he wasn't near enough to reach
her, but Suzanne, ever the graceful one, slid a long manicured hand
beneath her elbow, catching Rebecca first. Mortification stung Rebecca's
cheeks.

A fraction of a second later, Thomas raised his gaze, the dark intensity
disappearing as a slow smile spread across his face.

Rebecca's heart fluttered.

Suzanne poked her. "Wow, who is that hottie eating the groom's cake?"

Her heart sank.

If Suzanne wanted him, even though she lived miles away in Atlanta, she
would have him. Suzanne always got what she wanted.

"Thom-Thomas Emerson, the OB-GYN-" She took a deep breath to steady her
voice. "He works with Hannah."

Suzanne whistled beneath her breath. "Whew, a girl might be tempted to
tear up her little black book for him."

Rebecca gulped. Thomas continued to stare, his gaze almost unnerving
this time.

He had to be looking at Suzanne. Everyone stared at her dark-haired,
incredibly exotic-looking sibling. Not that she could blame them.
Suzanne was beautiful. Dazzling. Mesmerizing. And, darn it, she was even

nice, so Rebecca couldn't hate her. Suzanne didn't try to get all the
attention. People were just drawn to her.

But Rebecca was the mousy blonde who hid behind books and art and
wire-rimmed glasses. The impossibly shy one who couldn't talk or walk
without tripping over her own tongue or feet.

"Let's hurry, she's getting ready to throw the roses!" Suzanne gently
pushed Rebecca forward just as Alison released the flowers. The bouquet
soared through the air, bouncing first from Caitlin's hands to Angle's,
then finally landing with a thump on Rebecca's head. She reached for the
arrangement, but the ribbon caught on the stem of her glasses, dangling
over her eyes, blinding her, and a thorn from the rose stabbed her finger.

Thomas Emerson fought a laugh as he watched Rebecca Hartwell struggle
with the bridal bouquet. She was such a sweet, fragile-looking woman
that his battered heart lurched every time he saw her.

But he refused to get involved with another woman right now. Even
kind-hearted blondes with big blue eyes and curves that might be sinful.
That is, if she didn't hide them beneath those baggy dresses.

He pulled at his collar, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. This
rash of weddings lately had definitely affected him, probably the reason
he'd proposed to Alison a few months ago. But in retrospect he realized
he wasn't ready for marriage.

Instead he intended to focus on his career. Although he currently shared
a practice with Hannah Hartwell, he had bigger goals. The very reason
he'd been watching

12

Rebecca in the first place. Not because he was attracted to the shy
little nymph.

No, he wanted to meet Bert Hartwell, her father. Dr. Hartwell was a
renowned plastic surgeon and chairman of the board of the new women's
medical facility in Atlanta. The hospital boasted the latest in
technology, research and cutting-edge medical techniques that Thomas
wanted to be a part of. He had hoped to see Dr. Hartwell with Rebecca,
but apparently he hadn't shown up at his niece's wedding.

Rumor had it he was off on a honeymoon of his own, his fourth, to be exact.

Odd. His daughters hadn't attended his wedding.

And he'd also heard that Bert didn't exactly get along with Alison's
father, Wiley. Apparently they'd had some kind of rift way back when.

Hmm, an interesting family. Not that he could be critical; his own
family had disintegrated years ago.

A moment of concern tugged at him as he noticed how forlorn Rebecca
seemed in the midst of the giggling women as she tried to untangle the
ribbon from her glasses, but he brushed it aside.

Nice guys finished last.

He had learned that lesson well.

First, he'd lost the job he'd really wanted after med school to a guy
who claimed to have been his friend. Then he'd lost Alison.

Hell, he'd really never had her.

His pride smarted, but he reminded himself Alison was happy and that was
all that mattered. He certainly wouldn't have tried to hold on to
someone who didn't love him.

Was there something about him that was unlovable?

He contemplated the way his mother had acted after she'd lost his baby
brother, the way his father had so easily deserted him when his mother
had thrown him out. Of course, his dad had been hurting as well,
especially when his mom had admitted that she'd only used him to have
another baby... Still, why hadn't he been enough for them?

Maybe he'd been looking for a way to settle down in this quaint town and
he'd hoped Alison was that key. But he didn't really want to stay in
Sugar Hill the rest of his life, did he?

He had other goals in mind. To land that job at the new women's center.
Thomas had an interview scheduled in a few weeks. Getting to know Bert
on a personal level would give him the inside scoop on Hartwell's
theories and goals, and the interview would go smoother.

Perhaps Rebecca would introduce him to her father. He'd overheard Mimi
and Hannah discussing plans for a surprise birthday party for their
grandmother. Wiley and Bert would both attend. If he could swing an
invitation, it would be the perfect opportunity to meet Bert. He'd
considered asking Hannah to introduce him, but he wasn't ready to tell
her he intended to leave the practice yet. If he asked Rebecca, he could
keep his intentions quiet for a while. No sense stirring up trouble at
work unless he had the new job in the bag.

A red blush stained Rebecca's cheeks as she plucked the bouquet from her
head. Hopefully, she wouldn't run from him the way she had at Brady's
sister's Vivi's wedding when she'd dropped those cream puffs on his head.

14

She'd acted as if he was the big bad wolf ready to gobble her up.

Though he wasn't the big bad wolf, he was through being Mr. Nice Guy.
From now on, he would pursue his goals with a vengeance. And landing
that job topped his list.

He would do whatever was necessary in order to secure it.

Rebecca and her grandmother ambled up the wraparound porch, heads bowed,
voices hushed. Thomas hunched his shoulders against the chilly December
air and strode across the lawn to catch Rebecca before she left. Then he
would set his plan in motion.

Rebecca slipped into her Grammy Rose's parlor, breathing in the essence
of her grandmother in the polished antiques and silver-framed photos of
family and friends. She had always loved this room, loved the
needlepoint pillows and china cups, the smell of Grammy's rose-scented
sachets filling the air, the scrapbooks full of treasured gifts from
each of her grandchildren.

Someday she wanted a room like this in her own home. Just like she
wanted a house full of kids, and then grandchildren. She would keep
rose-scented potpourri in the house and homemade doilies on the coffee
table, and keep pictures of all her children and grandchildren framed on
the wall.

"It's time you take your hope chest home," Grammy said.

Rebecca's throat tightened at the sight of the ornately carved wooden
chest. Alison and her sisters had talked as if their hope chests earned
some kind of

secret power. Like an omen for the future. Or maybe Grammy Rose did.

Did the hope chest mean a wedding might be in the future for her?

No, Rebecca couldn't allow herself to believe in such fantasies.

"But, Grammy, I'm not getting married."

"Nonsense. Of course you are."

Rebecca stared wide-eyed at the chest. She itched to reach out and touch
it, to open it and discover what treasures lay inside.

But she couldn't admit those feelings aloud.

"No, I...I don't want to get married," she forced herself to say. "I.
..I like my life just the way it is."

Thomas overheard Rebecca talking to her grandmother and breathed a sigh
of relief. Rebecca didn't want marriage, so he didn't have to worry
about her getting the wrong idea if he cozied up to her.

Thank goodness.

He didn't want to hurt her. But being friendly with her might help his
chances of getting the new job. Then he could move on with his life and
make a name for himself in the medical world. And he'd finally fulfill
that promise he'd made to himself years ago.

Yes, Rebecca would be the key to him leaving Sugar Hill.

The voices behind the door grew hushed, and he strained to hear, then
stepped back, ashamed at himself for eavesdropping. Suddenly the door
swung open, and Grammy Rose's pointed chin jutted up in surprise, her
eyes sparkling.

"Hey there, young man." She threaded a strand of

16

gray hair back inside the pearl clip at her nape. "Dr. Emerson, isn't it?"

Heat warmed Thomas's neck. She didn't know he'd been listening, did she?
"Yes, ma'am."

"Listen, son, could you do me a favor?"

"I'll do what I can." Surely, she wasn't inventing an illness for him to
treat, like a few of the women patients who swarmed his office. He'd
never seen anything like life in Sugar Hill.

"Good. My granddaughter Rebecca needs help carrying her hope chest to
the car." She gestured toward the room behind her. "She's right there in
the parlor."

Thomas frowned. Didn't women receive hope chests when they were engaged?
Odd. He'd just heard Rebecca say she wasn't interested in marriage.

Rebecca slid a finger around the lock of the chest and released it, her
heart pounding when the top sprang open. She should wait until she
arrived home to look inside the hope chest. But curiosity replaced
common sense, and she lifted the lid.

Dark-red velvet lined the chest and a piece of antique lace was folded
over the top of the contents. Her fingers traced the fabrics, reveling
in the richness of texture as she slowly moved the lace aside. A white
bride's book lay nestled there, its top embossed with silver wedding bells.

Footsteps suddenly sounded against the hardwood floor, the loose board
at the parlor door squeaking. She slammed the lid closed, then swung
around to find Thomas Emerson standing in the doorway.

"Your grandmother asked me to help you take something to the car."

His deep voice spun a dizzying web around her senses. She opened her
mouth to speak but barely managed to sputter a no.

He inched inside the room anyway, his masculine presence nearly
overpowering the room.

"Thanks, but I...I can get it." Rebecca fidgeted atop the small wooden
stool, wishing she could shrink the hope chest and keep it out of sight.
He might think she was hinting at something.

Like the fact that she wanted a husband and family of her own.

His green eyes radiated warmth as he gazed down at her. No wonder all
the ladies in town threw themselves at him. "Come on, Rebecca. I don't
mind." He moved around her, planting his big hands on his hips as he
studied the box. "Will it fit in your car?"

She nodded, her palms sweaty as she stood. Oh, heck. She couldn't very
well deny him or she'd look like an idiot. "In...the back."

He lifted the chest in one fluid motion, then gestured toward the
doorway. Rebecca grabbed her purse and trotted forward, willing herself
not to fall on her face or break her neck before she reached the car.

On the porch she hugged her grandmother and said a hasty goodbye,
faintly aware most of the other guests had left. Hannah and Mimi were
huddled inside the cluster of their father and mother. Her heart
squeezed with envy. Sometimes she felt closer to her uncle Wiley than
her own father. She searched for her sister to say goodbye, but Suzanne
had apparently left to hit some of the after-Christmas sales with the twins.

Seconds later she managed to find her trusted clunker station wagon at
the foot of the long, winding

18

drive, where she'd parked between two trees. Thomas's silver Porsche
convertible was parked across the drive, her father's Suburban several
yards away by some pines. She watched as Thomas slid the hope chest into
the back, her breath catching at the sight of his dark hair falling over
his eyes.

"There you go." He raked the lock of hair back in a gesture so manly
that she had to swallow.

"Thanks." She wanted to say more but her tongue caught on her teeth.

A smile curved his mouth, the wind tousling the lock of hair into
disarray again, making him even more sexy. "Are you in a hurry? We could
grab some coffee and talk."

Talk?

No, talk was impossible. Her tongue was superglued to her teeth now.

She shook her head. "I...have-" she paused and cleared her throat "-have
to hurry home."

He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied her as she darted past
him and into the car. "Are you sure? Rebecca..."

She ignored the fact that he followed her to the driver's side and waved
him off. "Thanks again." Rebecca's hands shook as she shoved the keys
into the ignition, her mind tumbling with questions. Had Thomas really
asked her out?

And if so, why?

It didn't matter. She was a flirting failure and a disaster at the sex
talk most women seemed so comfortable with these days. A real dinosaur
at relationships.

She pressed the clutch, turned the key and sighed

as the engine roared to life. Putting it into reverse, she rolled
backward. Then she glanced in her rearview window and saw Thomas jump aside.

Dear God, she'd almost hit him.

He threw up a hand and waved anyway, and she panicked and pressed the
gas again. But she'd forgotten to shift into drive and the car shot
backward again. Gravel spun out sideways, the ground flew by under her,
then her car lurched to a stop, metal crunching and glass shattering.
Her neck jerked back, then sideways, then snapped forward. Her forehead
and chest slammed against the steering wheel. The horn blared. She
squeezed the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. Breathing in
slowly, she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder to survey the
damage. Her heart clamored to a stop. The top of the hope chest had
fallen over, the contents spilling out. She peeked beyond, cringing.

She had just smashed into Thomas's brand-new convertible. It looked like
a broken pretzel.

21

The sound of metal crunching and glass breaking rang in Thomas's ears as
he ran toward Rebecca's car. But his heart pounded with worry. What if
Rebecca was hurt?

He wrenched open the door, his pulse hammering at the sight of her
trembling body. Her head was thrown forward, her hands clenching the
steering wheel, her face shadowed by strands of hair that had fallen
forward. Worse, her body was so still it seemed lifeless.

Had she hit her head?

"Rebecca?" He hesitated, knowing he couldn't move her; she might be
seriously injured. But he had to know if she was conscious. He pressed
two fingers to her neck to feel for a pulse. She trembled beneath his
touch, a shiver rippling through her.

A low cry tore from her throat as she turned tear-stained eyes to him.
"I'm so-o-o sorry."

Relief surged through him. A red lump protruded on her forehead, and her
glasses hung askew, but, thank God, she was okay.

"Are you hurt?" He waited, his heart pounding when she simply stared at
him with glazed eyes.

"Rebecca, please answer me. Where are you hurt?" He quickly surveyed her
with his eyes to check for blood or protruding bones, but didn't spot
any major injuries. She hadn't been wearing her seat belt though. Not a
good sign. "Rebecca-"

"I'm such an idiot."

He eased her back to rest against the seat, gently removed her glasses,
then, with a finger below her eyes, checked her pupils. "Did you hit
your head hard?"

She shook her head, her wide-eyed gaze full of shock.

"You weren't wearing your seat belt?"

She glanced down in a daze. "Was...going to."

"Your ribs? Did you hit the steering wheel?"

She nodded dumbly, her expression lost. "I...your car."

"Forget about the damn car, just tell me if you're hurting somewhere."
He reached for the front of her billowy bridesmaid dress to check for
injuries to her chest, but she pushed his hands away in horror.
"Rebecca, I'm just trying to examine you."

"I'm fine." She sniffled, her body shaking. "But I ruined your... your
Porsche. I meant to go forward, but I forgot to shift gears and then the
car shot back so

fast-"

"I said to forget the car. Now if you won't let me check you here, I'll
call an ambulance."

"No." She grabbed his hands and clung to him. "I'm okay, but I feel so
stupid..." A wail escaped her, long and quavery.

22

His heart squeezed at the misery in her voice, so he cupped her face in
his hands. "Stop worrying. I have insurance."

That luscious lower lip of hers trembled again, the color draining from
her face. He couldn't stand it, he pulled her against the crook of his
neck and rocked her, murmuring soft words of comfort. She felt fragile
and small and more womanly than he'd expected. Protective instincts
kicked in, warring with a sudden realization that her minty breath was
tickling his neck, and the subtle scent of her feminine perfume was
awakening sensations better left dormant.

"What was that noise?" Shouts erupted behind them and he could hear
footsteps beating a path down the graveled drive. He pulled away,
standing by the car and turning to face Rebecca's relatives. Hannah,
Jake, and Wiley Hartwell jogged down the path, Wiley heaving as he
pushed his way to the front.

"Everyone okay?" Wiley yelled.

"I think so." Thomas frowned at Wiley's taxed breathing. The last thing
he needed was the man to have a heart attack and send Rebecca into full
shock.

"Rebecca, baby, are you all right?" Wiley leaned his hands on his pudgy
knees, peering into the car. Jake and Hannah approached, Mimi, Seth, and
Grammy Rose behind them, their faces full of concern.

"Mercy me," Grammy Rose murmured.

"Becca, are you all right?" Hannah and Mimi both asked at once.

"Yes." Rebecca wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, slipped her
wire-rimmed spectacles back on her nose and grabbed the door to pull
herself out. Thomas slid a hand in to help her. She was still shaking
but managed to get out of the car, not meeting his gaze.

He silently surveyed her again and was thankful not to see any blood.

"But I ruined Thomas's car."

The entire family pivoted, each gaping at the mangled metal with various
stunned looks. She had collided with the driver's side, smashing the
front door like a piece of cardboard. The windshield and windows had
imploded with the impact, and glass pellets covered the beige leather.
Her own station wagon had suffered as well. The bumper was warped, the
tailpipe bent at an odd angle. But the clunker had already seen its
better days; the faded green paint was chipped and peeling off in strips.

"It is kind of dented," Mimi said in a low voice.

"The passenger side is still intact," Hannah added cheerfully.

As if to mock her, the hub cap from the right-front tire fell off,
rolled toward her and settled into a spin at her feet.

"Mercy me," Grammy Rose whispered.

"You can still open the door," Jake offered, obviously trying to be
optimistic.

But when he yanked on the door handle to prove his point, the wretched
metal came off in his hands with a crunch. The left tire let out a
whooshing sound, then popped and the tire deflated right in front of
their eyes.

Rebecca's sob caught in horror.

"But you're all right?" Hannah inched forward as if to emphasize that
Rebecca's safety was more important than the automobile.

24

Mortification stung her face as she pointed to the broken piece of
metal. "I can't believe I did all that."

"Shh, now, don't fret." Grammy Rose patted Rebecca's back. "We all have
accidents, sweetie. I'll never forget the time I ran my car into the
front porch. Broke up a hornets' nest. Those dad-gummed bees attacked
me, almost bit me in the behind."

"Yeah, I've had some fender-benders myself," Mimi chimed in. "Even worse
than this. Right in our own driveway."

"I can vouch for that," Seth added.

Mimi poked him with her elbow. "It wasn't my fault that garbage can
jumped in the way. Or that you parked the minivan so close to my Miata."

Seth opened his mouth to argue, but Mimi's mutinous glare stopped him.
Thomas almost laughed at Jake and Wiley's skeptical expressions.
Apparently Rebecca and Mimi had a reputation for freak crashes.

"Well, it's just metal," Grammy Rose said, smacking her lips.

"Pricy metal." Jake whistled, propping the door against the side of the car.

This time Hannah's glare cut across the crowd. "Fixable metal," Hannah
added. "All it needs is a good body shop mechanic."

"Or a miracle worker," Rebecca muttered between sobs.

"Nah, baby, it's fixable." Wiley hugged her to his side. "It's just not
drivable now."

"He's right." Thomas's gaze flickered to the customized paint chipping
off from the collision.

Mimi bounced the baby on her shoulder. "You want Seth to call a tow truck?"

Thomas nodded. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

"Nonsense." Wiley waved a beefy hand. "I'll phone my service to tow it.
You can borrow a car from my used-car lot till yours is fixed. Now, pull
yourself together, Bee, darlin'."

Rebecca sniffed as she accepted her uncle's handkerchief and swiped at
her nose.

"That would be great, Mr. Hartwell." Thomas cast another look at
Rebecca, grateful she'd stopped crying. What had she expected him to do?
Turn into a tyrant because she'd totaled his car?

Rebecca dabbed at her eyes with her uncle's hankie. How could she have
done such a stupid thing?

And how could Thomas stand there so calmly when she had destroyed what
must have been his dream car, a Porsche that cost more money than she
earned in two years. Men usually obsessed about their automobiles. They
worshipped them more than their women, more than the remote control.

Worse, now her insurance would skyrocket, she'd probably have to take a
second job to pay her bills, and everyone in town would talk about her
klutzy ways, just as they had in high school years ago.

Thunder rumbled above, the darkening sky hinting at a winter storm. Rain
began to drizzle and chaos erupted, everyone suddenly racing for the house.

Grammy Rose hugged her one more time. "Don't fret, everything will work
out all right. At least the hope chest wasn't damaged."

Rebecca bit the inside of her cheek. Great. She had a hope chest but no
man. And the only man she'd wanted since her dating disasters in high
school was

26

standing beside her, his car crunched like a tin can because she lost
control of her senses every time he was near.

For all she knew, the crash could have broken some of the things in her
chest, too. She was too afraid to look.

Lightning streaked through the cluster of pine trees, another clap of
thunder booming closer. "I'll make sure the tow truck picks up the car,"
Wiley offered. "Bee, you wanna give the doc a ride back to town?"

Rebecca's face blanched.

"Good idea," Thomas said with a grin. "You don't mind taking me home, do
you?"

Rebecca gaped at him in surprise. She couldn't very well turn him down
when she was responsible for his dilemma.

"I...sure."

Thomas pointed inside the station wagon. "It looks like some of your
stuff spilled out. We'd better put it back before we go."

The bride's book lay on the floor, a blue garter belt beside it.

"No, it's all right." She pushed Thomas toward the car. "Let's go before
the storm gets any worse."

And I do anything else stupid. Rebecca ran to the other side and jumped
in. Thomas took the passenger seat, buckled his seat belt, then
stretched his left arm along the back of the seat, calm as a cucumber.

Darn him.

Rebecca glanced at her clenched hands, then slowly met his gaze. "I'm
surprised you'd want to ride with me. Aren't you afraid I'll kill you on
the way home?"

Thomas chuckled. Hell, yeah he was, but he couldn't admit it without
seeming like a coward. "No,

of course not." He shifted, but the broken springs from the tattered
seat protested, then jabbed him in the behind. Rebecca glanced his way
and nearly ran off the road.

The deep drop-off on his side swam before his eyes. "Rebecca!"

She snapped her eyes back to the highway, her mouth dropping open as she
jerked the wheel to the left.

"Are you sure you're all right? I could drive if you're feeling dizzy
from the accident."

She pursed her lips. "No, I'm f-fine."

Rain splattered the windshield, and the car windows fogged up, cocooning
the two of them inside the vehicle. He wondered if Rebecca had bought
this jalopy from her uncle; if so, he hoped Wiley had cut her a good
deal. It wasn't worth a dime.

Was she was always this nervous around men or did her reaction have
something to do with him? He'd seen her conversing with customers in the
bookstore. She handled herself with grace, her knowledge about the book
market extraordinary. And she laughed and joked with her cousins as if
she were perfectly at ease.

Maybe she just didn't find him attractive. The thought smarted.
Especially since most of the women in town seemed to like him.

"Rebecca, can I ask you something?"

She winced and slowed the car as if driving and talking weren't
compatible activities. "If it's about the insurance, I d-do have it. You
can get my card from my purse."

28

"It's not about the insurance." He sighed. "I wish you'd relax and
forget about it. I'm not worried."

"But how can I forget?" She glanced at her tiny silver purse, which lay
on the seat, the contents spilled, a tampon poking out of the top, then
jerked her attention back to the road, the oncoming lights of a truck
glaringly bright. "That car costs a fortune. And I destroyed it in less
than a minute."

"Money isn't the most important thing in the world," he said with
conviction. Although he was frugal with his money. With good reason.
After all, he'd grown up in a fairly low-income family where money was
sparse and love even more so. But he couldn't bring himself to be mad at
Rebecca when she was so upset herself.

A nervous flutter of her eyes followed. "I didn't mean it like that,
Thomas. I'm not implying that you're materialistic..." She let the
sentence trail off, obviously shaken by the turn of the conversation.

"I didn't mean to imply you thought I was-"

"I didn't think you were."

His head was spinning. "Well, thanks for that. I was beginning to think
you didn't like me."

"What?" The shock in her voice surprised him.

"You run every time I get near you." He pried his fingers off the door
handle, forcing his hand to relax on his thigh. "I thought maybe you'd
heard some bad things about me or something."

"Bad things?" Her gaze found him again, her blue eyes luminous in the
foggy interior. "No, I've only heard good things about you. What bad
things would I hear?"

"None." At least not that he knew of.

His gaze fell to her scalloped neckline, which revealed a hint of creamy
skin and rounded breasts. "I've heard nice things about you, too."

She hit a pothole, and the car jerked sideways. An oncoming car blasted
its horn. He grabbed the dash, and she swung the car back in line just
in time to avoid a head-on collision. "I...good."

"Well, now we've got that settled," he said, finding the radio. "We can
relax."

Like hell. Maybe some soft music would calm her. He certainly needed
something to steady his nerves, considering the way she kept courting
the embankment. And that sultry scent enveloping her was rattling other
nerves that had no business being awakened.

He simply wanted a friendship with Rebecca Hartwell. An uncomplicated,
platonic friendship with no feelings or commitments or expectations to
hinder him from his goal of leaving Sugar Hill.

"So, why did you go into medicine?"

His fingers tightened on the knob. "I like the challenge. And no matter
how many babies I deliver, the miracle of birth never ceases to astound me."

"Babies are wonderful." Rebecca's voice softened. "I love watching Mimi
with Maggie Rose. That little girl is adorable."

"Both her parents dote on her."

Rebecca laughed. "I'm glad it worked out for them to be together. I
thought Mimi might raise the baby alone for a while."

Thomas nodded. He'd heard something about that. Once again his thoughts
turned to his own mother and how difficult his teenage years had been.
"Being a

30

single mom is tough. I admire women who raise children alone these days."

"Yeah, I miss my mom. She died when I was young," Rebecca admitted.

Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rebecca. I lost my mom
a while back, but she was alive when I was little."

A few moments of companionable silence stretched taut between them. Then
she hit another bump and her purse flew from the seat to the floor. The
tampon rolled out. She blushed, then reached for it.

He grimaced. Good grief, he was an OB-GYN.

The car swerved sideways, and he yanked up the purse, stuffed the tampon
inside and closed it for her. Her lips snapped shut.

Then she hit another bump in the road, and the chest in the back bounced
up and slammed down with a thump. He angled his head to see it. "What's
in that box, anyway?"

Rebecca's gaze darted everywhere but at him. "Just some junk for a
garage sale."

He lapsed into silence as he remembered the dozens of garage sales his
mother had had. She'd sold everything she could stand to part with just
to provide for them. He'd hated seeing their things being hocked to
strangers for mere pocket change.

Surely Rebecca wasn't that desperate for money.

If she was, she'd have a hell of a time paying her insurance if the
company raised it after they covered the damages to his car.

But her finances were not his problem, he reminded himself, battling a
twinge of sympathy. He was not playing Mr. Nice Guy again. He would
befriend Rebecca so she could introduce him to her father, then he'd
secure the job and move to Atlanta. Nothing more.

A half hour later Rebecca's insides still quivered. What had happened to
her today? Not only had she ruined Thomas's Porsche, but she'd damn near
run off the road and killed him. Then she'd lied to him about the silly
hope chest.

But she didn't want him to think she was husband hunting, that she would
mistake his kindness for an advance. Because Thomas Emerson was the
nicest man she'd ever met. And the sexiest. And someone was going to be
the luckiest woman alive one day to have him for a husband.

Of course, that someone would not be her.

Memories of at least three painful past relationships traipsed through
her mind, trampling her mood altogether. Memories of men who had used
her to get to Suzanne.

No, Thomas wasn't like those men. He was trustworthy and sincere and
helped women through his work. He would never use a woman. Although, she
had overheard him asking Hannah about Suzanne when she'd gone for punch.

She veered onto the interstate toward his house, grateful for the soft
jazz music filling the tense silence. Once she dropped him at his house,
she wouldn't have to face him again. She could handle the insurance
information over the phone and never have to look into those startling
green eyes again. As long as she didn't see him, she could put him
firmly out of her mind.

32

Then she wouldn't have to drool over him and want the man so badly.

After all, she was a realist. She refused to torture herself and dream
about things she could never have.

Like Thomas Emerson.

33

Thomas shook his head as Rebecca drove away. She was an enigma. He'd
finally grown tired of the strained silence in the car and had ventured
into asking her about a book he'd ordered that hadn't yet arrived.

She had transformed into an intelligent, well-spoken woman.

The past half hour they'd enjoyed a long discussion of various popular
titles as well as nonfiction topics. Rebecca was well-read and
insightful, and had even argued with him about the authors of some
hard-to-find classics. But when he'd suggested they stop by her place so
he could help her unload that chest full of garage sale items, she'd
grown flustered again. She'd claimed her neighbor, Jerry Ruthers, would
assist her instead.

Was this guy Jerry her boyfriend? Was he the reason she'd rushed to get
home and had refused Thomas's offer of coffee?

An odd feeling pinched his gut. Maybe it was from the chocolate groom's
cake he'd eaten at Alison's wedding. No, probably from the jostling his
body had been subjected to on the harrowing ride home.

34

He walked inside his house, smiling at the expanse of polished hardwood
and detailed molding. As a child, he'd never imagined owning a house
like this, one with space and class. He tossed his keys onto the marble
table in the foyer and stopped in the den, his gaze riveted to the
Palladian glass window overlooking his backyard. A cluster of oaks so
ancient the branches swayed with age provided shade while a fish pond
added more visual interest.

Pride swelled in his chest at his accomplishments.

Still, material things weren't enough. His thirst for knowledge couldn't
be quenched. He'd vowed to learn everything he could about high-risk
deliveries. A child's life might depend on his skill and expertise.

The key to reaching his goals lay in that job in Atlanta.

Now he just had to devise a plan to see Rebecca again and swing an
invitation to her grandmother's surprise birthday party so he could meet
Bert Hartwell.

Rebecca hurriedly placed the bride's book and a book on dream analysis
back into the chest and shut it, not wanting any of her neighbors to see
the contents of her hope chest. Ignoring the growing chill in the air,
she tugged and pulled at the hope chest, trying desperately to remove it
from the back of the station wagon, but the bumps she'd taken had wedged
the corner of the chest into the side by the spare tire, and it was
completely stuck. The effort made her already sore chest ache even more.
She felt a sharp pain in it each time she took a deep breath, too. She
must have bruised her ribs. They couldn't be broken or she would be in
much worse pain. Right?

She shoved again, and mashed her finger. Why hadn't she had the courage
to accept Thomas's offer of help?

She couldn't ask him to assist her when she'd already inconvenienced
him. No telling how long it would take to repair his car. Granted he
could borrow something from Uncle Wiley's lot to drive in the interim,
but she had no idea what kind of vehicle he'd get for a loaner.

Uncle Wiley did not have any brand-new silver Porches on his used-car lot.

"Yo, Becky." Jerry Ruthers, Rebecca's neighbor who'd dogged her for a
date ever since she'd moved into the small duplex next to his, loped
toward her, pulling baggy jeans up beneath his sagging belly. "Need a
hand?" He flexed his muscles, the bulge shoving the short sleeve of his
white T-shirt up, revealing arms layered in thick, dark hair and a
cigarette pack.

Rebecca cringed. "Thanks, but I can-"

He pushed her aside, yanked out the hope chest much the same as Thomas
had done, except Jerry added a melodramatic grunt, and sweat poured down
his unshaven face. He thundered toward the front door, his jeans
slipping down his backside.

She hurried after him, deciding to buy him a belt to hold up his pants
in exchange for his good deed.

"Where do you want it, Becky?"

She hated being called Becky, but she unlocked the door and ignored the
nickname, not wanting to prolong their conversation. "The den is fine."
She gestured toward the blue ruffled sofa and watched him

36

heave as he lowered the chest to the faded beige carpet.

He whistled, wiped at his forehead with his arm, then grinned. "What you
got in there, sugar cakes?"

"Some things from my grandmother." She inched back toward the door,
hoping he would follow. She didn't intend to discuss the hope chest with
him any more than she had with Thomas.

"Dang it, you look pretty today." His gaze traveled over her dark green
bridesmaid's dress, lingering at her cleavage before dropping in
appreciation to her silver spiked heels. "Where you been? You look like
a Christmas tree, all lit up and sparkling."

"My cousin's wedding." Rebecca ignored his come-hither grin. "She got
married at my grandmother's house." Jerry was the only man who'd shown
an interest in her recently, Rebecca thought morosely. She should try to
see him in a romantic light. After all, she never stuttered or had
klutzy attacks when he was around, but she couldn't muster up an ounce
of attraction toward him. She yawned, her chest pinching again, and
hoped he'd take the hint.

He didn't. He stood with one leg cocked sideways as if waiting on an
invitation to stay. "Wanna get some dinner? They got chili burgers on
the special at Pokey Slims tonight."

Pokey Slims was a biker bar on the other side of town. Lots of beer
drinking, tattooed men and cigarette smoke. "No, thanks. I'm exhausted."
She yawned again, making a ceremony out of the movement. She really was
tired, she realized. Wrecking cars and holding conversation with Thomas
had completely drained

her. "But thanks for bringing in the chest. I'd really like to just kick
back and go to bed."

A lazy grin curled his mouth. "Sounds good to me. I could rub your back."

Rebecca silently chided herself for stepping into that one. Why did the
one man she didn't want fawn all over her, and the one she did barely
notice her?

Oh, he noticed you tonight, Bee. How could he miss when you smashed his
eighty-five-thousand-dollar car? Or before that, when you almost ran
over him? Or when you almost ran off the road into the hollow and killed
him?

"Not tonight, Jerry. I don't want to keep you from your dinner plans."

"Uh, yeah." He rubbed his protruding belly. "I am kind of hungry. A man
can't go without his food. And Pokey makes the best onion rings this
side of the Chattahoochee." He slapped his chest. "Gives me gas, but all
good things come with a price, right?"

"Right." She smiled sweetly, pushing images of him and chili and greasy
onion rings out of her mind.

He dragged his feet toward the door. "Just let me know when you want to
take a spin on my Hog, baby."

"I'm not really a Harley girl." Not that he actually had a Harley,
anyway, although he told everyone he did; he had an imitation Harley.

He whistled through his teeth. "Just call me if you need anything."

Rebecca nodded and locked the door behind him, then changed into flannel
pajamas. She did have several bruises on her chest, the skin was already
turning an ugly purple. With a cup of hot chocolate in hand,

38

she headed toward her bed when the hope chest drew her eye, beckoning
her as if it had some kind of hypnotic spell on her.

Her heart fluttered with a tiny seed of hope. Hope that marriage and
babies might be in her future. Curiosity gnawed at her, too, drawing her
closer until she knelt beside the wooden chest.

Hannah and Mimi and Alison claimed their hope chests had held magical
secrets regarding their futures. That the items Grammy Rose placed
inside had something to do with the men they would marry.

Was there something inside her chest that hinted about a new man coming
into her life? Something that would convince her that love would find
its way into her future?

Thomas had barely fallen asleep when the phone rang.

"This is Terrence McGee, Dr. Emerson." The man's breath sounded shaky.
"I think Nora's in labor. "

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and sat up. Nora was two weeks
overdue, so her husband was most likely right. "She's having contractions?"

"Yeah, but they're not regular. Says her back's hurting."

"Back labor," Thomas said. And this was her third child so it would
probably come quickly. "Get her to the hospital, Terrence. I'll meet you
there."

"Her feet're swollen twice the normal size, Doc, and she says she's
dizzy. I'm worried."

"She'll be fine." Thomas forced a calm to his voice that he didn't feel.
"Just get her to the hospital and

we'll take care of her and the baby. Everything will be all right."

He hung up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his
clothes. No time for a shower, so he jerked on khakis and socks, then
hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He didn't
want the McGee baby making its entrance without him. According to her
file, Nora had had complications with the other two births. He sure as
hell hoped this one went smoother.

Sugar Hill General was modern, but it still didn't have the advanced
equipment that the big Atlanta hospitals did.

Buttoning his shirt as he went, he remembered the night his baby brother
had died. His mother hadn't had the advantages of a big modern facility,
either; maybe if she had, the doctors could have saved the baby. Thomas
had been twelve, but the helplessness he'd felt had been mind-boggling.
A frisson of unease rippled through him as he drove to the hospital. He
phoned the hospital to warn them to be prepared for an emergency. Better
to prepare for the worst.

Someday maybe he would have a son of his own. A family to replace the
one he'd lost long ago.

But not until he settled permanently into his career, moved to the city
and achieved his goals. When he had a child, he wanted it to have all
the advantages he and his brother hadn't. The latest in medical
technology for starters.

And he would never have that in a small town like Sugar Hill.

Rebecca's fingers trembled as she opened the hope chest. Knowing that
her grandmother had chosen the

40

items inside especially for her brought tears to her eyes. Grammy Rose
had been the only stable mother figure in her life ever since she was
nine, when her mother had died.

She brushed her fingers over the soft velvet, the scent of cedar and her
grandmother's rose potpourri clinging to the inside of the chest as if
to remind her of its origin. She had seen the bride's book before but
hadn't noticed the white envelope lying beside it. Her heart pounding
with excitement, she opened the letter and began to read.

My dearest, darling Rebecca, You are a very special granddaughter
because you remind me so much of myself when I was your age. You were
the first of Bert's daughters, the one who brought a deep love into his
marriage that cemented the bond between him and your mother.

But you were the one who suffered the most when your mother died.
Although your own heart was aching, you pushed your feelings aside to
comfort your father and little sister in their sorrow.

You showed such strength that the rest of us gained courage from you.
But when you retreated to that silent place where you grieved, you never
quite came back.

Always steady and strong, dependable and caring, you are loyal and
trusting to a fault. Believe in yourself now, Rebecca. Take time to nurture

your own dreams and talents, and love yourself the way you love others.

I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will give you all the
joy a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

P.S. Inside you will find something old, something new, something
borrowed and something

blue.

Rebecca wiped a tear from her eye, then picked up the lacy bride's book
and stroked a hand over the embossed silver bells. With a wistful sigh,
she flipped the pages, imagining the blank white spaces filled with
signatures of guests.

Guests at her own wedding.

Knowing she was being silly, she laid the book down and dug deeper into
the chest. A blue garter lay nestled on top of a larger white envelope.
She placed the garter around her wrist and opened the envelope, her
mouth gaping when she found a blank marriage license inside. What in the
world was Grammy doing putting a marriage license in there? Did she
expect Rebecca to need one in a hurry?

A nervous bubble of laughter escaped her at the thought.

Occasionally Grammy did some wacky things, just as various other members
of the Hartwell clan had been known to do. This obviously was one of them.

Next she thumbed through the book on dream analysis. What on earth would
analyzing your dreams have to do with getting married?

42

The corner of a small children's book peeked out. The Ugly Duckling,
Rebecca traced her finger over the picture of the little yellow duck on
the front, then the beautiful white swan, thinking she had always been
the duck, Suzanne the swan. But she smiled as she flipped the pages,
memories of Grammy's voice reading the story to her night after night
echoing in her mind. She had so loved the awkward little duck and had
cheered the lonely creature on as he battled his way through the story.
Hugging the book to her chest, she imagined reading it to her own child
one day. Was that the reason Grammy had put it in the chest-did she
foresee a baby in Rebecca's future?

A little boy or girl with dark-black hair and green eyes. A little boy
who had an amazing similarity to Thomas Emerson.

What in heaven's name was she thinking?

Feeling foolish, she propped the book on the floor beside her and
searched the hope chest, unearthing an antique comb, brush and mirror
set. Grammy Rose's. She'd seen it on the antique dresser in the guest
bedroom where Rebecca had slept as a child when she'd stayed overnight.

Sentiment squeezed at her chest as she slid the brush through her hair,
remembering the times she'd done so at her grandmother's. She'd stood in
front of the mirror for hours, brushing her hair, pretending she was
Rapunzel with long, flowing, silky hair.

Pretending she was beautiful. That a handsome prince would rescue her
from being imprisoned in the tower.

She raised the silver mirror and stared at her reflection.

No beauty there.

Oh, she wasn't bad to look at, she admitted. Even with wire-rimmed
glasses, her eyes were a nice shade of blue, and her skin smooth and
creamy. Her mouth wasn't bad, although her nose was a little too long,
and the tiny freckles on her nose made her look about twelve years old.
No, she definitely wasn't ugly. Besides, looks were more about what lay
on the inside than the outside. She cared about others and had a good
heart. But she just wasn't the beauty queen type. Or the type to attract
and hold on to a man like Thomas.

She wasn't imprisoned in a lonely tower, either. She had a decent
apartment, a good job, and her cousins lived close by. And Uncle Wiley.

Refusing to batter her self-esteem any longer, she placed the mirror and
brush set back in the chest, her eyes narrowing when she found another
book inside. Not a children's book, but a book of poetry.

She traced a finger over the worn leather binding, surprised at the
title. "Passions." Blushing, she opened the book, her mouth dropping
open when she noticed the pages filled with drawings of erotic love
poses. A poem had been written beside each nude sketch.

Oh, my goodness. She flipped back to the title page and gasped at the
sight of her grandmother's name printed inside.

Not only did the book belong to Grammy, but she had been one of the
contributing artists and poets!

Thomas placed baby girl McGee in her mother's arms, his heart finally
steadying after the harrowing

44

delivery. When Nora had arrived, she was already fully dilated, but the
baby hadn't dropped. It was also breech, and he'd tried to turn it, but
the fetus had gone into distress, and he'd finally resorted to a
C-section. A wise move, since she had had the cord wound around her neck
at birth and hadn't been breathing.

Terrence had passed out and nearly fallen into Thomas as he'd given the
baby oxygen.

"Thank you, Doctor," Nora said, tears seeping into her eyes. "She's
beautiful."

Terrence shoved a hand through sweat-soaked hair, looking worse than his
wife as she nestled the baby to nurse her.

Terrence curved an arm around his wife. "She looks like you, Norrie."

Thomas's throat closed. It never ceased to touch him when parents held
their child for the first time. And it was nice to see the baby with two
loving parents.

Miracles did exist.

Only, there hadn't been one for his family.

The day he'd lost a brother, his entire family had fallen apart. His
mother had sunk into a deep postpartum depression and told his father
she didn't want him around anymore. She didn't need him. His father had
abandoned them both.

Later, when he was sixteen, his mother had died in an accident.

He pushed the painful thoughts aside. Thankfully, today, the technology
at Sugar Hill had been sufficient. "Congratulations, you two." Thomas
patted Nora's shoulder. "You did great, Mom."

She squeezed his hand. "It may be our third, but she's just as special."

Thomas chuckled and left to offer them some privacy, his mood lifted by
the closeness of the family. A closeness he'd missed out on when his
father left. Although he admired single women who raised their kids
alone, he intended to be there every minute, if or when he had a child.

Shock surged through Rebecca. Her seventy-four-year-old grandmother had
written erotic poetry and drawn nude sketches of lovers intertwined? She
almost shoved the book back inside the hope chest, but curiosity won
out, and she scanned the first few pages. Grammy had always been a
lively and modern character, but the seductive tone of the poems and the
details of the drawings were more risque than she could have imagined.

Oh, my, my, my...

She read the third poem, the erotic words conjuring visions of her and
Thomas Emerson....

Before and after they'd strolled down the aisle.

A shiver rippled up her spine. There was no way she could try some of
the poses. Could she?

Rattled, she shook off the images and hastily repacked the items in the
hope chest, hoping to pack away the fantasies as well. No sense getting
all starry-eyed just because her grandmother had sent her a few odd gifts.

Still, she carried visions to bed with her and in her dreams, they
resurfaced.

Images of her and Thomas, their naked bodies tangled

46

together, giving each other delight. Images of the two of them making
love all through the night. Images of the two of them having a child.

When Rebecca woke the next morning, a soul-deep ache stirred within her.
Moving slowly, she sat upright, wincing at the sharp pain in her chest
and the stiffness in her muscles. She adjusted the pillow to prop
herself up, then she lay back and considered her options.

She wanted a baby so badly. She had even before Mimi had gotten
pregnant, but watching Mimi go through the pregnancy had raised all
kinds of fantasies in Rebecca's mind. And seeing Mimi's little girl,
Maggie Rose, had only deepened the desire for a child of her own. But
she needed a man to get pregnant, and she didn't have a boyfriend or
even a possibility of one in sight.

Unfortunately, the only man in the world she wanted to have a baby with
was Thomas Emerson.

But he would never see her as anything but a klutz who'd demolished his
Porsche and nearly killed him on the way home. Plus, he certainly didn't
owe her a favor; she owed him.

Still, her biological clock was ticking away like a time bomb. And she
had to face the fact that Sugar Hill wasn't exactly crawling with
single, eligible bachelors.

Take time to nurture your own talents and dreams, Grammy had written.

Her dream was to have a family.

The book on dream analysis beckoned her from the hope chest. She jumped
out of bed, brought it back

and snuggled under the covers, skimming page after page, fascinated by
the information.

Hmm, dreams sometimes relayed subconscious thoughts and desires.

She sat up straighter, feeling rejuvenated and more confident as an idea
formed in her mind. Maybe there was something to this hope chest magic
after all. Grammy had always been modern. Maybe it was time she stepped
into the twenty-first century herself. Women didn't have to have
husbands to have a child. She could have one by herself. She had a
decent job running the bookstore, she was responsible, healthy, and she
would love the baby unconditionally.

She'd taken care of Suzanne after their mother had died, so she knew she
would make a good mother.

Yes, she was going to believe in herself, just the way Grammy Rose had
suggested.

She'd have a baby on her own.

There was just one little problem-she needed sperm to get pregnant.

A headache pinched at her as she struggled over what to do. She could
visit a sperm clinic and have in vitro fertilization.

Too impersonal. She'd never be able to go through with it. And she
couldn't possibly tell her baby that she'd bought the sperm from a
stranger, that she knew nothing of his father but what she'd learned
from a computer file.

What about asking someone she knew to be a donor?

Jerry's enthusiastic face sprang to mind, but a shudder gripped her.

48

The dark-haired baby from her dreams haunted her mind.

Grammy had said to follow her dreams. Maybe the dream had been an omen.

And in her dream the baby had been Thomas's baby.

Maybe the dream meant that she was supposed to have Thomas's baby!

He was smart, intelligent, good-looking. If he donated sperm to father
her child, she would know that the baby would be healthy, and she could
assure her child that he or she had a great father. But how would she
approach Thomas?

Should she, try to seduce him?

Nervous laughter tickled her insides. She could barely talk to Thomas
without making a fool of herself.

And asking him to sleep with her would be wa-a-ay too personal.

Although the mere thought sent a million delicious sensations curling in
her belly.

Maybe...no, she couldn't.

But she could ask him to make a little personal donation. After all, he
was an OB-GYN. He probably dealt with single women wanting babies all
the time. He'd even commented that he admired single mothers. And the
fact that he was an OB-GYN might prove to be a blessing. He probably
already knew doctors who could perform the procedure, and she wouldn't
have to seek help from virtual strangers.

She'd keep the arrangement simple, too. Once she was pregnant, he
wouldn't be obligated or need to have any personal contact with her at all.

She twisted the sheets in her hands, her stomach convulsing in a
thousand knots. Now she just had to summon up enough courage to discuss
the baby plan with him. And she would, she promised herself, right after
she phoned her insurance company to take care of paying for the damages
to his wrecked car.

A wistful sigh escaped her, a twinge of sadness following. She wasn't
settling for less than her dream, she assured herself as she climbed
from bed and headed to the shower. She was simply facing reality. If she
couldn't have Thomas, she could at least have his child. That would be
enough.

A moment of trepidation hit her as she turned on the spray of water.
What would Thomas think of the idea?

51

In the early-morning sunlight the idea of asking Thomas Emerson to
father her baby didn't seem quite so wonderful. In fact, the more
Rebecca thought about asking him to help her with the baby plan, the
more nauseous she became. By the time she'd walked the two blocks to the
bookstore, her legs felt like rubber bands, and she suspected that if
she actually ran into Thomas or even saw him on the street, she'd lose
the muffin she'd finally managed to down for breakfast.

Why couldn't she be more like Suzanne?

Disgusted with herself, Rebecca rushed toward the Book Nook to open up.
Maybe she'd talk to Mimi today and ask for some advice. Or she could
browse the shelves for some good self-help books. Something on
bolstering courage and acting with confidence. Or one on not acting like
an idiot in front of men.

Could there possibly be a miracle book on talking without tripping over
your tongue? Or flirting for the fainthearted?

Just as she reached the awning, she spotted Thomas driving by in a
lemon-yellow Mustang convertible, obviously one of her uncle Wiley's
loaners. A cold

breeze suddenly stirred, sending leaves fluttering and her loose black
skirt flying up around her legs. She tried to grab the billowing fabric,
but it swirled up around her waist.

Nerves bunched in her stomach, and Rebecca panicked. Like a fool she
swung around, ducked inside the door, crouched against a stack of
magazines and pretended she hadn't seen him.

Thomas frowned. He could have sworn Rebecca had seen him, but she'd
ducked inside the bookstore as if she wanted to avoid him. Why?

After all, she'd left that hurried message on his answering machine
saying she'd contacted her insurance company and her agent had assured
her his car would be taken care of. He'd run from the shower, dripping
wet, to reach the phone, but she'd babbled the message in seconds and
hung up as if she was afraid she might actually have to talk to him.
He'd simply wanted to assure her that he received the message.

Why was she avoiding him? Did she think he was a big ogre?

It wasn't as if he'd never been rejected before. He had. Dozens of
times. Mostly because he'd always been Mr. Nice Guy, every girl's best
friend or brother figure, and women liked the bad-boy types. Except, in
this little town, the women had been especially friendly.

Of course, here pickings were slim. Half the townspeople had never left
Sugar Hill. The half who'd stayed had married each other in high school
and were now in the throes of mortgage payments, pregnancy, diapers,
babies and small-town life with its lack of arts

52

and entertainment. Either that or they were entrenched in divorce. Both
comprised the population of his patients.

He wasn't sure which were more dangerous, the frustrated housewives,
divorcees or hopeful singles faced with choosing mates from the same
male pool they'd known since grade school. The limits of the small-town
life.

Hormones and husband hunting were running rampant.

He waved to several patrons, chuckling at the raised eyebrows when they
saw him driving the lemon-yellow car. Wiley Hartwell was a character,
his used-car business a perfect extension of the outlandish man himself.
What kind of man was his brother Bert?

From what he'd heard, he couldn't imagine the two men being at all similar.

Just like Rebecca and that sister of hers. Suzanne. The pretty brunette
at the wedding.

Though Suzanne had a great pair of legs and would turn any man's head,
something about Rebecca stayed with him.

Her innocence. She possessed a genuine sweetness that had been missing
in most of the women he'd dated the past few years.

He ran a hand over his face, reminding himself not to start caring about
her as he pulled into the clinic drive. He would be leaving soon. No
time for attachments.

Taking a quick look at the Victorian house Hannah Hartwell had rented to
house her practice, he couldn't help but mentally compare the
old-fashioned structure to the modern women's center in Atlanta. Painted a

pale yellow, the white gingerbread trim gave the Sugar Hill office a
picturesque look, something his patients had commented on more than
once. Patients claimed the building had a calming effect. Yet the
cutting-edge technology and latest medical equipment and techniques in
the modern facility in Atlanta were comforting in a different way.
Medicine was about saving lives and the latest in technology, not hominess.

He parked in the shade, Wiley's reminders about the sunlight fading the
new paint job on the Mustang rattling in his head, then grabbed his
medical bag and hurried inside, hoping to clear his appointments by
lunch so he'd have time to stop by the bookstore for a minute. If he
intended to convince Rebecca to introduce him to her father, he'd have
to do so soon. Her grandmother's surprise party was in just a few days.
He couldn't let the opportunity slip by without doing something.

Rebecca spent the morning tagging books for the after-Christmas sales
and inventorying the results of the year's profits. The rush of women
buying holiday craft books and cookbooks seemed endless. She'd half
expected the women in Sugar Hill to be exhausted from baking for the
various seasonal parties, but instead, they were planning New Year's Day
dinners, Super Bowl get-togethers and church functions to collect food
and clothing for the needy.

Mimi popped over with her baby, Maggie Rose. "Hey, Bee, you've been busy
today."

"I know. Thank heavens. I'll need all the money I can get to pay my
insurance premium now."

"You talked to your agent already?"

54

"How'd it go when you drove Thomas home after Alison's wedding?"

Rebecca cringed. "Awful, Mimi. I'm such a klutz."

Mimi squeezed her hand. "Don't beat yourself up too much. Thomas handled
the accident pretty well."

"I suppose so. Then again, he is a nice man."

Mimi laughed. "Yeah, the nicest. Alison hated hurting him, but they
weren't right for each other."

"Do you think he's still in love with her?" Rebecca asked.

"I don't think so." Mimi rocked Maggie Rose back and forth, and
Rebecca's heart tugged at the tiny little fists sneaking their way out
of the pink blanket.

Goodness, she wanted a baby so much.

Karina Peterson and Darlene Wilkerson, two girls her age, waltzed in a
cloud of perfume and designer clothes.

Mimi rolled her eyes. "Looks like those two have been dipping into their
daddies' cash."

Rebecca laughed. "They've probably never worked a day in their lives."

"I know. Listen, I need to run Maggie to Hannah's for a checkup." Mimi
gestured toward the adjoining coffee shop. "Bernadette and Angelina are
running things, but I'll be back for the art class this afternoon.
You're still having story time first?"

"Of course, my bag of puppets are ready." Rebecca tickled Maggie Rose
under the chin, her heart touched by the angelic face staring up at her.
"She's so beautiful."

Mimi tenderly kissed her daughter's forehead. "I

know. And if I don't get going, Seth will be pacing the halls wondering
why I'm late. That man's crazy about this kid."

Rebecca waved at her and returned to the register, fighting another bout
of envy. The bell above the door tinkled and Bud and Red, two
old-timers, loped toward the magazine rack for the latest wrestling
magazine. A handful of teenagers milled around looking at teen magazines
and comic books, already bored from the winter break.

Karina and Darlene browsed the sale area. "This spinach casserole looks
fabulous," Karina cooed. "I'm going to cook it for Doc Emerson."

Rebecca froze at the cash register, her hand on the roll of quarters she
needed for change.

"Isn't he the cutest thing to ever set foot in Sugar Hill?" Darlene said.

Karina giggled. "You bet your boots. I fabricated cramps last month just
so I could sneak in an extra visit."

"Better watch out. I heard Trish Tieney is out to snag him. She told
Elvira Baker that he's number one on her husband list."

"Drat. Trish does have those big boobs."

"And she's taking a French-cooking class."

Karina wrinkled her nose and reached for a book on desserts. "I know
just the thing to win Dr. Emerson's heart-a double-chocolate layer fudge
cake." She fanned her face. "Maybe I'll even dribble chocolate syrup on
me and let him lick it off."

Rebecca coughed and dropped the roll of quarters she'd been opening,
sending them rolling across the floor.

56

Both girls turned to glare at her, and she quickly stooped to pick up
the change, pretending she hadn't heard their conversation. If beautiful
Karina and Trish had their sights set on Thomas, she didn't have a

chance.

She gathered the loose quarters and dumped them in the drawer. Karina
watched her like a hawk as she rang up the purchases. "Thanks, ladies,"
Rebecca said.

Feigning nonchalance, she wove her way to the self-help section,
replaying her grandmother's words-Believe in yourself. Follow your
dreams. But how could she do that when she acted like a simpering
teenager at the mere thought of seeing Thomas?

She had to slay the dragon of self-doubt sitting on her shoulder.

Her eyes tracked the titles: How To Be a Success in Business. Surviving
Summers with Kids. Surviving Your Crazy Teenager. How To Master
Menopause. How To Turn Up the Temperature in the Bedroom. The Art of Love.

Unfortunately, she didn't see a single book with advice on how to ask a
man for a sperm donation without stuttering.

Mimi jiggled Maggie Rose up and down, trying to calm her after her
vaccination.

"I'm so sorry," Hannah whispered, patting the baby's back. "I didn't
mean to make you cry, sugar."

"It's all right," Mimi cajoled. She cradled Maggie Rose to her.

"You're a natural," Hannah said. "Maggie Rose is lucky to have you for a
mom."

Mimi beamed. "She's my little doll baby. When are you and Jake going to
take the plunge into parenthood?"

Hannah laughed. "We're working on it."

Mimi hugged her. "I hope you have an announcement soon. Maggie needs
some cousins to play with."

"We'll see." Hannah tucked the blanket around Maggie Rose's feet. "Can
you meet with Alison, Suzanne and Rebecca to plan Grammy's party?"

"Yep, Seth's going to watch the baby." Mimi grinned. "You know, Hannah,
if my radar's working properly, Rebecca has a crush on Dr. Emerson. I
think that's why she was so nervous and hit his car the other day."

"No big surprise." Hannah smiled. "Half the female population in town
has a crush on Thomas."

Mimi scrunched her nose in thought, the wheels of mischief turning.
"True, but if he marries anyone, it should be one of the Hartwell girls."

"He's on the rebound from a Hartwell now," Hannah pointed out.

Mimi shrugged. "But Rebecca is so sweet."

"And shy," Hannah said. "I wish we could do something to help her."

"You could talk her up to Thomas."

Hannah laughed. "I suppose I could."

"We need to figure out a way to get them together. "

Hannah finished scribbling on Maggie's chart and closed it. "What are
you scheming, Mimi?"

"Nothing much." Mimi grinned and surveyed the exam room. "Didn't you say
you planned to hire someone to remodel the exam rooms?"

58

Hannah nodded.

"Well, I have an idea." Mimi wiggled her finger. "Let's go find Doc
Emerson."

Hannah gave her a suspicious look. "I don't think we should interfere."

"Nonsense. Rebecca needs us." Mimi winked. "Just follow my lead, and
wedding bells will be ringing for our cousin in no time."

"My husband left me," Dorothy Parker wailed. "And I don't know what to
do, Doc."

Thomas placed a comforting hand on Dorothy's back and slowly stroked,
trying to calm her. She'd been crying for close to a half hour, which
had sent her six-week-old infant into a fit, which had upset Dorothy
even more. The two hysterical females had turned his routine follow-up
exam into such a stressful ordeal he'd developed a raging headache.

At least now the high-strung woman was dressed and in his office.

Dorothy cradled the baby and leaned against him. "Harold left me for a
waitress over at Crooked Neck Holler. Can you believe that? Just because
I have a little baby fat left around my midriff."

Thomas refrained from commenting. "It takes time to lose weight after
giving birth," he said softly.

"That's what I told him," Dorothy said, sniffing loudly. "But he said
I'm not attractive anymore. Do you think he's right?"

A loaded question from a woman. Thomas pressed a finger to his temple.
"New mothers are always beautiful, Dorothy, but stressed. I'm sure
Harold will realize his mistake and come home soon. He'll be begging you
to take him back."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Maybe I won't take him back this time."

He stifled a comment; she and her husband split at least once a month.
Harold had almost missed the delivery, because they'd had a whopping
fight and he'd taken off to Ted's Tavern and gotten drunk. Cabs took a
while to get from Atlanta to Sugar Hill.

"Maybe I'll just find someone else." Her tears dried, her eyes glinting
with what he knew could be trouble. He moved aside to escape her
clutches when a knock sounded at the door. Thankfully Hannah poked her
head in and he slid from Dorothy's desperate grip.

"I...I was just leaving, Dr. Hartwell." Dorothy pulled herself together
as Hannah and Mimi appeared in the doorway.

"Take care of that little one. I'll see you next year." At least, he
hoped she wouldn't be back before her yearly exam. By then he would be gone.

Hannah raised a curious eyebrow, and Mimi giggled, "Got your hands
full?" Hannah asked.

"You could say that. Did someone spray pheromones in the air?"

Mimi laughed. "Now, there's a thought."

"Do you have a minute?" Hannah asked.

He nodded, although he'd planned to spend the next few minutes racking
his brain on some way to approach Rebecca about her father.

"When I moved into the practice," Hannah said, "I didn't have time to
finish all the renovations. The exam rooms really need painting."

60

"I can't argue with you there."

"Mimi and I were talking, and she had a wonderful idea."

He glanced at Mimi and the sleeping baby in her arms and smiled.
Motherhood hadn't tamed the feisty redhead at all. In fact, she still
wore gutsy clothes and kept the town talking, but Mimi was impossible
not to like. "I'm all ears."

"I think you should have some pretty murals painted on the walls.
Something calming to help patients relax."

He nodded. "You know someone who does that kind of work?"

"Yes, I do. She painted the sweetest mural of dancing teddy bears on the
playroom wall for Maggie Rose."

"She would be perfect," Hannah said.

"All right, you sold me. I hope she's local."

"As a matter of fact she is," Mimi said excitedly. "It's our cousin
Rebecca."

Thomas coughed. "Rebecca's an artist?"

Mimi looked pleased with herself. "Yep."

"She paints beautiful landscapes," Hannah said.

"We think you should ask her," Mimi added with a devilish glint in her eyes.

"You do?" Suspicion snaked in. "Why?"

"Because we're related, and she never believes us when we brag about how
talented she is," Mimi said. "But if someone else does, she might
believe it."

He frowned, then wondered why he was even hesitating. This would be the
perfect opportunity for him to get to know Rebecca better, to probe her
about her father without being obvious about his intentions.

He'd be crazy not to jump at the chance they'd offered.

Maybe if she saw him at work, she'd realize he was basically a nice guy,
not some temperamental jerk, and give him a good recommendation to her
father.

Still, he'd have to walk a fine line. He couldn't become too involved
with her. Friends, that's all they would be.

"All right," he agreed. "Maybe I'll run over to the bookstore at lunch
and ask her."

"Great." Mimi lowered her voice. "Oh, but act like it was your idea. We
don't want her to think we're interfering with her business."

"No," Hannah agreed. "We wouldn't want her to think that."

He nodded, although he wasn't quite sure they weren't interfering. But
he had bigger things to worry about.

Like how Rebecca would react to his request. That is, if she didn't run
the other way the minute she saw him.

63

Haunted by the erotic words and images of her grandmother's poetry,
Rebecca found herself meandering over to the small erotica section she
housed in the far back corner and searching the titles and authors to
see if her grandmother had contributed to any other selections. An
artistic cover drew her eye, the colors a sultry hot pink and black, the
title Naughty-Rotica drawn in a pale-pink shade of lipstick. She had
just opened the book and skimmed the first entry, a very visual
portrayal of a heated kiss drawn out with simple yet eloquent words,
when someone cleared their throat behind her.

She turned, her jaw dropping open when she saw Thomas Emerson's
intensely dark eyes fixed on her. His gaze lowered to the book in her
hand, and something hot and seductive rippled through her. It was almost
as if he had read the words on the page she'd been looking at and
whispered them in her ear.

Ridiculous.

Men like Thomas didn't whisper naughty words or any kind of romanticisms
to bookish girls like her.

Maybe she should reconsider her neighbor Jerry Ruthers.

His big belly flashed into her mind, though, and she winced.

"I saw you this morning when I drove past."

The sentence lingered in the strained silence between them. She could
have just died.

Finally he saved her from her embarrassment. "I waved but I guess you
didn't see me."

She could not even reply to that. "You...uh, received my message about
the insurance?"

"Yes, I spoke with my agent, also. We'll work out the details."

She pushed her glasses up her nose. "Thanks for being so understanding."

He shrugged. "It was an accident. It's not like you did it on purpose."

"No, of course not."

Another strained silence fell between them. She didn't even try to fill
the dead air for fear of stuttering. His gaze shifted to the book again,
and she realized she had a death grip on it, so she shoved it back on
the shelf. What in heaven's name was she doing?

"S-someone called in and as-sked about that book." She swung into motion
and walked toward the phone at the front register. "I'll have to call
them and let them know we have it in." Dear lord, please let him believe
that.

The corner of his sexy mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. She cursed
herself for noticing. "Did you n-need something? A book maybe?"

He shook his head. "Not a book. I need you, Rebecca."

64

She nearly tripped over a dump of paperbacks, a recent novelty called
Dating Disasters that had climbed all the lists. They could have used
her picture on the cover.

She took refuge behind the front desk, holding on to the laminated
counter lest she completely lose her ability to stand. For pity's sake,
that was what Thomas Emerson did to her.

"What did you say?"

Broad shoulders stretched against his crisp white shirt as he leaned on
the counter to face her. "I said I need you."

I need you, too. At least your little swimmers.... "Wh-why?"

The corner of his mouth twitched again. If she hadn't known better,
she'd have thought he was flirting with her. How silly could she be?

"Hannah and I discussed fixing up the clinic. The exam rooms need
painting, and I have it on good authority that you're a damn fine artist."

"Oh." Of course he hadn't meant he needed her. He had his choice of
women. "Who told you I was an artist?"

"I'm a doctor, I treat half the town. They talk."

Rebecca swallowed. "But I don't make it a habit of sh-showing my work. I
really just paint for m-me."

His big hand reached over and slid on top of hers. The contact felt
warm, comforting, yet it didn't comfort her at all. It aroused images of
Thomas touching her. In places that she'd never allowed a man to touch
her. In ways she'd seen sketched in that erotic book her Grammy had
given her but had never experienced herself.

Except in her fantasies in the dark of night when she was alone.

"I can't." She shook off the disturbing images and pulled away, then
began stacking new books that had arrived and needed shelving. Anything
to keep her hands and mind occupied so they wouldn't stray into the
danger zone.

"Why not? We'll pay you well."

"I..." She couldn't very well say she didn't need the extra money. After
all, her insurance bill would skyrocket and he knew it.

"The place is pretty run-down. Yesterday, Ms. Hinkleman thought a crack
in the ceiling was a spider and nearly broke her leg jumping off the
exam table."

"Poor Ms. Hinkleman is ninety and half-blind."

"See my point. Consider it a service for the patients. You don't want
them looking at peeling paint or freaking out while they have their exams."

Better that than his sexy face. "I...don't know. You've never even seen
my work."

"You could invite me to your place and show me your drawings."

He was flirting with her.

She smiled in spite of her nerves. "I guess I do owe you, after crashing
your car."

His smile faded slightly, then returned. "Yes, you do. Just help me out
here and we'll call it even."

Rebecca swallowed. She did owe him. Worse, she wanted something from
him, a favor much more personal than painting murals on a wall. How
could she possibly turn him down and then ask him to help her have a baby?

It was so refreshing to talk to a woman who wanted nothing from him.

"All right," Rebecca said. "I'll d-do it."

66

"Good. Why don't we meet tomorrow after work and talk over some ideas.
I'll get a crew to come in this weekend and put a fresh coat of primer
on the walls, that is if I can find someone that fast." Rebecca nodded,
although she still didn't look comfortable with the idea. But at least
she had agreed.

"Well, I'd better run. The s-storytelling hour."

He nodded again and watched as she rushed to the children's area to read
to the kids. A twinge of guilt plucked at him for manipulating Rebecca
into painting the clinic, but he dismissed it. She was such an innocent,
giving to others without asking anything in return. Hadn't Hannah said
that after Mimi had left?

Not like his mother, who'd only married his father to have a baby. Or
half the women in town who wanted him to distract them from loveless
marriages or make their husbands jealous by flirting with him. Or the
debutantes back in Savannah who'd liked the fact that he was a doctor
and thought by marrying him they'd automatically climb a step higher on
the social ladder.

No, nothing would stop him from obtaining this new job or leaving town,
especially a woman. He'd let Alison distract him momentarily, but he
wouldn't put his heart on the line again only to have it crushed.

He owed it to the little brother he'd lost and to the family that had
been torn apart because of it....

Rebecca rushed away from Thomas so quickly she nearly slammed into Bud
and Red.

"Whoa, darlin'." Bud grabbed her arms to steady her.

Red scratched at his scraggly beard. "What's got you in such a tizz, Ms.
Rebecca?"

Rebecca pushed her glasses back up on her nose. "Sorry, fellas, I don't
want to be late for children's hour."

The old man nodded and released her. "The young'uns all look forward to
that."

She smiled and smoothed down her skirt, then retrieved her bag of
puppets and motioned to Gertrude, the girl who helped her part-time, to
announce story time.

Five minutes later, she relaxed as the children huddled around her,
hugging and whispering the stories they wanted to hear.

"Do the froggy song," three-year-old Cindy shouted.

"No, the train one, choo-choo, choo-choo." Five-year-old Andy pumped his
arm up and down like the blare of a freight engine.

"We w-wanna hear 'bout the p-peanut butter monster." Six-year-old Lindy
Sanders whispered in her stuttery voice. Every time the little girl
stumbled over her sentences, Rebecca's heart lurched.

"We'll see if we have time for all those, I promise. But first, I'm
going to tell you about a little bear who hibernated all winter." She
slipped a fuzzy brown bear puppet from her bag and introduced him, then
launched into the story. The children settled into the circle on the rug
and stared wide-eyed as she told the story, her dramatics keeping them
on edge as she described how the bear slept through Christmas, then

68

finally emerged in the spring to find his mother giving birth to baby
cubs. For the grand finale, she produced five small bear puppets and let
the children name them.

Her heart swelled at the awe in the kids' eyes, and she took requests,
making sure she used little Lindy's suggestion. She finished the hour
with an audience-participation story, inviting the children to make the
animal noises along with her as she sang "Old Mac-Donald Had a Farm."
Even Lindy forgot to stutter as she joined in the fun.

Afterward, she calmed them with a finger play before she sent them to
Mimi for the follow-up art lesson they'd coordinated-they were cutting
and pasting together bear puppets made out of paper plates. As the
children hugged her goodbye, she pictured a child of her own, tucking
him or her into bed at night, whispering a good-night story by the dim
light of the moon glowing in the window. A little boy with black hair
and grass-green eyes.

She looked up, half expecting to see Thomas Emerson watching her. She
had to work up her courage to ask him about the baby plan.

But her nerve failed when she spotted him in Mimi's adjoining coffee
shop. He wasn't alone. Trish Tieney had cozied up to him in a booth,
flinging her wild red hair over her shoulder, giggling and flirting
outrageously.

Thomas tried to focus on Trish Tieney's long-winded diatribe about her
real estate career; she had sold him his house, and no doubt he would
need her services again when he decided to put it back on the

market, but his gaze had strayed periodically to Rebecca and the show
she performed for the children.

When she looked his way, he smiled, and she offered a strained one in
return. Trish covered his hand with hers, and Rebecca turned away
abruptly. Her easy dismissal of him stung.

Besides, she'd been so loving to all the kids, and she'd sung and told
story after story with a dramatic flair, and hadn't stuttered once with
them.

"If you need furniture, I'd be glad to go shopping with you," Trish
offered. "I minored in decorating at Valdosta State."

"I'm fine for now," he said, knowing he didn't want to buy anything else
that might not fit into his new place. But he was getting ahead of
himself. He still had to land the job.

"The invitation's always open." She flipped her curly hair over her
shoulder for about the dozenth time. She must think the gesture was sexy
but it simply annoyed him.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." He stood and pushed his chair back. "I
have to get back to the clinic now."

Trish raked fake red nails down his arm. "If you need anything else,
too, just give me a call. I'd be glad to cook you a French dinner one
night."

"Uh...sure, that sounds great." What else could he say?

He rushed toward the door, but he couldn't help himself. He turned and
searched the bookstore one more time for Rebecca. But she was helping a

70

customer, some burly guy who needed a shave, and she didn't even glance
his way.

"Listen, Jerry, I appreciate the invitation," Rebecca said, "but I'm not
much of a dancer."

"Aww, come on, Becky, the American Legion plays great country music. And
it's New Year's Eve, everybody'll be there." He waggled his eyebrows.
"I'll teach you the two-step. It's real easy." He leaned forward, so
close his burgeoning belly brushed her arm. "It'll give us time to
scrooch up and get to know each other better."

Exactly what she didn't want. "I...I think..." I'll have a headache that
night. "I'll let you know."

He grinned toothily as if he'd just won the lottery, tugged his baggy
jeans up by the loops, then whistled. "Guess I'd better get back to
work. Got to butcher two hogs this afternoon."

Rebecca nodded, chastising herself for giving him even a smidgen of
hope. Why hadn't she just said no? Me and you scrooching or doing
anything else that involves touching is not going to happen. I can't
imagine letting your smelly hands hold me, especially knowing you've
been cutting up pig's guts with them.

Furious with herself for being such a wimp, she jogged back to the
self-help section. She'd find a book on being assertive and learn a few
techniques on handling herself better. Because she'd rather die than
have Jerry's belly brushing hers all night long. And, God forbid, it
would be worse to let him think she liked it.

Then he would never leave her alone.

By the end of the day Thomas had two chicken casseroles, a sweet potato
custard and two jars of homemade peach preserves to cart home with him,
all compliments of the single women of Sugar Hill. Their mothers must
have taught them that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.

But something else worked just as well. Only, none of the women seemed
to spark an interest in him in that area.

None except Rebecca Hartwell, who seemed immune to his charms.

Granted the food smelled great, and he hadn't wanted for a single meal
since he'd moved here, but this was getting ridiculous, as was the
sudden increase in women's ailments. Karina Peterson had dropped by
complaining of a nonexistent pain in her side-he was beginning to think
the woman was a hypochondriac. Then her friend Jillie Flannigan, who'd
been in the week before with a similar ailment, had invited him to her
daughter's piano recital, hinting that her little girl needed a father
figure.

He packed the food in the back of the Mustang and drove the short
distance to his house, the cool December breeze blowing leaves and twigs
across the road. The bare trees swayed with the wind, the threat of rain
scenting the air as he went inside the house. He heated up one of the
chicken casseroles, then scooped a helping on his plate and set up his
laptop, but the house felt unusually quiet tonight. The massive
furniture seemed more massive, the gleaming floors shiny but silent,
lacking friendly footsteps, the perfectly decorated walls devoid of
life. He tried to remember what kind of paintings he had on the walls,
but he couldn't visualize any particular one. What kind of artwork did
Rebecca like? Did she choose soft colors or flashy

72

neon shades or vibrant purples and blues that signified passion?

He could not think about passion and shy Rebecca Hartwell in the same
second.

His thoughts drifted to Trish Tieney and Karina Peterson and the way
they'd both flirted with him today, then to Rebecca Hartwell and how
she'd practically avoided him.

Like it or not, she would see him tomorrow.

He ignored the small flutter of desire that curled in his belly at the
thought of spending time with her. Sure, he was a red-blooded male and
he had to admit she was attractive. But she was not the
bed-'em-and-shed-'em type. And he couldn't start something that would go
nowhere. End of story.

He forced himself to eat and block Rebecca and those blue eyes from his
mind.

Of course, the other women who'd brought him food today might give him a
one-night stand, but he couldn't accept. Another downside to small towns
was that if he slept with a woman, it was bound to get around town. And
he would never sleep with one of his patients.

All the more reason he needed to move.

He scanned the data on the Atlanta medical facility, jotting notes about
the plans for the research facilities and surgical specialities they
planned to offer, along with the fertility clinic that would be housed
inside. Maybe he'd check out Atlanta housing while he was at it. The
sooner he nailed down his plans, the better. Then he could finally have
the life he wanted....

73

The crisp winter air smelled heavenly as Rebecca left the Book Nook to
go home to her apartment. She'd rented one of the small lofts the town
had recently renovated to encourage newcomers, and loved it. The small
loving town had embraced her like the arms of one of the ancient oaks
and become her extended family, offering her a comforting haven through
friends and family.

She'd moved around all the time when she was young, never having a real
home. She couldn't imagine ever leaving or living anywhere but Sugar Hill.

Although some of the downtown area still needed a facelift, and a few
shops were struggling, Mimi's shop and hers were successful, and so was
Alison's bridal boutique, Weddings To Remember. She passed her aunt's
law practice, the antique store, Cissy's Cut and Curl, and a hardware
store. Roger Thornhill had a small feed store, and Wilbur Cummings had
opened a hobby shop across the way where the kids exchanged baseball
cards and the men met for checkers. Beside the bakery sat the butcher
shop where Jerry worked; she always avoided it on the way home. The town had

74

also added a playground in the center of the square with benches for the
moms and dads to relax.

She darted inside the florist's, gazing at the roses in the window along
with the other assorted flowers and plants, memorizing the details of
each one to add to the painting she'd started of her grandmother's
flower garden. Enchanted by the heavenly scents, she couldn't resist;
she bought a bouquet of assorted flowers to take home.

As she stepped outside, a gust of wind rustled the elms and maples and
spun the weather vane that topped the hardware store. Neon-green and
orange signs advertising her uncle Wiley's end-of-the-year used-car sale
swung back and forth above the one stop light in the town square. He'd
also run radio commercials advertising the special extravaganza on New
Year's Eve, featuring live entertainment with an Elvis Presley
impersonator scheduled to sing before Wiley gave away a car-a 1945
pickup he'd custom painted purple. Uncle Wiley was such a character, so
easy to talk to that you had to love him.

Except, he and her father didn't get along at all. She'd never quite
understood what had caused the rift between them. Her dad complained
about Uncle Wiley's outrageous ads, called him cheesy and said he was an
embarrassment to the family. Wiley claimed her father was a snob, that
he'd turned his back on his family when he'd moved to Atlanta.

Maybe they would behave themselves at Grammy's surprise party. She
certainly hoped so.

Rebecca rounded the corner to her apartment and opened the wrought-iron
gate, then froze. She heard Jerry before she saw him, his muffler
roaring above

the strains of Garth Brooks's "Shameless" bellowing from the speakers.
No matter what time of year, Jerry kept his windows rolled down.

Not wanting to face him tonight, she sprinted inside before he gathered
his thermos and lunch pail and locked up his truck. Once inside, she
ignored his phone call. Thank heavens for caller ID. After a week of him
knocking at her door unannounced, she'd learned to keep her music low
and her shades drawn. Then he never knew if she was home or simply
ignoring him.

It was easier than hurting his feelings.

She fixed herself a sandwich, then changed into her grubby clothes and
went to the easel. She'd already completed one canvas of her
grandmother's bulb garden-the white, crimson and yellow tulips and blue
hyacinths set off by the wide, sweeping border of purple Virginian
stock. This time she decided to paint the mountainscape and detail the
gazebo where her cousins had married; it would be her birthday present
to Grammy.

The next two hours Rebecca lost herself in her work, mixing colors and
painting details of the lush mountain greenery, then filling the
mountainside with day lilies and wildflowers. At last her eyes were so
heavy, she put the paints away and settled down to bed. The hope chest
glinted in the dim light of the Victorian lamp on her bedside table, the
items beckoning. She reread her grandmother's letter, each carefully
chosen word etched into her memory. Then she raised the antique mirror
to study herself.

Follow your dreams. Believe in yourself.

She whispered the words over and over in her mind.

76

The book of erotic poetry beckoned her, but she refused to torture
herself with the fantasies they evoked of a night in a man's loving arms.

Of a night with Thomas.

Instead, she crawled into bed and closed her eyes. That dream would
never come true. But maybe the other one would.

During the night, she dreamed that the sweet scent of an acacia drifted
around her. Its soft branches were clothed in pointed, silvery,
evergreen leaves, the thick double pom-poms of fragrant bright-yellow
blossoms in full bloom.

The next morning she checked the dream analysis book to see if it
mentioned dreaming of flowers, acacia especially. She found a reference
on the third page.

Acacia-to see it bloom or smell its fragrance is a lucky omen for your
most secret hope, your passion.

Could it be possible? Would her secret hope of having a baby come true?

Or did it mean that she might find the passion she hoped for with a man?

"Rebecca!" Suzanne waved. "Glad you met us." Rebecca claimed the vacant
seat beside Suzanne.

All the girls had met outside town at a small cafe

called Ms. Mabel's. Mimi and Hannah were already

seated with coffee. "Hey, sorry I'm a little late. I got

tied up with customers."

"It's been wild at the Hot Spot this morning, too,"

Mimi said. "I'm glad we could meet here or else I'd

be having to get up to help out."

"Have you heard from Alison?" Suzanne asked.

"They're enjoying their honeymoon." Hannah grinned. "I've never heard
Alison so happy."

"Newlywed bliss," Mimi said dreamily.

A seed of envy sprouted inside Rebecca. "Will she be back for Grammy's
party?"

"Yes," Hannah said. "That's one reason we decided to wait until after
New Year's."

"Okay, what do we need to do to get ready for the party?" Suzanne asked.

Mimi pulled out her planning book, and Hannah did the same.

"We're having the festivities at a little place called the Tiara Room
near Pine Mountain. They've reserved a room for us in the back and will
provide all the food."

"Except for the cake," Mimi said, "which I'll make."

"Do they have a real tiara there?" Rebecca asked.

"Apparently, they showcase one for each of their Little Miss Magnolia
pageants along with pictures of the yearly winners." Mimi gestured
toward the top of her head. "Maybe I'll buy one while I'm there. Then
Seth will know I'm queen of the house."

"I'm sure he's learned that by now," Hannah said dryly.

The girls all laughed.

"Grammy's friend, Clara Mae Wilkins, has commandeered a church bus to
bring all of Grammy's friends," Hannah said as their laughter died down.

"Good, I was afraid they wouldn't be able to attend," Rebecca said. "I
know most of them don't drive."

"Right." Hannah tapped her notepad with her pen.

78

"Clara Mae has already laid the groundwork for the surprise by inventing
a bingo outing near the Tiara Room so Grammy won't be suspicious."

"Now that we've figured out how to get Grammy to the surprise, what are
we going to do about getting our fathers there?" Hannah asked.

Mimi leaned her chin on her hand. "I don't understand this rift between
Dad and Uncle Bert. Brothers should be close, like we are."

Hannah squeezed Mimi's hand. "I know, it's a shame."

"It sure is." Suzanne sighed. "I'll do my best to convince Dad he has to
come." Suzanne turned to Rebecca. "You should call him, too, sis."

"He listens to you more than me."

Suzanne's eyes narrowed into a frown, her gaze meeting Rebecca's. She
knew their father favored her, didn't she? Or was she oblivious to the
tension between Rebecca and their dad?

"I'm sure he wants to see you, Bee." Suzanne's voice sounded so sincere.
"I just hope he and Uncle Wiley can be in the same room without slitting
each other's throats."

"Maybe we should tell each of them that the other one won't be there,"
Mimi suggested.

Hannah made a skeptical face. "That might backfire and fireworks could
explode."

Rebecca imagined the scene. "I agree. I think we should prepare them."

"But let's issue strict orders that they can't fight," Hannah said.
"They definitely have to behave," Mimi said. "We don't want anyone to
ruin Grammy's party."

"I'll see if we can't find Aunt Shelby, too," Hannah said. "No one in
the family has heard from her in ages, but I'm sure Grammy wants her there."

"It'll be like a big family reunion!" Mimi squealed. "And Maggie Rose is
starting a new generation of Hartwell girls. Maybe Hannah and Alison
will add to the crew by next year."

The girls laughed, but Rebecca remained silent, her own desire for a
baby mounting.

She was thankful when the food arrived, and the girls dug into salads,
quiches and soup. "This is divine," Suzanne said. "It reminds me of a
neat little cafe in a hotel near Little Five Points."

"Speaking of hotels," Mimi said, clapping the table. "There's a small
place adjoining the Tiara Room called the Honeysuckle Inn for anyone who
wants to stay over and not drive back that night." Mimi winked. "Seth
and I are looking forward to spending a romantic night there."

"Jake and I plan to stay over, too," Hannah said with a grin. "I can't
wait to have him all to myself, no phone calls, no emergencies for
either one of us."

"You two can bring a date," Mimi offered.

Thomas's face materialized in Rebecca's mind, but she quickly banished
it. Not only would he not want to attend a family birthday party with
her, but Alison and Brady would be there, fresh from their honeymoon. If
he still harbored feelings for her cousin, seeing the newlyweds would
only rub salt into his wounds.

80

"I might bring someone," Suzanne said. "I have been dating this hot guy
named Nick."

Rebecca winced. Of course Suzanne would have a great guy to escort her.

And like high school, she would be the wallflower.

As soon as the girls went their separate ways, Mimi pulled Hannah to the
side. "Did you see Rebecca's face when you mentioned a date?"

Hannah nodded. "Yeah, she looked kind of dreamy, then sad."

"I bet she was thinking about Thomas."

"We don't know for sure. Maybe there's someone else...."

"You didn't see her tortured expression when she asked me if I thought
he was still in love with Alison."

"That bad, huh?" Hannah asked.

Mimi nodded. "Downright pathetic. We have to give them a nudge."

"But what if he isn't interested?"

Mimi thumped her fingernail on her chin. "Feel him out this afternoon,
okay?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. "All right, but I just hope he doesn't catch on.
I don't want him to think I'm interfering in his personal life."

Mimi laughed. "Honey, men need a little interference or else they'd all
stay single forever."

Hannah chuckled, and Mimi grabbed her arm and walked with her to the
door. "You work on him and I'll work on Rebecca. Maybe we can talk her
into a shopping trip. I'll discuss it with Suzanne. We need

to swap those baggy clothes for some sexy ones, so he can see her great
figure."

Thomas escorted Rachel Lackey to the door. "Now remember, call me
anytime if you start having contractions."

"Thanks, Dr. Emerson." Rachel laid a hand over her burgeoning belly. "I
don't know what little Rodney and I would do without you."

He shrugged. "Just doing my job."

Rachel waved and left. Thomas sighed, grateful she had a husband. His
last patient, Benita Waters, had asked him to dinner right in the middle
of her exam. He'd been stunned and had resorted to his usual line- he
didn't date his patients.

Afterward, he'd heard Benita tell Hannah to switch her patient file to
Hannah for her next exam.

"Ready to call it a day?" Hannah asked.

"Yes, how about you?"

"I just finished with the Terrel twins. What a handful."

He laughed. "Doesn't make you want a kid?"

"Not like those two. They're holy terrors." She slid the chart in the
bin to be filed. "What happened with Benita? I thought she loved having
you as her doctor."

He grimaced and explained the situation.

"So you suggested she see me from now on so you could date her?" Hannah
asked.

"No." Thomas raked a hand through his hair. "I don't intend to date her.
Coming to you was her idea. Sorry about that."

"It's not your fault every single woman in town wants you."

He chuckled. "Actually, not every one does."

82

She offered a teasing smile. "Someone turn you down for a date?"

"Not exactly." He shifted, fumbling with a file, unsure whether to
confess. But, hell, what harm could it do? "Your cousin Rebecca seems
less than enthusiastic about being around me."

"Hmm. Did you ask her about the murals?"

"Yes, and she agreed. Reluctantly. I don't know what I've done to make
her uncomfortable, but I got the distinct impression she doesn't like
me." And that really bugged him.

Hannah laughed. "Then I guess you'd better turn on the charm when she
comes to paint the murals."

He shrugged, then remembered the lunch meeting to plan the party for her
grandmother. "How'd the planning session go today?"

"Great. We nailed down the details." She described the Tiara Room and
the small inn where guests would probably stay. "Oh, and Mimi mentioned
to Suzanne that she and Rebecca could bring dates."

"Really." Why did that idea bring a twinge of jealousy?

"Suzanne already has someone in mind," Hannah said. "I'm not sure about
Rebecca, though. It'll be interesting to see who she brings. It'll take
a special man to see through her shyness to the wonderful person inside."

He saw through her shyness.

And he'd better be her date, he thought, irritated with Hannah's
comment, although he didn't take the time to analyze the reason. Wasn't
he special enough for Rebecca?

He grabbed his doctor's bag and headed to the door to firm up plans
about the paintings. But he decided

to take Hannah's advice and turn on the charm, just in case he had
competition.

Not that he really wanted a date, he reminded himself. But he did want
to attend that party-to meet her father. Nothing more.

Rebecca steeled herself for her meeting with Thomas. In fact, she'd been
reading How To Get What You Want in between customers, practicing the
visualizing techniques they suggested for thinking yourself into
success. But whenever she'd imagined herself turning him on with just
one passionate look, enticing him to make love to her to get her
pregnant instead of donating his sperm into a plastic vial, visions of
her stuttering and falling on her face in front of him had slipped in.
She paced the sidewalk in front of the store where they were supposed to
meet. Thinking the fresh air would relax her, she'd suggested they walk
to the courtyard park in the square. Unfortunately, it was starting to
drizzle, and the wind had whipped up something fierce.

Why, oh, why had she agreed to do this?

She glanced along the sidewalk but didn't spot him, then heard a horn
and saw the lemon-yellow Mustang drive up in front of the store. "It's
starting to rain. Get in."

She swallowed hard, remembering the last time they'd ridden together,
when she'd driven like a maniac and almost killed him.

"Come on, Rebecca, I won't bite."

His sexy, teasing grin did nothing to relax her. But how could she argue?

She slid inside the car and fastened her seat belt.

84

"Let's talk over dinner."

"D-dinner?"

"Yes, you do eat, don't you?"

She nodded. But dinner seemed too much like a date.

"Then let's go. I know this great little place outside town. Then we can
skip back to your place."

"M-my place?" Heavens, that would be way too intimate.

You want to have this man's baby, Rebecca. For God's sake, how do you
think you'll ask him to do that if you can't even let him come to your
apartment?

85

Thomas's shoulders ached as he drove to the restaurant. Rebecca was
holding on to her seat with a death grip, as if she expected him to jump
her bones any minute.

He'd glimpsed a few very nice curves beneath that denim skirt when she'd
climbed into the car. Her breasts had swayed and dipped enticingly,
stirring his arousal. And her scent, some kind of light flowery
fragrance, was driving him wild. He turned on the radio to a soft rock
station to fill the strained silence and tried to regain his
equilibrium. Rebecca Hartwell was not supposed to affect him this way.
Good grief, he saw dozens of women all day long, and not one Sugar Hill
resident stirred his hormones like Rebecca.

Conversation. He should get her talking to thwart this insane reaction
his body seemed to be having. "What kind of music do you like?"

She cleared her throat. "Just about everything. Oh, except for rap and
hard rock."

"Favorite?"

"Country."

He hated country. "Do you like to work out?"

86

She shrugged. "I walk back and forth to work every day."

He wasn't exactly a fitness fanatic but he liked to keep in shape. "I
have a gym-" At home, he almost said, but he didn't want to sound as if
he was bragging. "I joined."

She didn't comment.

"How about sports? You follow any of the major league teams?"

"B-baseball."

"Yeah, I keep up with the Braves. But I love football."

She shuddered. She obviously hated it. "My d-dad is glued to the set on
Sundays."

So was he, but she didn't sound as if she approved. "Do you like outdoor
activities? Hiking, camping, boating? Skiing?"

"I'm not very athletic. I m-mostly like art and books."

Did they have anything in common? "I hope you like eclectic food."

"I'm easy to please."

He wished!

Another strained silence fell between them. He'd never had this much
trouble talking to a woman before in his life. Which proved that he
certainly had no business getting involved with Rebecca.

Grateful when the restaurant appeared, he filled the next few minutes as
he parked detailing the menu. He knew it by rote, everything except for
the nightly specials.

A sigh of disgust lodged in his throat. He sounded like a waiter.

"You must come here a lot," Rebecca said as she opened the car door.

"Yeah. But I have enough casseroles from the ladies so I don't have to
eat out every night."

She frowned and he wished he hadn't mentioned the casseroles. He scooted
out and hurried around to help her, but she had already stood and closed
the door. Probably didn't want to have contact with him. Did she think
he had leprosy or something?

"This way." He placed his hand at the back of her waist, well aware she
tensed when he did so, but he didn't care. Dammit, he was just trying to
be nice. The Southern gentleman his grandma raised him to be. The kind
alt the Savannah debutantes would have expected. Yet Rebecca seemed to
have no expectations.

Or desire for him, either.

The maitre d' seated them at a small table in the corner. The lighting
was dim, the spicy aroma filling the room with delicious odors, the soft
strains of violin music adding to the ambience.

"It smells wonderful." Rebecca took the menu and studied it, chewing on
her lip.

"May I get you some drinks?" the waiter asked.

"W-water," Rebecca said.

"I'll have unsweetened iced tea. And let me see the wine list." He
opened it and scanned the selections, naming a few for Rebecca to choose
from.

"Wine's not n-necessary," she said.

Irritation flitted through him. "Rebecca, we're just going to have a
glass. I'm not trying to seduce you, so you can relax."

"I didn't mean to imply you were. I mean, I'm sure you wouldn't do such
a thing."

88

Did the idea of him seducing her disgust her so much? He exhaled
noisily. "What do you mean?"

"I..." She dropped her head forward, that long, blond hair spilling down
like a silky curtain. "You...you and I. It's silly."

Anger deepened his voice. "What's so silly about it? And why are you
avoiding me?" Had he really blurted that out?

She gaped at him, her big blue eyes enormous beneath those glasses.
"I...who said I was avoiding you?"

"It sure seems that way."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"You don't have to raise your voice."

He closed his eyes and reined in a temper he didn't even know he
possessed. When he opened them, she was watching him warily. He swore he
saw the beginning of a tear in her eye and felt as if he'd just kicked a
puppy.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me." Literally. Suddenly
hot, he tugged at his collar, then instinctively reached out and covered
her hand with his. She felt delicate and soft, a warmth radiating from
her hand to his. He'd never been claustrophobic, but he suddenly felt
closed in. At the same time he contemplated what it would feel like to
pull her in his arms. "I guess I misunderstood. You've been so
standoffish I thought you disliked me."

A whispery breath escaped her. "It's not that. I just know you wouldn't
try to seduce a girl like me."

Was she crazy? "And why not?"

Her eyelashes fluttered. "We...have nothing in common."

"Sometimes opposites attract."

"But you're outgoing. I'm too sh-shy. Too quiet. Bookish."

"I like books. And quiet people are good listeners."

A small smile curved her pink lips.

"Besides, we're just talking about being friends," he said, determined
to put her at ease. He didn't want to seduce her. Did he?

"Right."

Was that disappointment lacing her voice? He studied her, trying to read
her reaction, but the waiter interrupted, and he ordered two glasses of
Merlot. She chose a northern Italian salmon pasta with artichoke hearts
and he ordered the steak and lobster.

After the waiter brought their drinks, he raised his glass, but his hand
trembled just as it had the first time he'd entered a delivery room,
which was ridiculous. Seeing Rebecca was nothing like taking his first
giant step into medicine. "Can we start over?"

She nodded and met his gaze. This time her vibrant blue eyes sparkled
with interest, and his belly tightened.

"To f-friendship."

She clinked his glass. "To f-friendship."

"And to art."

She laughed softly this time. "I can't believe you hired me and you
haven't even seen my work. I normally don't show it to strangers."

"Then I'll be honored," he said honestly.

"Really, you didn't have to take the time to do this. I could work out
the arrangement with Hannah."

90

She would like that, wouldn't she? Another dodging maneuver.

"No need for that." He covered her hand with his again. "I think we'll
work together just fine, Rebecca."

Rebecca finally relaxed and managed to string together a few complete
sentences rather than the monosyllabic answers she'd produced in the
car-at least enough to get him talking about his family.

Yet, she still lapsed into wondering why any man would want her. Talk
about uninteresting. She wasn't athletic. Didn't like sports. Just art
and books.

She might as well brand the word boring on her forehead!

"So, I'm an only child," his voice grew low as he finished. "I lost the
one brother at birth, I think I mentioned him to you before. I was
twelve but I'll never forget the day he died."

"I'm so sorry." He looked so desolate for a second, she laid her hand
over his.

He curled his fingers into hers for a brief second and squeezed gently,
sending a current of delicious sensations spiraling through her. A bead
of perspiration gathered inside her dress and rolled into her bra.
Gracious, the man did things to her.

Then he pulled away and sipped his glass of wine. "Tell me about your
family. You have the one sister, that's all?"

"Yep, just me and Suzanne."

"She lives in Atlanta?"

"Y-yes." Darn it, there she went stuttering again. All because they were
talking about her gorgeous sister. "She works for a land development
company." And likes to ski and go to the gym.

Maybe she should fix the two of them up.

Heaven help her, what could she be thinking?

"Are you close to your father?"

Rebecca shrugged and toyed with her napkin. "We don't talk a lot. He's
busy with his new wife."

"You seem close to Hannah and Mimi and Alison."

"I am." Rebecca smiled, thinking how her cousins had always drawn her in
to their group. Was he wishing Alison was sitting across the table from him?

He stretched back while the waiter took their plates, then ordered
coffee for both of them. Seconds later the rich, dark brew was delivered.

"I lined up the crew to paint. We're closing the clinic on the
twenty-eighth, so hopefully the grunt work will be completed before New
Year's. Maybe you can start right after that."

"Sure. I have inventory at the bookstore, but my assistant can handle
that. Do you have anything specific in mind for the murals?"

"I was hoping you did. I'm not very creative."

Rebecca stirred sweetener into her coffee. "I normally paint landscapes.
I've done a few children's murals, too."

"Mimi was excited about the one you did for Maggie Rose."

"That was my baby present to her."

"She loved it. It was an animal scene, right?"

She nodded. "Actually, I have been thinking of a few ideas."

"I'm all yours-" he snapped his head up "-I mean, all ears."

92

She laughed. Of course he hadn't meant that, although the words conjured
up fascinating images. "How many exam rooms are there?"

"Six. Normally I use three, Hannah uses the other three for her family
practice."

"All right. I could paint some landscape or floral scenes in the adult
rooms, maybe a garden scene or the mountains in the winter. Then I'll do
a couple of murals for kids in the family exam rooms. Maybe a zoo scene
and a dinosaur one. Those are universally popular with kids."

He nodded. "That sounds great. We could even designate the rooms with a
name for each scene."

Excitement swelled in Rebecca's chest. As they left the restaurant, she
gave herself a silent pat on the back for surviving dinner without
making a fool of herself.

Still, she hadn't broached the subject of the baby plan. Maybe when she
got to know him just a little bit better....

She absolutely couldn't let herself fall for him, though. After all,
they had nothing in common. In fact, in some ways he reminded her of her
father-his job, his interests, his ambition.

She could never be with someone as driven as her dad. His work required
cocktail parties and business dinners, the very reason he always wanted
some sophisticated woman by his side...and the reason Suzanne was his
favorite. She handled social events like a professional hostess. Her
father's house was gigantic, formally decorated with modern sculptures
and pristine white walls, not at all a welcoming home for a family or
children. It was more of an entertainment palace.

Would Thomas want that kind of life one day, too? A wife to help him
entertain colleagues and throw dinner parties for the hospital board. He
was so intelligent. Would he be satisfied to stay a small-town doctor
forever?

Or would he leave Sugar Hill one day to pursue bigger things, as her
father had done?

Thomas followed Rebecca up the stairs to her flat, admiring the colorful
pansies in the window boxes and the country-style, woodcrafted welcome
sign on the front door. A beefy guy wearing grubby jeans yelled from
below, "Yo, Becky."

Rebecca tensed and pivoted to glance down the stairway, then offered the
man a small wave.

"New Year's is still lookin' good."

"We'll talk later." She fumbled with the key, then rushed inside.

He swung another look at the guy below before he stepped into the
apartment, wondering at his relationship with Rebecca. But since she
didn't comment, he decided not to pry. If the man was her boyfriend, why
should he care? After all, he would be leaving soon, right?

The entryway of her apartment showcased antiques and homemade craft
items with cross-stitch samplers and a collection of small wooden
birdhouses in blues and yellows. Books overflowed an oak bookcase, while
photos of her family lined one wall. An eight-by-ten of Rebecca with her
father and sister sat on a table behind a Victorian sofa. Rebecca must
have been about twelve in the photo, her sister a couple of years
younger. She was scrawny and wore baggy clothes

94

and her glasses, a picture of innocence and youth. But his heart tugged
slightly at the sadness in her smile. Her father looked big and burly
next to her, a powerful figure for such a dainty little child. He had
his arm around both girls but his smile seemed aimed toward Suzanne.

"My loft isn't very big," Rebecca said, "but I like it here."

"It's cozy," he said. "A real home."

The very opposite of his showy, modern house.

And what were those delicious smells? Brownies? Apples and cinnamon
maybe? It felt as if he'd just stepped into his grandmother's house.

Except Rebecca did not remind him of his grandmother in any way. Maybe
the glasses, but behind those wire rims lay the sexiest blue eyes he'd
ever seen.

Since when had he associated the word sexy with Rebecca?

Sweet, attractive, maybe, but sexy?

"My studio's in the spare room. It's small, too, but the lighting is good."

He passed the adjoining kitchen, then another room, which was obviously
Rebecca's bedroom. A handmade quilt topped an antique white iron bed
with dozens of pillows piled near the headboard.

He tried not to imagine Rebecca in that bed, but the image floated to
him anyway. Her lounging against the pillows, looking at him with hunger
in her eyes.

Thankfully, she couldn't tell his mind was wandering. In fact, she'd
practically flown past the room and was already standing in the doorway
of the studio. Small was right. The studio would only fill half of the

walk-in closet in his master suite, but natural light spilled in through
a skylight, and the ten-foot ceiling added dimension. The vibrant
paintings on the walls and the canvases in process took the wind from
his lungs and breathed life into the room.

"Oh, my God, these are beautiful."

Rebecca's face broke out into a smile. "You really like them?"

His eyes were glued to the mountainside with day lilies and blue and
purple flowers dotting the carpet of green grass. The wide sweeping lush
forest rose beyond, and a gazebo draped in red roses sat perched on the
edge of the mountainside overlooking the valley. "That's the most
exquisite place I've ever seen."

"It's my grandmother's house."

"Where Alison and Brady got married?"

"Yes." Rebecca turned to him. "I hope it's not too painful for you."

It took him a minute for the implication to sink in. Did she think he
still harbored feelings for her cousin? "I'm happy for Alison," he said
truthfully. "I realized that we were just good friends."

"Oh."

"And I meant that the painting is beautiful, Rebecca. I'm not much of an
art expert, but any fool can see you captured the essence of the mood of
the place in its natural state." His gaze swept the other canvases, the
tulip garden, the rock walkway surrounding it, another raw piece of an
old clapboard house with an ancient well. "You're very talented."

She fidgeted with a paintbrush on the easel next to her. "I enjoy it."

He met her gaze. "It shows." Every line, every

96

stroke of the brush, her attention to detail all hinted at the inner
woman. The vibrant colors and hues radiated warmth, energy and a passion
for life, yet he detected an underlying sensitivity steeped with emotion.

His gaze fell to her slender hands, and he imagined her stroking the
brush across the canvas, immersed in the mood of the moment. Then an
image of her stroking those long nimble fingers across the bare expanse
of his chest flashed into his mind, and his heart began to pound.

If she put that much feeling into her art, what would making love to her
be like?

97

Thomas tried his best to shake off the thought and dragged his gaze from
her paintings to her face. A big mistake. His praise earned a radiant
smile. Pink rosebud lips turned up like the budding petals of a rose
opening to the sun, beckoning for his touch. He stared at her mouth for
a hungry moment, watched as her gaze fastened onto his lips. His mouth
parted involuntarily. The heartbeat of silence between them stretched
into an eternity. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and he nearly
groaned out loud at the tiny, sultry movement. His body hardened in
response. He wanted to taste her. To trace that trembling pulse at the
base of her throat where desire sprang to life. To have her whisper his
name in that sweet throaty voice and open up to him.

Good heavens, what was he doing?

He'd toasted her as a friend earlier, and that was all he wanted.
Friendship and her connection to her father.

"You really should show these," he said, surprised that his voice worked
at all when his brain had taken a disastrous detour into lustful
fantasies. Like how Rebecca

98

would look lying in his arms beneath the skylight with only moonlight
spilling over her body. Like that rosebud ready to bloom with those
petals coming alive for him....

Her smile faded slightly, and she folded her arms beneath her breasts.
"No. I paint just for myself and my family."

"And friends."

She blushed again. "I've never done that before."

So he was her first.

A quiver of longing snaked through him again, more intense this time.
Would he be her first in other ways, too?

Shaken by that thought, he was grateful when the phone rang. She jerked
as if surprised, then stepped over to the end table and looked at the
caller ID. She let it ring once, twice.

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

She nodded and picked it up. "Hello, Suzanne."

Girls. They'd probably talk forever. He pounced on the opportunity and
decided to leave before he did anything stupid.

But they had had such a nice evening, he didn't want to be rude. So he
moved closer to her, then lifted a strand of her silky hair from her
neck and whispered, "Thanks for having dinner with me. I had a great
time. I'll call you tomorrow." Then without analyzing why or what he was
doing, he brushed a gentle kiss to the hollow of her throat.

At the feel of Thomas's lips on her neck, Rebecca quivered with longing
that arose from somewhere deep inside her. Then he disappeared, and she
sank onto the

couch, breathless, wondering why he'd kissed her. And wishing he hadn't
left.

Had she misinterpreted the look he'd given her earlier? She'd thought
she'd seen hunger in his eyes. For her.

No, it couldn't be.

He'd said they were friends.

"Rebecca, are you listening?" Suzanne's voice broke into the haze around
her.

Still, she savored the sensations spiraling through her, memorizing his
masculine scent and the lingering whisper of his kiss. "Yes."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Attracted to a man who is all wrong for me. I want to
ask him to give me a baby but I don't have the nerve.

"Like I was saying, Mimi called earlier, and she and Hannah plan to come
to Atlanta on a shopping spree to pick new outfits for the party. I hope
you're coming with them."

A shopping trip with all the girls? "I...I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Rebecca, don't be a fuddy-dud. You can use a new wardrobe."

She glanced down at her loose-fitting dress. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Suzanne sighed. "Nothing, if you want people to think you're an old
school marm."

"My clothes are comfortable. Besides, I sell books in a small town-"

"That doesn't mean you have to look like the spinster librarian. Come
on, it'll be fun." Suzanne's voice grew excited. "We'll get free
makeovers and have

100

lunch. Oh, and there's a great lingerie shop we can buy some fancy
underthings, too. You never know when you might be taking your clothes
off for some sexy guy!"

Rebecca faked a laugh. Yeah, right. If only she had that problem to
worry about.

Thomas turned on his treadmill and began to walk, then jog, hoping the
exercise would purge the desire to call Rebecca and hear her voice
again. That stupid kiss had done something to him. His lips had never
tasted skin that actually made him tingle from the inside out.

He had wanted to dip his mouth and taste her lips, then lower down her
neck and beyond....

He adjusted the speed on the machine and sped up until he was sweating.
What was wrong with him?

He'd never been interested in art before, but the passion in those
pictures had aroused him and his curiosity about the woman who had
painted them. They were just landscapes, for God's sake. It wasn't as if
she'd painted nudes or erotic love scenes.

Don't think about the paintings-think about that homey little apartment.
All those antiques and family photos and hand-knitted afghans. Rebecca
was a homebody. She'd obviously settled in Sugar Hill for life.

And he didn't intend to.

He planned to move on. When he went to Atlanta, he'd find some
sophisticated city woman to keep him company. And if he ever did decide
to open up his heart again, it would be with someone who enjoyed

the same activities he did, hiking and skiing and...and football!

Someone who'd help him in his drive for success.

He picked up the pace and ran until he thought he would collapse. Until
the images of Rebecca lying naked beneath that skylight faded and
reality returned. Images of Rebecca crashing his car and nearly killing
him with her driving replaced the fantasies.

If he allowed himself to care about her, she might break his heart. Or
he'd hurt her and feel like a heel when he moved to Atlanta.

His phone jangled, and he turned off the treadmill, swiped a towel
across his sweating face and reached for it, half hoping to hear
Rebecca's voice on the other end of the line.

Instead Rachel Lackey's frantic husband bellowed with worry. "Rachel's
in labor, Doc. And I think-" his voice broke "-I think something's wrong."

Rebecca was certain she wouldn't need new underwear, but she could
hardly turn down an outing with her cousins and sister without seeming
like a real bore, so she agreed to join them and hung up. She touched
her finger to her neck, where her skin felt hot from Thomas's lips. It
couldn't hurt to spruce up herself and her wardrobe. Maybe then she
could summon up the confidence to ask Thomas about her plan.

Except after that near-kiss, maybe she'd forget about in vitro and
consider approaching the baby plan the old-fashioned way. Would she ever
have the nerve to ask Thomas? Would he be interested even if she did?

Her gaze landed on the hope chest. She traced a

102

finger over the intricate carvings on the silver handle of the comb and
mirror set, then raised the mirror and looked into the antique glass.
What had Thomas thought when he'd looked at her earlier? Did he see a
dowdy-looking spinster or the lonely girl who ached inside for love? For
a man's touch?

As she placed the mirror in the hope chest, she dragged the handmade
afghan over her, then picked up the book of erotic poetry and stretched
out on her bed. Several passages later the images the words evoked
sprang to life. Bodies entwined. Lovers' lips meeting and parting.
Tasting. Exploring. Taunting. Seeking.

She picked up her sketchbook, knowing she had to express herself the
only way she knew how. Though she had always blushed and been nervous
when she'd had to sketch nudes in her drawing classes, here in the
privacy of her bedroom, the lines and angles of the man's body flew from
her fingertips. The mouth, the eyes, the subtle hint of a smile, of
desire. Broad shoulders, muscles defined, a wide chest narrowing to lean
muscular hips. Thick dark hair sprinkled over hard muscular thighs and
calves. She hesitated. Told herself not to continue. To tear up the
sketch and throw it away, just as she should throw away these silly
fantasies.

But her hand disobeyed, and the artist in her continued to sketch, to
fill in the details of his physique. Strong. Defined. Bold.

And when she finished, she stared at the face of the man she'd sketched
and couldn't believe her eyes. It might have been the best freehand
drawing she'd ever done.

Only, no one would ever see it. Especially her subject.

Thomas.

She chuckled sardonically. When she'd been drawing, she hadn't thought
once about her baby plan....

It was early morning before Thomas allowed himself to leave the
hospital. Even then he hated to abandon the Lackeys. The delivery had
not gone well, although they had stabilized the baby enough to transfer
it to the neonatal unit in Atlanta. He and the pediatrician in town,
Josh Redgrave, had both picked up on heart problems. The infant needed
surgery right away along with more extensive tests they weren't equipped
to conduct at Sugar Hill General.

The Lackeys' reaction had been difficult to handle, the situation
frightening for everyone, and Rachel's husband had needed someone to
blame. He'd taken his distress out on his wife and Thomas.

He'd bluntly accused Thomas of not giving her proper prenatal care.

Thomas had reviewed the details of Rachel's pregnancy a dozen times, but
his answer always went back to the genetics factor, which wasn't the
explanation Larry Lackey had wanted to hear. Thomas understood the
problems, the anger, the denial, the inclination to blame someone,
although there was nothing any of them could have done to predict the
infant's health problems. And unfortunately, they still couldn't assure
the couple the baby would survive.

The memory of his lovely evening with Rebecca emerged like sunshine
breaking through thunderclouds, but he suppressed it immediately as he
pulled

104

off his clothes and stretched out on his bed, exhausted. The empty house
echoed with silence, the scent of furniture polish and pine cleaner
strong. No homey smells like freshly baked brownies or that
apple-cinnamony scent he'd detected at Rebecca's.

Forget Rebecca. This house was what he wanted. Big, impressive,
perfectly decorated. The kind of place he could entertain a hospital
board, even throw a party for potential charity drives. Still, the
massive rooms weren't as comforting in the dark of night as he'd
imagined when he'd first purchased the house. He closed his eyes and
tried to find the peace he so craved, but instead he saw the pale Lackey
baby squirming in the incubator and his forlorn parents watching helplessly.

Just like his parents had years ago with his baby brother. And just as
he had....

He fisted his hands and pounded the covers. No matter how hard he tried
and how much he learned, there would always be problem deliveries, sick
infants...

The sooner he moved to Atlanta the better.

"You look fabulous!" Suzanne shrieked as Mimi modeled a black crepe
off-the-shoulder dress that hugged her curves. "And the sapphire blue is
you, Hannah."

Mimi giggled and wiggled her hips. "It's nice to have some shape again."

Hannah waved a hand. "Oh, hush, Mimi, you looked fabulous pregnant."

"Yes, you did, Mimi," Rebecca added, imagining her own body growing with
a child.

Suzanne held up an emerald-green backless dress. It was slinky and sexy,
as if the designer had Suzanne in mind when she'd created it. "What do
you think?"

"Try it on," Mimi coached.

"You'll look great in it," Rebecca said. "Of course, with your figure
you'd look great in anything."

Suzanne laughed. "Right. With the help of a Won-derbra," Suzanne said.
"But it's not so much fun when the clothes come off and the guy realizes
half the up-front is not real."

Rebecca shook her head. "I can't imagine any guy being disappointed in you."

"Then tell me why Nick dumped me."

"'Cause he's a fool," Mimi said.

"An idiot," Hannah chimed in.

Suzanne laughed again. "Thanks. I needed that. I've been so depressed
about the whole thing. I just can't seem to find anyone serious. Every
guy I date in Atlanta just wants sex, no commitments. Is that what I
look like? The love-'em-and-leave-'em type?"

"Of course not," Mimi said.

"That's their problem," Hannah said.

"Except it's starting to get to me," Suzanne said, sounding frustrated.

Rebecca quirked her head sideways, surprised at the sincerity in
Suzanne's admission. She never thought Suzanne got depressed. Or that
any man dumped her.

Whereas, Rebecca's middle name was dump. In high school, three guys had
cozied up to her, pretending interest, only to discover they really
wanted Suzanne. Memories of prom night her senior year surfaced. When
Suzanne's date had come down with the

106

flu the day before the prom, Rebecca's date had canceled right in front
of everyone in the lunch line at school, then turned and asked Suzanne
in class that afternoon. Of course, Suzanne had refused him. She'd also
ditched the other guys when she'd discovered their sneaky plan. But
Rebecca had been so humiliated.

The memories resurrected all her old insecurities. She suddenly wanted
to go home, to forget this silly shopping trip. To bury herself back in
her baggy dresses and books and art.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Suzanne pointed to a rack of custom designed
gowns. "Rebecca, get busy and try on some dresses. We still have to
check out the lingerie."

Rebecca wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure any of these are me." They were
too expensive. Too showy. Too revealing.

"Are you kidding?" Mimi plucked up a hot-pink dress with spaghetti
straps. "Try this one for starters."

"Oh, and you have to try this maroon cocktail dress," Hannah said. "This
color will drive men wild."

"And I like this violet off-the-shoulder sheath for you," Suzanne said.
"The color will accentuate the blue in your eyes."

"She's right. Play up your best features." Mimi leaned back and gave
Rebecca a critical look. "Your eyes are definitely one of them. But you
have great curves, too. You simply need to show them off."

"I know. Can you believe it?" Suzanne hitched out a hip. "In middle
school, she had great boobs when I was stick straight. All the boys used
to swoon over her."

"They didn't swoon. They gaped and whispered all kinds of moronic
cracks," Rebecca said in horror. "I hated it."

"Well, enjoy it now." Mimi pushed her toward the dressing room. "With
your body and sweet personality, you'll be a great catch for some lucky
guy."

"Maybe even a doctor," Hannah said.

Rebecca's face felt hot. Had Hannah and Mimi guessed that she was
attracted to Thomas? Had they told him?

Mortified at the thought, she gathered the dresses and hurried into the
fitting room. Seconds later she teetered out wearing the violet dress
along with a pair of sparkly gold heels Mimi had unearthed earlier at a
sale rack and convinced her she had to have. The crisscross of the back
revealed a lot of skin without being too risque, and the length fell
nicely just below her knees. But the clingy fabric hugged every curvy
inch of her. She felt half-naked, as if every fatal flaw she had was
flashing like a cheap neon sign.

"You look fantastic," Hannah said.

Suzanne whistled. "No doubt. You have to buy that one."

"Those have-sex-with-me shoes will snare any man," Mimi said. "Mark my
words."

Rebecca checked the price tag on the dress. "I don't know-"

Suzanne held up a warning hand. "Don't argue, sis. I'll pay for it.
Consider it an early birthday gift."

"He'll probably want to take off the dress and just do it with you in
the shoes," Mimi said.

108

Rebecca's face blanched.

"Mimi," Hannah said with an eye roll, "you're incorrigible."

Mimi batted innocent eyes. "Well, he will."

Suzanne grinned. "She's right. And you have to call us and tell us all
the juicy details the morning after."

As if there were going to be a romantic rendezvous with juicy details
and a morning after. Rebecca ducked back inside the fitting room to
change, heat flushing over her entire body.

Three hours later the girls left the shopping mall, each with several
packages. Rebecca had a new wardrobe. Suzanne and Mimi and Hannah had
dragged her from store to store, selecting casual clothes as well as
dating clothes, everything from jeans and sweaters to casual slacks and
silk camisoles and T-shirts to party dresses, shoes and lingerie. Then
they'd stopped by the cosmetic counter for a quick makeover, then
browsed through the bath shop for bubble bath and oils along with
scented candles and lotions and body sprays.

Like she needed a lot of dating clothes and bubble bath and body sprays!

And the underwear...ohh, her skin tingled just thinking about the soft
scraps of decadent lace. She had never felt sexier than when she'd tried
on the skimpy pieces, just like Mimi promised.

What would Thomas think of the selections?

She shook her head, unable to believe her own straying thoughts. Thomas
would not see her underwear.

"We're going to the baby department," Mimi said.

"I have to find Maggie Rose something to wear to the party, too."

"You're not going to dress Maggie in those pink frilly dresses, like the
ones you refused to wear, are you, Mimi?" Hannah asked with a wink.

"Well, she's a little young for belly dancing clothes or sequins," Mimi
said. "But maybe we can find something in between."

The girls laughed, but Rebecca's heart fluttered. She'd give anything to
be picking out her own baby's clothes.

"While they visit the infant department, let's call Dad's office and
stop by if he's in," Suzanne suggested. "We can talk to him about Grammy
Rose's party."

Rebecca resisted the urge to balk. As much as she dreaded seeing her
father dote on Suzanne the entire party, her grandmother would be
disappointed if he didn't attend.

But what if he and Uncle Wiley broke out into a fight and ruined the
surprise party?

Thomas had a terrible Saturday. Instead of catching up on the latest
medical journals, which he usually did on his day off, he couldn't
concentrate for worrying about the Lackey baby. He'd phoned the Atlanta
hospital only to be put off twice. The doctors had been running tests,
concurring, administering more tests. Then they'd had to meet with the
Lackeys.

The diagnosis included extensive surgery involving the baby's heart and
lungs. He would stay in the hospital for weeks. And still there was the
off chance that he might not survive.

110

Thomas reviewed every sonogram he'd taken during Rachel's pregnancy,
looking for any details that might have clued him in to a problem, but
found nothing. The realization that he couldn't have detected the boy's
health problems alleviated some of his anxiety but also made him feel
weak and powerless, limited by mankind and technology. He needed more
expertise, more cutting-edge technology.

He paced the confines of his office when a knock jerked his head up.
Otis Sandier had phoned him first thing this morning. He'd pulled
together a work crew of teenagers to paint the exam rooms and would
complete the project sooner than Thomas anticipated.

"We've finished the first three rooms," Otis said. "We can get the
others done tomorrow."

"You don't have to work on Sunday," Thomas said.

Otis shrugged. "The boys want to. They're all trying to earn money for
their senior trip."

Thomas shrugged. "All right."

As soon as the crew left, the place felt empty and quiet. Just like his
big house would, which was the reason he'd had to leave this morning.
His own doubts and fears had echoed off the ten-foot ceilings all night.

Frustrated but not knowing where he intended to go, he grabbed his keys
and headed to the yellow Mustang. His Porsche should be ready in a few
days, he'd have to tell Rebecca so she could stop worrying.

Rebecca. He'd tried not to think about her today. About how her neck had
tasted. About that artwork and the passion he sensed within the quiet,
shy girl who'd painted it.

He zipped out of the parking lot, telling himself he

would not go to see Rebecca. Not tonight. Not when he felt needy and lonely.

But he ended up at her apartment anyway. Knocking on the door. Wondering
what he'd say if she answered.

Wondering what he'd do if she didn't.

113

Rebecca felt decadent. After leaving her sister in Atlanta and listening
to Hannah and Mimi chatter on about how their hope chests had triggered
the events that had resulted in their proposals, her imagination had
gone wild. Maybe there was something to the magic surrounding the hope
chests, after all.

Optimistic, she'd spread all her new purchases across her bed and
imagined wearing them for Thomas. Finally she decided to experiment with
the bath products and aromatherapy candles. The combination of lavender,
ylang-ylang and grapefruit was supposed to relax her. The lavender
candle represented comfort in romance, idealism and tranquility. Mimi
claimed cinnamon was supposed to be especially enticing to a man.

Did the apple-cinnamon muffins she'd baked for the meals on wheels
count? She could smell them in the house.

Not that she had any exciting plans later....

No, if she did, she'd use the jasmine perfume that had cost way too
much. Just a little dab at the nape of the neck and between her breasts
promised to drive

men wild with desire. Just what she'd like to do with Thomas. Then she
could have a good old-fashioned evening of sexy lovemaking... the way a
baby was meant to be created.

The thought made her grow still for a moment. Was she acting out of
desperation or selfishness to want a child of her own?

In a perfect world, Thomas would fall in love with her, and the question
would be moot. She closed her eyes, remembering the erotic poetry Grammy
Rose had given her. The words hummed through her head in a sultry melody.

The doorbell rang and she froze, the hot bubbly water sloshing around
her as she grappled with the return to reality.

What if it was Jerry?

The mere idea obliterated the poetry from her mind.

She still hadn't talked to him about New Year's Eve, and it was only two
nights away. Surely he'd gotten the hint.

The doorbell chimed again.

Drat.

She didn't want a romantic evening or any other kind with the clumsy oaf.

Knowing she couldn't stall the final no forever, she dried off, then
pulled on her new velour robe and tied the sash, grinning as she
remembered the girls raving about the rose color highlighting the
natural rosy glow of her cheeks. She checked the antique mirror from the
hope chest-yep, pink as a rose.

Not that she wanted to look especially good or rosy for Jerry. Quite the
opposite. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea. Maybe she should
close those

114

cinnamon muffins up tight before she opened the door, and put on her
ratty flannel.

The doorbell blared again. He was awfully persistent tonight.

Steeling herself to whip out a fast refusal to any invitations he might
offer, she opened the door. But instead of the big-bellied neighbor with
the leering eyes, Thomas stood on the other side.

And his eyes definitely weren't leering. They were sinfully wanting as
they traveled over her, all the way from the damp tendrils of her hair
down to her bare hot-pink toes. Toes that curled upward at the wild heat
flaring in his eyes.

Thomas had no idea why he'd driven to Rebecca's except that her place
reminded him of comfort and home, and she was safe.

At least, he'd thought she was safe.

Until she'd opened the door.

Good grief! What had she done to herself? The exotic scents of some kind
of body bath floated around him, the scent of cinnamon and lavender and
sultry woman colliding in one big sensory storm that assaulted his nerve
endings and took his arousal to a completely new level.

"Thomas?" her voice squeaked out, hoarse and throaty which only cranked
that arousal up another notch.

"I...I..." Why had he come? "I wanted to tell you that the painters came
today." Lame. Lame. Lame. "So you can start the murals anytime." Now go,
before you peel off that puff of a robe and taste that delicious skin.

"Oh?" She fidgeted with the top of her robe. If she was trying to cover
herself, it was too damn late. He'd already spied more than a hint of
cleavage and realized that Rebecca had indeed been hiding some very nice
curves. Some very voluptuous curves that jumpstarted all kinds of wicked
fantasies.

"That was fast."

He nodded mutely. What were they talking about?

"D-did you want to come in?"

Did he? Lord, yes.

Should he? Hell, no.

"Thomas, are you all right?"

"It's been a bad day."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Her voice dripped with sweet concern. "Come on in. I
can make some coffee or tea."

"C-coffee would be great." Now he was stuttering. But as she turned and
he followed her to the small kitchen alcove, he was so mesmerized by the
sway of her hips encased in that slinky rose material, he forgot to
speak altogether. Some men preferred skinny women like the thin models
in magazines, but he definitely preferred a woman with shape.

And Rebecca had plenty of curves.

Hands jammed into his pockets so he wouldn't touch her, he watched as
she busied herself starting coffee. She also turned on the teapot and
removed two cups from the oak cupboard, then sat sweetener in a small
dish on the bar and poured milk into a dainty little creamer with tulips
painted on the side. Finally she offered him a cinnamon muffin. "I make
them for the meals on wheels," she explained.

That comment should have yanked his libido back in place fast, but he
was too far gone.

116

"So, what happened today, Thomas?"

His frustration and worry over the boy's future returned.

The way Larry Lackey had blamed him.

His desire for anything but comfort forgotten, he told her about the
delivery.

Rebecca had never seen anyone look so miserable as he relayed the
excruciating details of the difficult delivery and Larry Lackey's
accusations. In light of the guilt Lackey's words evoked, the weight and
responsibility of Thomas's job seemed even more magnified.

She could no more resist comforting him than she could resist drawing
her next breath. She took the stool beside him and pressed her hand over
his. "Mr. Lackey was just in pain, Thomas," Rebecca said softly.
"Lashing out, reacting out of anger. I'm sure he didn't mean what he
said. He'll realize it and apologize later."

"I know that, but still, if there was more I could have done..." Thomas
stretched his fingers out in front of him as if he had to examine his
hands for any flaws. "I've reviewed all Rachel Lackey's files-"

"And there was no way you could have predicted the child's problem." She
squeezed his hand, feeling the tension knotted in his fingers as he
gripped hers tightly. "You're not God, Thomas. You're a doctor. You can
only do the best you can, and then put it in His hands."

He stared at her as if she was speaking some foreign language, but
somewhere deep in those green eyes she saw the struggle. He wanted to
believe her, yet the

Lackeys' attitude and his own baby brother's death haunted him.

"It's not that I'm a religious fanatic, but I do believe in faith,"
Rebecca continued softly. "You have a talent, Thomas, and you're using
it. That's a blessing." She felt more tension draining slowly from him
as his hand relaxed into hers. "Do the Lackeys realize how lucky they
were that they have you as their doctor? Just think what might have
happened if you hadn't been there." Her voice gained momentum. "What if
we didn't have an OB-GYN in Sugar Hill, or what if we had some old
geezer who didn't keep up with the latest advances in medicine? Someone
who didn't care? Then where would the town be?"

"I never thought about it like that."

"Then think about it now." Anger simmered below the surface of her
words. "Hannah's a great family practitioner, but she's not a
specialist, Thomas. Sugar Hill needs you."

His gaze dropped to their joined hands for a long moment that was
fraught with tension. The ticking of the antique cuckoo clock in the
background amplified the silence while the whisper of his breath
awakened instincts long dormant.

Then he shocked her by lifting her hand to his mouth and pressing his
lips to the tender surface.

Rebecca's breath caught in her chest.

"You are such a sweetheart," Thomas said. "I've never met anyone like
you, Rebecca." He closed his eyes and brought their joined hands up to
his cheek, then leaned against them.

Rebecca ached for him. She forgot her shyness.

118

Her inhibitions. That this man was a part of some baby plan.

She simply wanted to hold him.

With a strangled sigh of his name, she gently touched his cheek, then
angled his face until he looked into her eyes. Their gazes locked for a
tender moment, then the anguish in his expression melted away and
something hot and primal replaced it.

He caught her face between his hands, lowered his mouth and kissed her.

Thomas had no idea what overcame him, except that possessing Rebecca,
even in some small way, drove him like a demon. She was the nicest, most
honest, most compassionate woman he'd ever known. She volunteered at the
church, organized a reading club to encourage kids, and her quiet
compassion allowed him to voice his most troubled thoughts.

He'd never tasted lips so sweet and gentle, or touched a woman's cheek
that aroused him the way her soap-scented tender skin did.

He deepened the kiss, teasing her lips apart with his tongue until he
dove inside to explore the recesses of her mouth, just as he wanted to
explore her mind.

And her heart.

Beneath that lovely figure beat the heart of an angel.

And the womanly body of a temptress.

His hand trailed slowly down to trace a path along her jaw, grazed
across the slender column of her neck, stroked the curve of her shoulder
until he pulled her against him. He felt the small tremors in her body
as her breasts pushed into his chest. His heart racing, he tore his
mouth from hers to nibble at her ear, then

lower to the sensitive shell of her ear. And when he dipped below to her
neck and tasted the lavender there, she moaned softly and clung to his
arms. His other hand snaked into her hair and tugged at the gold clasp
binding it, and he dropped the clasp to the counter with a clatter. Her
nails dug into his arms as he threaded his fingers into the tangled
tresses and combed them down over her shoulders. He pushed the robe
gently aside so long, blond hair spilled onto bare shoulders.

Then he pulled back to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her vibrant
eyes alight with passion. The low moan that erupted from her parted lips
nearly tore him in two. The provocative hint of the forbidden shimmered
in the slight tremble of her body as his gaze devoured the tantalizing
sight of her bare shoulders.

He wanted more.

Wanted to lower that robe and taste the innocent erotic flesh below. To
strip her of everything and then let his skin slide across hers in a
sinful game of torture.

He had never felt this way about a woman before.

The power of the emotion shook him to the core.

"Thomas." She murmured his name so softly it shouldn't have stirred his
sex but it did, as if his body had its own mind and that mind longed to
be joined with hers.

But he couldn't take her here.

Not out of some selfish need, when she'd only meant to offer him comfort.

The phone rang, saving him from speaking. She frowned and glanced at it
as if she didn't know whether to answer it or not. He didn't want her
to. He wanted to continue their lovemaking.

120

But he forced himself to be a gentleman. "Go ahead

and get it."

She took another long hard look at him, the passionate glaze in her eyes
still burning, then slowly pulled her robe back over her shoulders and
picked up the phone.

"Hello, Suzanne."

Her sister had saved him once again.

"You talked to Dad?" She paused and tucked a strand of that silky hair
behind her ear. "He's coming tomorrow?"

Thomas picked up the coffee and sipped it though it had gotten cold, the
strong brew calmed him and dragged him back to his senses.

She wound the phone cord around her fingers. "Okay, I'll see you both at
the coffee shop at noon."

She hung up, gnawing on her lower lip.

"Something wrong?"

"N-no, my father's coming to town with Suzanne tomorrow. We're going to
t-talk to him about Grammy's party."

She was stuttering again. He wasn't sure what that meant. Had she
realized how far they'd almost gone and regretted it?

"I'm sorry if I overstepped, Rebecca." He backed away, afraid if he
touched her again, he'd start all over. And this time he wouldn't be
able to stop. The force of his need stunned him.

She folded her arms across her chest. "I...you don't have to apologize."

"I'd better go."

She simply watched him, then nodded. But when

she walked him to the door, he sensed she wanted to say more.

It didn't matter. He could not seduce her, then ask her father for a
job. What kind of man would that make him?

"I-if you want to give me a key, I can do the painting at night," she
said, filling the awkward silence.

He nodded this time. "Hannah and I will work it out."

Her eyebrow rose at that, but he decided it might be better if Hannah
dealt with her and the paintings. Just look how her art and the
tantalizing scents in her apartment affected him now.

He grabbed his keys from his pocket and jangled them in his hand.
"Thanks for letting me unload on you, Rebecca."

"Anytime." A small smile curved her mouth. "And I meant what I said.
Sugar Hill is lucky to have you."

That comment sparked a second of guilt for deceiving her, for allowing
her to think he was committed to staying here to practice. Still his
gaze caught a glimpse of the whisker burn on her neck, and he knew he
had to leave. Fast.

In fact, maybe he'd stop by the cafe tomorrow around lunchtime. Then he
could meet her father and he wouldn't have to swing an invitation to
that family party.

Yes, that was a better plan.

Then he wouldn't have to see Rebecca again.

Or be tempted to take her to bed, when he knew he would soon be gone.

Rebecca closed the door and locked the dead bolt, her head spinning.
What had just happened between her and Thomas?

122

One minute she'd been offering him comfort, the next minute he'd kissed
her hungrily. She touched her finger to her lips, the sizzle of his
touch still tormenting her. She had never experienced anything as
sensual as Thomas's hot mouth on hers.

And, Lord help her, she wanted to experience it again. And much more.

So why had he pulled away?

Had she come across as inexperienced? She'd thought they were perfect....

Had he realized that he was holding shy, awkward Rebecca Hartwell in his
arms and decided he wanted something else? Something more?

Frustration gnawed at her. She'd actually sensed they shared an
emotional connection earlier, had thought those emotions had triggered
his desire for her. Could she have been wrong? Had he needed comfort so
badly he would have sought it from whomever was available?

Confused, she paced the den, then reheated her tea, and forced herself
to down it. Thomas had pulled away emotionally, just as her father had
so many years ago when her mother had died.

Her father had had no time for anyone but Suzanne. Rebecca didn't
understand his reasons. But her father had no longer hugged her or
probed her about school-work or friends. In fact, when she'd walked into
a room, he'd looked at her with such sadness in his eyes that she
thought he blamed her for her mother's death.

Then one day he'd finally stopped looking at her at all. It was as if
she'd become invisible to him.

She had to see him tomorrow.

Tears welled up in her eyes as the memories bombarded her. So many
nights she'd lain in her bed and wondered why her father didn't love her
anymore. Had wondered what was wrong with her.

She picked up the antique hand mirror and gazed at her reflection,
frowning as her troubled expression stared back. Grammy's words echoed
in her head. Believe in yourself. Follow your dream.

Thomas's words chimed afterward. You are the sweetest thing. I've never
met anyone like you.

Suzanne and her cousins had assured her today she was beautiful.

So, why couldn't Thomas love her?

125

Thomas hurried toward the bookstore, determined not to miss Bert
Hartwell. He would meet the man today, get a feel for his personality
and be better prepared for the interview he'd already scheduled.

Then he would avoid Rebecca.

No more dropping by her apartment late at night. No more mind-boggling
kisses or tantalizing touches that left him achy. No more seeking
comfort from her when he knew he'd be leaving town soon. She might have
claimed she didn't want marriage, but he couldn't fathom a nice girl
like her settling for anything less.

And he didn't intend on marrying and settling down in this sleepy little
town.

Mary Anne Turner waved to him from across the square, and he offered her
a friendly wave back. But he saw Benita in front of the drugstore and
Karina Peterson exiting the bridal shop with a bridal magazine in her
hands and he picked up his pace. Pretending he didn't see them, he
ducked inside the Hot Spot entrance, planning to use lunch and coffee as
his excuse.

He saw Rebecca the minute he entered, and his heart tripped in his chest.

She'd exchanged the loose-fitting dresses she normally wore for a
tailored suit in dark blue that hugged her figure. Instead of touching
her ankles, this skirt rode just above her knees, offering him a
tantalizing view of shapely calves. Her hair seemed blonder, her legs
longer, her eyes even more blue. And those pink lips even more kissable.

Annoyed at his reaction, he barely managed to pull himself together
before she glanced from the table where she stood and caught his eye. A
small spark of surprise lit the depths, then her mouth curved in a
smile. Before he could speak to her, a blustery man in an expensive suit
with balding hair and a short beard approached her, his hand placed on
Suzanne's arm, which was tucked inside his. The man must be her father,
Bert. He walked with a worldly, sophisticated air that started with the
tilt of his chin and scrutinizing gaze and was magnified by his
conservative, expensive suit. He was the complete opposite of Wiley
Hartwell, in his bright lime-green suits. Now he understood why these
men might have problems.

Thomas joined the end of the sandwich line, listening to the Hartwells
with one ear while he ordered.

"Hi, Rebecca." Bert barely glanced at her as he pulled out the chair
beside him for Suzanne. Rebecca moved to the opposite side, fidgeting
with her hands as she grabbed a menu.

His heart gave a funny tug. Thomas was tempted to take her hands in his
and still them, but he held himself in check. He couldn't interfere with
the dynamics of a family he didn't know, much less understand.

Suzanne dominated the conversation, chatting to fill the air while
Rebecca melted deeper into her chair.

126

Bert laughed and patted Suzanne's hand, doting on her every word.

Why was Rebecca so uncomfortable around her father? And why did he seem
to be ignoring her?

"Thomas, what would you like today?" Mimi's bright, cheery smile flashed
from behind the counter.

"Oh...the chicken sandwich, I guess. And coffee."

"Comin' right up," Mimi chirped.

He forced a smile, wondering if he should approach the threesome or find
his own table. Although the cafe was packed, a couple of tables in the
far corner remained vacant, but sitting in the rear would make it
difficult to catch Bert if he decided to leave abruptly.

He paid for his food and accepted it from Mimi.

"Come on, Thomas, I want you to meet someone," Mimi said.

Thomas squinted at her as she sauntered from behind the counter and
dragged him over to Rebecca's table. "Uncle Bert, hey!" Mimi hugged her
uncle. "There's someone I want you to meet. Our town OB-GYN, Dr. Thomas
Emerson. He works with Hannah."

Rebecca and Suzanne both looked up in surprise while Bert stood and
pumped his hand. "Nice to meet you, son. Bert Hartwell. Why don't you
join us?"

Thomas glanced at Rebecca to gauge her reaction but he couldn't read it.
He vowed to thank Mimi if he wound up landing the job in Atlanta.

Mimi grabbed Hannah as soon as she entered the cafe and hauled her to
the corner. "Uncle Bert's over there with Suzanne and Rebecca and
Thomas." "Thomas?"

"Yes," Mimi said, preening like a proud peacock. "You should have seen
him. He couldn't take his eyes off Rebecca."

"Really?" Hannah shot a look their way. "He hasn't said anything."

"Just give them some time. Maybe if we keep pushing them together,
something will happen."

"I hope so," Hannah said. "Because this matchmaking scheme of yours
could blow up in your face, and that might mean disaster for Rebecca."

"That's so not going to happen," Mimi boasted. "They're meant to be
together."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Come on, I promised Suzanne we'd provide backup
in case Uncle Bert balks at the idea of the party."

"What are we supposed to say about Dad?"

Hannah motioned for Mimi to follow. "This time, you follow my lead."

Rebecca Gave Thomas a quick hello, then toyed with her coffee stirrer.
His arm brushed hers as he sat down, and she remembered the feel of his
hands and mouth on her body the night before. Heat spread up her neck at
the sensations the memory triggered.

Why had Mimi dragged him over here? She knew they were having a family
meeting to talk their father into attending the party. A busy doctor
like Thomas certainly wouldn't be interested in their family problems,
especially brotherly bickering.

Mimi and Hannah approached and claimed seats on the end.

"Now, what's this little meeting all about?" Bert

128

asked. "I know you didn't drag me all the way to Sugar Hill for nothing,
Suz."

"You're right, Dad." Suzanne laughed lightly. "We're planning a surprise
party for Grammy's seventy-fifth birthday and you have to be there. The
whole family is coming."

Bert cleared his throat, thick graying eyebrows narrowing. "You know I'm
not comfortable with these big family affairs. I'll send a nice gift."

"No," Hannah said. "You need to come to the party."

Mimi batted her incredibly long lashes. "You're Grammy's oldest son,
Uncle Bert, she'll be disappointed if you don't attend."

"We've made all the arrangements," Hannah added. "All you have to do is
show up."

"And bring that present yourself," Suzanne said, eliciting a round of
laughter.

Thomas dug into his sandwich, and Rebecca flashed him another smile. He
must be bored out of his mind.

Bert pulled at his tie, frowning. "What about Wiley? Will he be there, too?"

"Of course," Mimi said. "Dad wouldn't miss it for the world."

"And he knows I'm coming?" Bert glanced at Thomas. "My brother and I
don't always see eye to eye."

"Yes, Dad wants you there," Hannah said.

"Right." Bert huffed. "Probably thought I wouldn't show up and he'd get
to be the good son."

Rebecca frowned. "Showing Grammy you and Uncle Wiley can get along will
be the best surprise you can give her, Dad."

"She's right," Hannah said.

Bert shrugged but still looked skeptical. "I suppose I should come."

"Great. We'll count on it." Mimi hopped up. "Now I have to get back to
work."

"Me, too," Hannah said. Mimi and Hannah both hugged Rebecca's father
goodbye and left, talking in hushed voices.

"So, young man," Bert said, diverting the conversation toward Thomas.
"Tell me about your practice here in Sugar Hill."

Rebecca watched silently as the two men delved into a discussion of the
clinic and other details of their medical practices. Thomas reminded her
of her father in so many ways, his intellect, his vocation, even his
work schedule.

"Graduated from Emory University, huh?" Bert asked, sipping his coffee.

"Yes, sir. I finished a residency at Harvard a couple of years ago."

"Did you hear that, Suzanne?" Bert curved an arm around her shoulders.
"This guy is on the ball."

"I know, Dad," Suzanne said, grinning. "Quite impressive."

"Suzanne's on the move herself," Bert bragged. "She attended Georgia
State and works in one of the largest land development firms in Atlanta.
She's really going places."

Rebecca edged back more in her seat. She was content with her job, so
why did her father's constant praise of her sister make her feel as if
she was a failure in his eyes?

For the next twenty minutes, Thomas listened to Bert sing Suzanne's
praises, both professionally and

130

personally. Not only was she successful, but when Bert was between
wives, she played hostess to his fund-raisers and hospital benefits.

Not once did he mention Rebecca. Why?

Even more disturbing, Rebecca shrank deeper into the wooden chair,
becoming more and more invisible as the conversation progressed.

His irritation mounted when Bert practically suggested that he and
Suzanne should get together.

"Did Rebecca tell you we've commissioned her to do some artwork for the
clinic?" Thomas asked, changing the subject. He had no intention of
dating Suzanne after kissing Rebecca. But he didn't want to turn off
Bert Hartwell, either.

Maybe this premeeting hadn't been such a good idea.

"No," Bert said. "Is she donating a painting to the clinic?"

"No, she's designing murals for all the exam rooms. But she should be
showing her artwork. I bet the galleries in Atlanta would love to
feature her work."

Rebecca nearly choked on her coffee. "I...don't think so."

"She's very talented." Thomas reached out and stroked her arm. "But I'm
sure you're already aware of her artistic abilities."

Bert shifted so the wooden chair squeaked beneath him. "Well, yes, of
course." Frowning, he checked his watch and pushed his chair back. "Look
at the time. I really have to be going. I have a board meeting this
afternoon. Full schedule...you know how that is, Dr. Emerson."

"Certainly. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Bert stood and draped his arm around Suzanne. "Ready, honey?"

"Sure, Dad. Whenever you are."

Bert shook Thomas's hand. "Maybe we could talk some more later." He
scratched his chin. "Hey, why don't you come to the party next week?
It'll be nice to have a colleague there. Be a good buffer between me and
my brother."

Thomas fought a frown. Bert had extended an invitation to get to know
him better, yet he'd shrugged off Rebecca's talent as if it were
unimportant. Still, he couldn't refuse Bert's offer. "Thank you, sir.
I'd be honored to be your guest."

Did Bert have another agenda in mind? Like pushing his youngest daughter
toward him again? And why had he totally neglected the praise he should
have given Rebecca?

Rebecca caught him before he left. "Thomas, that was really polite of
you to accept my dad's invitation, but you don't have to attend the
party. It'll just be a boring family affair."

Guilt mushroomed in his stomach. "That's okay, I don't mind. That is,
unless you don't want me to go."

"Oh, no, it's not that." She gestured awkwardly with her hands. "But I
don't want you to feel indebted."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Rebecca. I'm looking forward
to the party. It's always nice to network with other professionals."

He hurried out the door then, before he revealed his

132

true motive. But oddly he realized he'd meant what he'd told Rebecca-he
was looking forward to the party.

Because he'd get to spend more time with her.

Later that afternoon, just before Rebecca left work, Suzanne phoned.

"Uh-oh, there isn't a problem with Dad, is there?" Rebecca asked. "Did
he change his mind about Grammy's party?"

"No. Of course, he mouthed off about Uncle Wiley all the way to Atlanta,
but he promised not to back out.... So, sis, tell me what's going on
between you and that hunky doctor."

Rebecca sighed and closed her eyes, willing it to be more than her
imagination. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Suzanne's laughter erupted. "You're kidding. That guy is
totally hot for you."

"What?" Rebecca's eyes popped open.

"You mean to tell me you didn't notice? You can't be that blind, Bee."

"You're wrong, Suzanne. Thomas is simply nice to everyone."

"Ha! I'm not wrong. He couldn't keep his eyes off you." Suzanne whistled
low. "And the way he bragged about your art, good gracious, I thought he
was going to offer to be your agent and sell your work himself."

"He wouldn't do that." No, he was not that enthusiastic. "He was just
being nice."

"You are so naive, Bee," Suzanne said. "He was not just being nice. Now,
what's your plan?"

"Plan?"

"Yeah, has he asked you out yet?"

"No. Well, we had dinner, but that was business."

"Right." Another peal of laughter. "Listen, just play it cool. Lead him
on a little. And be sure to wear that sexy new underwear. If you feel
sexy, you'll be sexier."

Rebecca shook her head and hung up a minute later, certain Suzanne was
mistaken. Thomas was not enamored with her. In fact, as soon as everyone
else had left, he'd run off, too.

Still, his compliments had boosted her ego. Maybe she'd drop by and
start that art project tonight. Maybe she'd even go early and run into him.

She rummaged through her lingerie drawer-where had she put those black
lace panties?

Thomas LEFT the clinic as early as possible. He wanted to check on the
Lackey baby in person, so he'd driven to Atlanta and met with the doctors.

Hell, who was he kidding? He had wanted to avoid running into Rebecca.

Dammit, he'd acted like a fool today at lunch. Jumping to her defense,
bragging about her artwork, looking at her all goo-goo-eyed. What had
happened to him?

One minute Bert had been pushing Suzanne toward him, the next Thomas had
lost his tongue and gushed about her sister. But his temper had flared
with Bert....

That emotional outburst disturbed him the most. Why the hell should he
care about Bert's relationship with his daughters or how much praise the
man gave Rebecca?

Because he was beginning to care for her himself.

134

No, he couldn't....

Frustrated, he left the Atlanta hospital, veered onto the expressway and
wound through the traffic until he reached the new women's center in the
heart of Buck-head. It was almost New Year's Eve and, barring emergency
deliveries, he had the next four days off. He'd signed up for a seminar
on fertility treatments at Emory University and would be in Atlanta the
next two days. He'd return to Sugar Hill for New Year's Eve.

He parked the car and stared up at the multidimensional complex, at the
modern structure and the assorted attached buildings. The architecture
was as modern and cutting edge as the research and work conducted inside.

He wanted to be a part of the medical community of Atlanta, here in the
heart of this fast-growing city with its high-rises and emergency units
and the latest equipment and technology.

So unlike the sleepy backward town of Sugar Hill. Except for Rebecca...

No, her clothes, art, everything about her embodied family and
tradition, while his job relied on future technology, not sentiment and
emotion. In fact, too much emotion could handicap him in an emergency,
the very reason he had to remain compassionate but somewhat detached.

No, he couldn't give up his dreams.

Especially for a case of simple lust....

135

Two local teenagers helped Gertrude with the inventory in the bookstore,
giving Rebecca extra time to work on the murals. Hannah had taken a few
days off for the holidays and was only accepting emergency calls, but
she had opened the clinic each morning. Apparently, Thomas was in
Atlanta attending a medical seminar.

That night after she'd seen Thomas at the cafe with her father, Rebecca
had hoped to see him at the clinic. When he hadn't shown up, she'd
wondered if he'd been avoiding her. Now, she was almost certain he'd
given her the brush-off.

Thomas didn't owe her anything. Just because he'd kissed her once or
twice, she couldn't let it go to her head.

She finished the last touches on the jungle scene, stood back and
admired the bright colors of the parrots and wild animals, pleased with
the way the piece had turned out. The first day, she'd painted a
dinosaur diorama. She'd kept it so simple with bold colors and lines,
she'd finished it in one day. Tomorrow she would add some color to the
foliage in the jungle

136

scene, detail the tiger's stripes and face, and finish the giraffe. If
she arrived early, she could complete it by late afternoon, then head to
the festivities at her uncle Wiley's used-car lot and the picnic at the
park. That is, if the winter storm didn't blow in and cancel the
celebration.

If she had nothing better to do later on in the evening, she would
return and work some more. Anything to avoid New Year's Eve with her
big-bellied neighbor, Jerry Ruthers.

What would Thomas be doing tomorrow night? Was he staying in Atlanta?

Would he be sharing a New Year's Eve kiss with some woman there?

Pushing aside the disturbing thought, she cleaned up her art supplies,
then couldn't resist. She'd seen several books on pregnancy and in vitro
fertilization and decided to explore them. Drying her hands on a paper
towel, she pulled The Pregnancy Bible off the shelf, sat down and began
to read.

Thomas was exhilarated by the pool of knowledge, the innovative
techniques and the level of expertise of the other attendees as well as
the speakers at the seminar. The plans for cutting-edge research with
high-risk deliveries and birth defects was phenomenal, and the genetic
engineering and fertility treatments that had only been a pipe dream ten
years before were now being explored and implemented.

He hailed a cab to a local lounge to join a few of the other attendees,
doctors from all over the country, for drinks and conversation. The
smoke-filled bar was packed with the happy-hour crowd, people enjoying
time off for holidays and, from the looks of the mix, the singles set.
He had forgotten the difficulty of finding a companion in the crowds,
and the taxing ordeal of the meat-market scene.

He wove through the throng until he spotted the group of men and women
from the seminar and ordered a scotch. Shawnee Blake, a fertility
specialist from Savannah, brushed his arm as he moved into the crowded
corner. Attractive, with medium-length auburn hair and a nice smile, she
started the conversation ball with chitchat. The usual info, Where are
you from? What's your specialty? etcetera, drifted into a discussion of
small-town medicine versus metropolitan life, and horror stories of a
few bungled cases in the rural parts of Georgia that made his skin crawl
and cemented his decision not to have a child unless he lived near a
modern facility. The discussion finally turned to personal lives. "I've
been married twice," Devon Rourke, the young surgeon, stated. "With my
schedule, I decided not to go that route again."

"I know what you mean," Rob Wheeler, a cardiologist from Charleston
commented. "I've tried a couple of long-term relationships, but sooner
or later the women get fed up with my schedule."

"Being single is more fun anyway," Devon commented.

"How about you, Shawnee?" Rob asked.

She shrugged, lifting her drink for a toast. "I've been swamped with my
residency and then research." She gave Thomas a sideways grin, hinting
at her attraction. "For now I just want to have a good time."

The men clinked their glasses with hers, toasting the single life.

138

Just what he wanted to hear, too, Thomas thought, as he raised his
glass. Wasn't it? And was he attracted to her?

"So, do you have a woman in Sugar Hill?" she asked.

"No one special." Rebecca's face flashed into his mind, then the parade
of women with casseroles and desserts. "But there are a lot of
husband-hunting women."

"Must be rough," Devon said.

"Yeah, the town's so small I treat almost every woman there." Except for
Rebecca, who'd never seen him as a patient.

"I can't imagine knowing my patients that well," Devon said.

"Me, neither," Rob added. "I barely recognize the nurses and remember my
receptionist's name."

"They're just faces in the crowd," Shawnee said.

Thomas frowned. They sounded so impersonal and detached from their
patients and work. Was that what it would be like to work in a big
medical center? Would it make him immune to the personal side of the job
and the people he treated?

On the way to her uncle Wiley's, Rebecca passed the bookstore and was
surprised to see Gertrude's car still parked behind. Curious as to why
the young woman wasn't at the town celebration, she hurried inside and
found her dusting the shelves, her curly brown hair in a ponytail.

"Goodness, why are you still working?" Rebecca frowned at the sad look
on Gertrude's face.

Gertrude's shoulders fell. "I don't have anything better to do."

Rebecca's heart tugged. Hadn't she felt that way a hundred times this
year? She should have made it a point to befriend the woman.

"Come on with me. I'm going by Uncle Wiley's to see who wins that truck.
Then we can stop and get a picnic dinner on the square if the weather
holds up."

A smile burst onto Gertrude's face and Rebecca jotted a mental note to
invite her to do things more often. It wasn't as if her own social
calendar was booked solid.

Gertrude brushed off her jeans, her step lighter as she followed Rebecca
outside. A gust of wind swirled around them, rustling trees and
scattering dust. The air smelled crisp, heavy with the scent of
impending rain and storm clouds. If the temperature kept dropping, the
rain might turn to snow.

"It's only a few blocks so you can ride with me," Rebecca offered. "I'll
drive you back for your car afterward."

Gertrude climbed in and buckled her seat belt. "You think a lot of
people will be there?"

"I imagine so. Everyone's talking about Uncle Wiley giving away that
pickup truck." Rebecca steered through the downtown and turned toward
the used car lot. "And he's filming a commercial. People will probably
show up hoping they'll get on TV."

"I put my name in for the giveaway," Gertrude said, picking at her
sweater. "But I know I won't win. I'm not very lucky."

"You never know," Rebecca said. "Maybe this is your lucky day." And
maybe it would be hers, too.

140

Maybe Thomas would show up and they'd end up together.

A glum expression clouded Gertrude's eyes. "If that was true, Jerry
Ruthers would have asked me out for tonight."

Jerry? She had no idea her helper had a crush on Jerry. "Maybe he'll be
there," she said. "Besides, if you want him, you should pursue him."

Wasn't that the same advice her cousins and sister had given her about
Thomas?

Gertrude's brown eyes lit up. "You really think so?" She rummaged
through her purse for a mirror and grabbed a tube of ruby-red lipstick,
applying it carefully, her spirits brightening.

When Rebecca saw Jerry, she would hint that Gertrude liked him. It might
be the answer for all of them.

A half hour later, she and Gertrude had watched the miniparade of old
model cars her uncle had arranged, laughed at the children having their
faces painted and the residents arguing good-naturedly over who would
win the purple truck. They also laughed at the sequins on Wiley's orange
suit.

Dark clouds had rolled in, obliterating the dwindling sunshine and
casting shadows across the parking lot full of used-car bargains, but
the looming bad weather hadn't deterred the crowd. Nearly everyone in
Sugar Hill had turned out. She spotted Mimi and Seth with their baby,
Hannah and Jake, and Alison and Brady, who'd just returned from their
honeymoon.

Thomas was nowhere in sight.

Rebecca fought off disappointment and loneliness as she watched her
cousins with their new husbands and their father. Wiley was boisterous
and loud and might look foolish, but the children who'd shown up loved
his corny jokes, and his daughters loved him. He didn't seem to act
differently toward any of the girls, either.

She spotted Jerry hitching up his pants as he loped toward the cotton
candy machine.

"I'll be right back," she told Gertrude, who'd settled in one of the
folding chairs around a makeshift stage to listen to the
country-and-western band and watch the local doggers.

Jerry's ruddy face sparked with a grin as she approached.

Just be short, sweet and get it over with, Rebecca silently told herself.

"Hey, Bee." Jerry licked a hunk of cotton candy into his mouth. "I was
wondering when I'd catch up with ya."

"Listen, Jerry, I can't hang out with you tonight," Rebecca said.

Jerry's smile fell. "Got somethin' better to do?"

She could only hope. "I'm sorry, Jerry." She gestured toward the woman
who was oblivious to her meddling. "But Gertrude isn't busy. She was
awfully lonely earlier."

"Do tell." Jerry snatched another bite of the sticky candy and shrugged.
Quickly recovering from her rejection of him, he walked toward Gertrude.
Feeling marginally better, Rebecca called to him and motioned for him to
wipe the cottony pink stuff off his cheek before he reached her.

Then she turned and saw Thomas drive up in that yellow Mustang.

142

What had she told Gertrude? Go after what you want. Maybe it was time
she listened to her cousins and took the advice she'd passed on to her
friend.

Thomas had finally grown tired of the business conversation at the
lounge. Then Shawnee had insisted they dance. The music had been
deafening, the smoke suffocating. But the woman he'd held in his arms
had been good-looking, available, interested and she glided across the
dance floor as if she owned it.

Unfortunately, she hadn't stirred his interests at all.

No, he'd imagined Rebecca Hartwell in his arms with her curves pressed
up against him, and that soft silky blond hair tickling his chin. He had
tried his best to banish the image.

But as he'd driven back to Sugar Hill, an emptiness swelled inside him.
Trouble was, he couldn't figure out why. He was on the verge of having
the life he wanted, the career he'd dreamed of forever. So, why didn't
he feel overjoyed?

He must be suffering from exhaustion. And he was still worried about the
Lackey baby.

Then he saw Rebecca standing in the midst of the small-town celebration
with bright streamers draped around the used-car parking lot, country
music blaring in the background and the town people socializing,
laughing as their children took part in some of the games Wiley had
arranged. His mood shifted, the air growing tighter around him. Rebecca
stood out in a sea of women who had made it clear they wanted him.

But Rebecca told her grandmother she was against marriage, he reminded
himself. That was a good thing,

since he didn't want marriage or life here; he wanted to move onto
bigger and better things.

She wove her way through the crowd toward him, and his senses spun at
the sight of her. Again she'd ditched the baggy dress and wore tight
jeans that hugged her rounded behind, and a soft violet sweater that
stretched across ample breasts that swayed gently when she walked.

"Hey, Thomas."

"Hi."

The wind whistled between them in the silence.

"My car's ready," he said to break the tension. "So I'm returning
Wiley's Mustang."

"Oh."

Did she sound disappointed?

"Yeah, the Porsche looks like new. It's at the garage in town."

"You need a ride to pick it up?"

"I figured one of Wiley's salespeople could give me a lift."

Rebecca smiled. "I could drive you." Then as if she remembered the last
ride they'd taken after she'd wrecked his car, she hesitated. "That is,
if you're not afraid."

Her words triggered a knot of anxiety that he felt in his stomach. He
wasn't afraid to ride in the car with her.

But becoming more involved with her scared the bejammers out of him.
After all, she'd been on his mind all day in Atlanta, even while he'd
danced with that doctor.

Hell, he'd never been so poleaxed by a female before that he'd held one
woman while wanting another.

144

"Just let me make sure Gertrude has a ride home."

Thomas nodded and followed her over to her friend. Rebecca smiled; Jerry
and Gertrude seemed to be hitting it off. In fact, Jerry had slung his
arm along the back of her folding chair, and she had leaned into him as
they swayed to a slow country tune. She tapped Gertrude and whispered an
apology.

"I'm going to give Dr. Emerson a ride to his car."

"Something going on with you two?" Gertrude whispered.

I'm not sure. "I owe him, since I'm the one who wrecked his Porsche in
the first place. Do you think-"

"I'll give Gertrude a lift," Jerry offered with a wink.

Rebecca grinned. "Great."

A flutter of nerves attacked her as Thomas followed her to her station
wagon. Of course, she sensed half the town's single women giving her the
evil eye. She was sure they all wondered what Thomas Emerson was doing
with her.

Stop that, she ordered herself, remembering the positive talk she'd read
about in the self-help book she'd bought last week. Go after what you want.

And I want Thomas.

"H..." She paused and took a deep breath to keep from stuttering. And to
keep herself from driving like a maniac. "Hannah said you had a seminar
in Atlanta."

He fastened his seat belt. "Yes, it was really interesting." He filled
the next five minutes describing some of what he'd learned.

"Wow, it sounds fascinating. I read an article on stem-cell research the
other day and found it amazing."

They talked for several minutes about the research, then he confided
about visiting the Lackey baby. "He survived the first surgery but only
time will tell about his prognosis."

Emotions strained his voice, and she instinctively reached out and
squeezed his hand, which sent shards of sensations flitting through her.
He seemed to stiffen, though, and she pulled away, unsure he welcomed
her overture.

"Dr. Zimmerman, one of the leading doctors in fertility treatments,
spoke yesterday," he said.

This was her moment. She should ask him now about donating sperm. Only,
after that kiss, could she settle for an impersonal donation?

"I don't understand this trend for single women to have babies on their
own, though. It's understandable when a spouse dies or there's a
divorce, but to choose to bring a baby into the world without a
father..." He shrugged. "I'm not sure it's fair to the child."

She tightened her fingers around the steering wheel. Maybe he was right.
Maybe it wouldn't be fair of her to have a fatherless baby. "But not
every woman finds the right man to marry," Rebecca argued. "Or wants to
get married."

"That's true. What do you have against marriage, Rebecca?"

She was shocked by the question. "N-nothing, really. B-but I'm not sure
it's for me." What else could she say? I want to get married, Thomas,
and I think you'd make the perfect husband. I have my bride's book
ready, now all I need is my bridegroom. "A lot

146

of men today have commitment problems. And look at my father. He's been
married four times and the last two barely lasted a year."

He twisted his mouth sideways in thought, then surprised her by changing
the conversation to the weather. It was almost as if they were
strangers. As if he had never shown up at her house that night and bared
his soul about the baby. As if he had never kissed her and almost taken
her to bed.

He gripped the door handle when she stopped and swung open the door,
ready to climb out. "Thanks for the ride, Rebecca."

She nodded, even more confused by the conflicting heat flaring in his eyes.

Then the wind brought a cloud of some strong odor toward her, and she
realized it was perfume. A woman's perfume.

No wonder he was in such a hurry to get away from her. He had obviously
been with another woman tonight.

147

Thomas felt like a jerk as he sped toward his house in his Porsche. He
had been so cold to Rebecca, but he had to put some distance between them.

Some much-needed emotional distance.

After all, miles would separate them when he moved, just as their needs
and goals in life separated them now. And he didn't want to hurt her, so
he couldn't lead her on or let her believe that they might have a future
together. He could never bring his baby brother back, but in Atlanta he
could save others. As long as he had the skills he needed to do so. And
the equipment and technology and staff. Sugar Hill had none of that. So
he didn't really belong here.

Yet deep inside his chest that emptiness returned, that aching and
yearning for something more.

Why? What was it he wanted that he wouldn't have in Atlanta?

Rebecca fitted perfectly into that small-town celebration. She would not
be comfortable at charity fundraisers and entertaining hospital board
members, all part of the trimmings he'd need for a wife.

148

Wife?

Was he really considering marrying Rebecca?

No. He wasn't ready for that kind of commitment. They'd never officially
even dated.

So, why had he been so upset when she'd spoken up adamantly against the
institution?

Shaken by the direction of his thoughts, he pulled into his garage and
went into the house. The empty rooms greeted him with silence, the
sterile odors of cleaner and expensive woods almost stifling. He roamed
through each room, trying to decide whether or not he liked the
modernist artwork and decor the decorator had chosen. There were no
photos of family or friends, no homey touches like the ones Rebecca had
crammed into that tiny little place of hers. That place should feel
stifling, not his.

But in his mind he saw the tulip garden Rebecca had painted, the lush
mountain greenery, the gazebo up on Pine Mountain where all her cousins
had married, the vibrant colors and the passion she interjected in each
piece.

Was that what was missing from his house? The passion...

And what about his life?

No, he had passion for his work. Like the other doctors he'd met
tonight, that was all the passion he had time for.

Determined to prove that his work still satisfied him, he headed back to
his car. New Year's Eve or not, he'd stop by the clinic and pick up a
few of the medical journals he hadn't had time to read yet. Might as
well accomplish something on New Year's Day.

Out with the old and in with the new-and onto a new life.

Medicine was all that mattered, wasn't it?

Rebecca worked on the waterfall scene, well aware she was using her art
as an escape. She'd been so rattled after she'd left Thomas she hadn't
been able to eat, but she'd stopped by the celebration in the park and
bought one of the picnic dinners just to support the town. The uneaten
food still sat on the table at the clinic.

She should forget about this crazy attraction to Thomas. Tomorrow would
be the start of a new year, her resolution would be to forget him.

Still, knowing Thomas had commissioned her to paint the murals for the
clinic, that he roamed the halls of this building and spent his days
here, that she could smell the lingering scent of his cologne in the
empty hallways drove the knife deeper into the pain she felt from his
earlier dismissal.

Something had changed since his trip to Atlanta, but she didn't
understand what.

Except that it involved another woman who reeked of some expensive
French perfume. Someone obviously much more experienced and
sophisticated than her.

Her hand slipped, the brush strayed, and glittery white paint streaked
down into the sea of blue she'd chosen for the pool of water at the base
of the waterfall. Drat.

At least she could fix the paint.

How could she fix her heart from breaking over a man who obviously
didn't want her?

She glanced at the desk where The Pregnancy Bible

150

lay open and another wave of pain assaulted her. There was no way she
could ask Thomas to help her with her baby plan now.

Maybe it would be easier to visit a sperm bank and talk to a stranger,
anyway. Someone who wouldn't judge her or think she was desperate. Or
worse, look at her with pity.

An idea struck, and she rushed to the front desk, turned on the
computer, then checked for fertility clinics and sperm donor centers in
Atlanta. When she located one, she logged on and sent an e-mail asking
the clinic to mail her information. It wouldn't hurt to read up on the
procedure before she went for a consultation.

And if it didn't work out, no one would ever know.

Thomas couldn't believe it when he saw Rebecca's car parked at the
clinic. It was almost midnight. What was she doing here?

Hell, it was dark and cold, someone might see her here and try to break
in. The mere possibility sent his blood racing through his veins. Angry
with her for being so foolish, he hurriedly let himself into the clinic.

Not certain which room she was in, he checked the first two and saw the
dinosaur mural, then the jungle one. Wow. The colors certainly
brightened up the exam areas; she had done a fabulous job. He still
didn't understand why she didn't show her work to others.

He found her in the fourth room, completely immersed in the details of a
gorgeous waterfall that pooled into a crystal-blue stream on the side of
a mountain. Pure heaven.

"Rebecca?"

She shrieked, then jerked around and flung the paintbrush at him, as if
she thought that skinny piece of wood might fend off an attacker.

"Y-you scared me." She ran toward him, reaching for a rag to wipe the
white paint splattered on his pants legs. He grabbed her hand before she
did too much damage.

"I'm sorry I frightened you, but you shouldn't be here this time of
night alone."

"I was...w-working," she stammered.

He tightened his grip on her hand. "Don't you know how dangerous it is
for a woman to be here at night by herself?"

"I thought the door was locked."

"It was. I have a key."

Her big blue eyes met his. "But you aren't going to hurt me."

A loaded question. He met her gaze and saw the remnants of what he
thought might have been tears glistening in her eyes. Was it already too
late?

Had he already hurt her?

He'd never meant to.

"Besides, you're here alone."

So, he was slightly sexist when it came to safety. Out of the corner of
his eye, he caught sight of the uneaten picnic dinner for one, and his
throat went dry.

He'd eaten with dozens of people around him all week but he'd still felt
lonely.

She lowered her gaze and began to fidget, and his heart tugged. Unable
to stand her distress, he tucked a strand of her silky hair behind one
ear. Just the simple contact drove him insane. Especially when her

152

breath hitched out in a throaty sound and the passion in her eyes echoed
the passion in her paintings.

Like that rose opening its petals toward the sun, he felt her opening up
toward him....

That empty hole inside him throbbed. The clock struck midnight. New
Year's Eve.

He had wondered who she would be kissing at midnight. He'd wanted it to
be him.

He might be leaving soon, but he had to taste her once again.

Forgetting his earlier resolve to avoid her, he lowered his mouth and
allowed her to assuage the aching void inside him. And when he kissed
her, he suddenly felt as if he were coming home.

Rebecca sank into Thomas's arms, thoroughly confused by his actions but
totally mesmerized by the hunger in his kiss. He drove his mouth over
hers in a frenzy of need, then dragged her up against his body, molding
her into the vee of his thighs, and rubbing his hard length along her
stomach so that she moaned and clung to him.

She wanted him to take her all the way to heaven and back this time.

His hands combed through her ponytail and snaked down her face to her
shoulders, then lower to cup her buttocks and grip her hard against him.
Warmth pooled in her belly and floated upward in a spiral of desire that
left her dizzy.

"God, Rebecca, you taste like the sweetest of sins," Thomas growled in
her ear.

The smile that radiated from her mouth originated straight from her
soul. She kissed his jaw, ran her fingers along the strong set to his
chin, then nibbled at his neck, giggling softly when the thick dark
stubble of his beard scraped her neck. His own need escalating out of
control, he dipped his head and tasted her neck. His breath licked her
skin as his hands found her breasts and kneaded them through her sweater.

She had never allowed a man to see her naked before, but she suddenly
craved to feel his touch everywhere.

He seemed to have the same idea.

His hands reached to the bottom of her sweater, and she slid her hands
along his muscular arms and down his chest, which hardened beneath her
touch.

Her rear end suddenly collided with cold metal. He jerked his gaze up
and met her eyes, the passion in his look so wild and feral she lost her
breath. Then he looked down and saw the exam table behind her and his
look of desire changed to disgust.

"What the hell are we doing?"

The harshness of his words hit her like a slap in the face. She
stiffened and bit down on her lip to stem the cry of disappointment.
What had she done wrong?

He shook his head in regret, then dropped his head forward into his
hands and stepped back from her. The cold metal pressed into her back as
she gathered her control.

"I'm sorry, Rebecca. I..." His voice was so hoarse she could barely hear
him. "I practically attacked you. And in here of all places."

He gestured around the exam room as if he'd committed a cardinal sin.

"You didn't do anything I didn't want," she said in a surprisingly
strong voice. "In case you didn't notice, I wasn't fighting you."

154

His hands fell to his sides, and his clear green eyes met hers, turmoil
and regret and hunger warring together. "This is no place for-"

For her first time? He couldn't know, could he? "To make love."

He hissed out a breath. "For sex."

The bluntness of his words stabbed at her insecurity. "Right." But she
refused to allow him to see how much he'd hurt her. Instead she lifted
her chin and gathered her purse. She had to get out of there before she
disintegrated into tears and unleashed the foolish words threatening to
erupt.

He grabbed her by her arms and forced her to face him. "I don't want to
hurt you, Rebecca." His voice was hard, gravelly. "I can't deny that I
want to be with you. But..."

"But what, Thomas?"

"But I can't make any promises."

She stared at him long and hard. A heartbeat of silence stretched into
eternity.

"Is that what you think I want?"

"I don't know." He shook his head, yanked his keys from his pocket and
gently coaxed her toward the door. "But it's what you deserve. And I
can't take you here like I'm some horny high schooler."

She allowed him to lead her into the chilly night air. Snow fluttered
down from a darkening sky, creating a soft blanket of white on the tops
of the cedars and pines. But the breeze brought the scent of that French
perfume again.

This time disgust filled her.

Didn't she have any pride? How could she have crawled all over him, been
ready to make love with him, when he had just left another woman?

By noon the next day, Thomas had enough food for an army. Everything
from black-eyed peas and collard greens to fried chicken and homemade
apple pie. But not one dish had come from the woman he'd left behind the
night before.

What had he been thinking, almost making love to Rebecca in an exam room
with a metal table pressing into her back?

He hadn't thought, he realized. He'd simply been reacting. Letting his
body think for him.

Rebecca might hate him now for his abrupt withdrawal, but when he left
town, she would be glad he hadn't followed through and taken her to bed.
Then some other man would be her lover....

He pumped the weights harder, desperately trying to alleviate his
anxiety and purge himself of the irrational jealousy the images brought.
His body ached from lack of sleep and his unsated desire for her, but he
hadn't been able to rest last night after he'd left Rebecca.

Had she dreamt of holding him the way he'd dreamt of sleeping with her
in his arms?

Rebecca woke from a deep sleep and sat up, her body shimmering with
perspiration. She glanced around the dark bedroom to make certain she
was alone. That she had indeed been dreaming.

Of course she'd been dreaming.

She'd been in Hawaii on a moonlit beach with a

156

housand stars glittering above an inky sky. And she'd been doing the
hula dance completely naked.

In front of Thomas.

Pulling her velour robe around her, she glanced at the hope chest and
wondered if her dream had any significance, if the hope chest had
somehow triggered these wild dreams she'd been having.

Curious, she scanned the book on dream analysis until she discovered two
notations. According to the book, dreaming about being naked was
supposedly a good omen.

"Performing the undulating dance form of the hula means you'll have
exciting romantic adventures in your future."

In light of the night before and her close encounter with Thomas, she
laughed at the dream interpretation.

Confused and still tingling from wanting him, she lay back on her
pillows and tried to plan her day. It was a new year. She should set her
goals. Start over with a fresh attitude.

The sooner she finished the murals the better. Then she wouldn't have to
see Thomas any more and be tempted to beg him to finish what they'd begun.

Her heart squeezed at the thought of never having his lips touch her
again. Of never having his hands trail over her.

The phone rang and she stared at it for a long moment. Maybe Thomas
would suggest they meet and continue their romantic interlude from the
night before.

No, it was Suzanne.

"I hope your New Year's Eve was better than mine," Suzanne said.

Suzanne sounded as if she'd been crying.

"What's wrong?"

"Nick."

"I thought you two already broke up."

"We did." Suzanne sniffed. "But we've been on again for a couple of
days. It's definitely over now."

Rebecca pulled at a loose thread on the afghan at her feet, weaving it
back into the pattern. She only wished she could smooth out her own
problems as easily. "Did you love him, Suzanne?"

Suzanne sighed. "I don't know what I felt. But I'm so tired of the
dating game. And my job...it's so demanding." Another long sniffle.
"You're so lucky to be living in that small town. You have Hannah and
Mimi and Alison there. Everyone knows you and loves you. I bet that doc
is already planning to propose."

Ha! "I wouldn't say that."

"Why not? Didn't you two get together?"

"Not exactly." Rebecca sighed. "Look, I'm not like you. You're good with
men. For heaven's sakes, you've been entertaining Dad's colleagues since
you were a teenager."

"I only took over the entertaining because you hated it," Suzanne said.

Rebecca frowned into the phone. She had hated it, but she'd always
assumed Suzanne enjoyed the attention.

"It was obvious you were mortified by all those people in the house,"
Suzanne continued, "but you were great in the kitchen, so I just jumped
in and did what I do best. Talk."

Rebecca laughed. "You are good at conversation."

"Yeah, so why can't I hold a guy?"

158

They both lapsed into silence. Rebecca felt a closeness to her sister
she hadn't felt in years. Why had she spent so much time being jealous
of Suzanne?

"Now, tell me about Thomas." Suzanne made an exaggerated sound. "I know
he has the hots for you. What on earth is holding you back?"

For the first time in her life, Rebecca told her sister her problems.
Relaying the painful story from the night before only magnified her
doubts, though. "He keeps getting close, then pulling away. I don't know
how to handle the situation."

Suzanne let the silence linger for a minute. "Well, if you want my
advice, you should go after him. He probably thinks you won't sleep with
him without a ring on your finger, and he's not ready for a commitment yet."

She would like a ring and a commitment. But heck, she'd almost given in
to passion in an exam room the night before. "He did say he can't make
any promises."

"There you go. You need to be assertive, Rebecca. Let him know you want
him and that you'll accept the relationship on his terms for now." She
whistled. "Of course, sooner or later, you'll warm him to marriage, but
just let him know you're not pushing too hard too fast."

"But I thought I did that last night, then he started acting all noble."

"Seduce him," Suzanne said matter-of-factly. "Be bold about it. Show up
wearing nothing but a raincoat. Then he can't possibly turn you down."

Rebecca wasn't so sure.

"Oh, and don't forget to take protection. The last thing you want to do
is end up pregnant."

159

She didn't want to end up pregnant?

How little her sister understood her, Rebecca thought, as she primed
herself with Suzanne's encouraging words while she worked on the mural.
By dinner she'd nearly completed the waterfall scene and rallied her
confidence and determination.

It was a new year. The beginning of a new attitude. The start of a new
life for her.

A new Rebecca was emerging.

Out with the shy, dowdy girl and in with the bold,
go-after-what-you-want woman!

So, why was her stomach sitting in her throat and her knees shaking so
badly she thought they might literally pop in two like thin twigs?

Because she was naked beneath her dark-blue raincoat, and she was
sitting in front of Thomas's house, knowing he was only a few hundred
feet away. And she was deathly afraid she'd make a fool out of herself
and he would order her to go home where all good girls belonged.

He was such a nice, intelligent, decent man. Would he think she was
crazy for doing such a drastic thing?

160

No, he had admitted last night he wanted her. He was trying to be
honorable because he couldn't commit. She would show him that he didn't
have to commit right now. That she was a modern woman, not some
old-fashioned girl who required a ring on her finger before she'd let a
man touch her.

She'd prove she could take a chance on a great guy like him and wait for
promises of a permanent relationship. After all, would she ever find a
man if she didn't take chances?

Snow fell in a light blanket around the massive brick house, dotting the
thicket of evergreens and thick grass. The cloud cover painted pale-gray
lines in the sky while the wind whistled a soft melody through the
trees, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

Believe in yourself. Follow your dreams.

She inhaled, took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Grabbing the
bottle of wine with one hand and checking for the condoms in her pocket
with the other, because, although she did want a baby, she refused to
trap a man without his knowledge, she wobbled on the new gold heels that
Mimi had insisted she buy, up the azalea-lined sidewalk to Thomas's
house. She had never been there before, but her stomach was twisting and
turning so badly that she couldn't quite appreciate the porch entrance
or the impressive arched doorway or the elaborate Palladian windows in
front.

He lived here alone?

Passages from the erotic poetry book Grammy had given her flitted
through her mind.

Hands gently gliding across bare skin, fingers teasing, lips tasting,
one body offering bliss....

She wanted to experience that bliss with Thomas. Releasing a labored
breath, she raised her shaking hand and punched the doorbell.

It bellowed out like a gong, reverberating through the huge house and
echoing in her mind like a siren.

Goose bumps shimmied up her arms and legs. She could not go through with
this. He would take one look at her and laugh, especially when she
removed her coat and he realized there was nothing beneath.

Nothing but bare flesh and a scared, lonely girl who loved him. As much
as she didn't want to admit she loved him, she did.

Wishing her nerves would dissipate like the fallen snow that wouldn't
quite stick to the ground, she turned to run but caught her heel in a
crack between the bricks. She was stuck.

Suddenly the door swung open, and Thomas stood on the other side,
wearing gym shorts and a sleeveless muscle shirt with dark hair covering
his chest and legs and a light coat of perspiration dampening his
glorious body.

Thomas had avoided answering the door all day.

He'd also avoided the clinic because he'd suspected Rebecca would be
there painting. Instead, he'd read his journals and did some research on
the Internet, holding thoughts of Rebecca at bay.

Now she stood on his doorstep with light snow falling around her like
some kind of angelic vision that had drifted down from the clouds.

"Rebecca?"

She shivered slightly, and he realized she must be cold.

Logic warned him not to invite her in, but she

162

looked so damn nervous and he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"Come in. I...I wasn't expecting you."

"I know." She lifted her hand in offering, and he immediately thought of
chicken casseroles. Instead, she held up a bottle of Chardonnay. "I
finished the waterfall mural and thought I'd drop you off a New Year's
Day gift."

"Thanks." He took her arm to guide her inside, but she squeaked a reply,
and he noticed her shoe wedged in the bricks. He stooped to loosen it,
his hand brushing bare leg as he yanked her heel from the crevice. He
silently groaned. Trying to forget the way her bare leg felt on his hand
and the allure of those sparkly shoes, he stood and ushered her in out
of the cold. What was she so dressed up for? Did she have a date after
she dropped off his gift? "Can I take your coat?"

She hugged her arms around herself. "No... not yet. I'm still a little
chilly."

Hell, who was he kidding? He had wanted to see her all day.

"Come over by the fireplace." He led her to the great room with its
cathedral ceiling where he'd been working earlier and onto the
overstuffed throw pillows on the floor by the brick fireplace. "This
should warm you up."

"Thanks."

"You want a glass of that wine?"

"Sure." She darted a glance around the room. The roaring fire. The
overstuffed leather sofa. The oil painting of some Civil War figure. The
TV blaring a football game. What was she thinking about his lifestyle?

Did she like his house? Was she comparing it to her homey, artsy little
abode? A place that was so full of Rebecca....

"Listen, I'm all sweaty from working out, let me hop in the shower while
you warm up, then we can talk. Unless you were on your way somewhere.
You look like you're all dressed up."

Her face colored slightly. "No, I'll wait."

He opened the bottle of wine, poured her a glass, then handed it to her,
their fingers brushing. He could have sworn her hand trembled as she
gripped the glass and sipped. His heart pounding, he jerked his eyes
from those pink lips pressing around the rim of the glass and hurried
back to his bedroom. Maybe a cold shower would wipe out his reaction to her.

But what could they discuss that wouldn't elicit images of him tearing
off that raincoat and making love to her?

Rebecca chastised herself for not just tearing off her coat and asking
him to make love to her. But she had frozen like rain in an ice storm.

Better to take it slow. Seduce him, not jump his bones and scare the
poor man to death.

Trying to calm herself, she studied the huge den with its neutral decor,
amazed at how perfectly everything matched. A cherry sofa table held a
crystal lamp behind plush off-white leather furniture with several
antique-looking books wedged between globe-shaped bookends. Throw
pillows in beige, dark blue and rust stripes accented the leather, and
the oil paintings on the wall and oriental vases and sculptures looked
very expensive. Window dressings that had to be custom

164

made draped Palladian floor-to-ceiling windows that let natural light
spill through the room. Now, at dusk, with the dark winter clouds
hovering above, a soft ebony glow filled the massive space.

Yet, except for Thomas's laptop and a few medical books spread on a
corner rolltop desk, there were no personal touches of the man himself.
Did he bury himself in his work to the point of not having a life, like
her father had when she was growing up?

She heard the shower water running and groaned. Images of Thomas naked
and wet, his body covered with soapy water and bubbles taunted her. She
sipped the wine, the heat from the fireplace finally warming her chilled
body.

Or maybe it was the heat of wanting Thomas.

Nerves skidding to the surface, she stood and paced to release her
pent-up energy. By the time the water kicked off, she'd almost broken
into a sweat.

This was a mistake. She could not go through with the seduction.

She turned, contemplating how fast she could reach the door when his
voice stopped her. "What's wrong, Rebecca? You seem nervous."

She pivoted and saw him standing in the arched doorway wearing a pair of
jeans that hung low on his hips and a white shirt that he hadn't yet
buttoned. Heavens alive, he was impressive.

No, she was not going to run.

"I...I just don't want to impose."

The scent of his soap-cleaned masculine body tortured her as he walked
closer. "You're not. I've been holed up working all day. It's nice to
take a break."

"You were watching football."

"The game's over."

He hit the off button on the TV, then led her back to the pillows. She
sat down on the plush mounds, hugging the glass of wine to her like a
lifeline. He poured himself a glass, flipped on the stereo to some soft
jazz music, then joined her, stretching out his long muscular legs, his
shirt falling open. "I figured I'd use the day to catch up on my medical
journals. I have to stay current."

"You really love your work, don't you?"

"I imagine the same way you feel about your painting. It's my passion."

The word hung between them, evoking images and desires that she couldn't
deny any longer. As if he read her thoughts, his dark gaze skated over
her, the heat from his eyes blazing a trail of hunger through her. That
heat, coupled with the warmth from the fireplace, sparked a fiery need
to life.

"Are you getting warm?"

His husky voice felt like velvet. "Yes. Hot."

"Can I take your coat now?"

A slow smile captured her mouth as she nodded. Then she untied the sash
and watched his eyes darken as she gently slid the garment down her
shoulders.

Thomas's breath caught in his throat at the sight of the satiny expanse
of Rebecca's shoulders. His hands clenched around his glass as she
lowered the coat even further and he realized she was wearing nothing
beneath.

Soft plump breasts jutted forward, her rosy nipples pert and begging for
his touch.

His stunned gaze swung back to her face, and he struggled to make his
mouth work, but his mind

166

couldn't assimilate what was happening. What she might be offering.

Although she tilted her head up as if she had done this a million times,
he noticed the slight quiver of her lips as they parted, the painful
hitch of her breath as she waited for his response. He had never seen
anything so beautiful as her fake bravado.

Or the bare flesh before him and the purest of hearts that beat inside
that luscious, naked skin.

God help him but he couldn't refuse her invitation.

Still, he tried.... "Rebecca-"

"Shh." She raised a long, slender finger and pressed it to his lips.
"You s-" She hesitated and cleared her throat. "You said last night that
you wanted me but that you couldn't make any promises."

He closed his eyes to the sound of blood roaring in his ears. "I still
can't."

She traced her finger along his lips in the most exquisite erotic
gesture he'd ever felt. "I'm not asking for promises, Thomas. I'm just
asking for tonight."

He opened his eyes, knowing he had the perfect reason to stop this
insanity now. "But I don't have protection."

A blush rose on her cheeks as she gestured at her pockets. "It's taken
care of."

He searched her face for hesitation, for anxiety. But just like the
Rebecca he'd come to know, to like, to trust, he saw only honesty. No
hidden agendas. No lies. No conniving or flirting.

Just simple, honest emotions and a hunger in her eyes that destroyed
every last bit of his crumbling resistance.

Rebecca closed her eyes and just felt....

Every touch, every moment his mouth devoured her

was an erotic journey she had never embarked on before. Once he
unleashed his passion, the storm of his need swept her up into a
tailspin of her own primitive want. He ravaged her mouth and stroked and
tortured her with his fingers and lips until she nearly cried out with
the sensations flooding her body. Finally he shucked off his shirt and
jeans and allowed her to touch and explore his body. Taut muscles.
Sinewy strength. Masculinity so raw and tough yet so gentle and sweet.

She had never imagined being so bold. But verses from that erotic poetry
book hummed through her mind, the touches, the loving gestures that
brought moans from deep within his throat and had her own body clenching
and pulsing with the desire to be complete.

With him.

She had no hesitation.

But she saw the shock on his face when he plunged himself inside her. He
froze, muscled arms shaking as he braced himself above her.

"Rebecca, oh..." The dark passion in his eyes turned tender, then he
started to pull away.

"No, please, Thomas." She grasped his hips, felt the strength in his
body and wanted his possession. "I want you so much. Please."

His gaze locked with hers, filled with heat and savage hunger. His
breath rattled, filled with turmoil. Then he swallowed hard. She cupped
his jaw in her hands, pulled his face toward her, then gently licked his
lips until he allowed her to explore his mouth. As

168

she played deeper and deeper into the hot darkness that fueled her own
needs, his resistance faded, and he finally claimed her in the most
elemental way a man could, forming an intimate connection that seared
her soul.

She kissed him fiercely, with all her love, then groaned his name as he
took her to heaven.

A few minutes later Thomas lay back with Rebecca curled into his arms,
his body still quaking with ecstasy from their lovemaking. But his mind
was a total mess.

He had never experienced anything so tender and emotional, yet primal at
the same time.

"What the hell happened?"

"New Year's resolution. To be a different woman."

"Really? And to think mine was to pay my taxes on time." He brushed a
tendril of hair from her forehead, then twirled it in his finger, his
gaze raking over her. "And what prompted this resolution?"

Rebecca laughed softly against his chest and turned that
innocent-looking face up toward him. Baby-blue eyes blinked and sparkled
with pleasure. Pleasure he had given her. "The hope chest started it all."

"What?"

Her dainty shoulders shrugged beneath him. "The things inside, the
letter from Grammy-"

"Your grandmother wrote you a letter telling you to come over here
wearing nothing but a raincoat?"

"No." She laughed again, a soft musical sound full of womanly wickedness
that aroused him even more. "But she did give me a book of erotic poetry
that sparked some ideas."

In spite of the little voice inside his head telling him to stop now,
not to ask about that erotic poetry, he nuzzled her neck, feeling
humbled and whole and completely enamored with her. The shy little
vixen. "Maybe you could read some of that poetry to me."

She moved above him, her silky hair brushing his chest as she murmured,
"'Go gentle over my body, your fingers trace a path, your flesh wanting mine

Moved by the sound of her seductive voice, he mimicked her words with
his touches, and loved her all over again. And this time when they rode
the crest together, he could have sworn he'd died and gone to heaven.

171

The next week was the happiest week of Rebecca's life. She worked at the
bookstore all day, finished the paintings at the clinic in the evening
and spent heavenly nights with Thomas.

"Yo, Bee."

Rebecca had just stepped outside to walk to work and couldn't ignore
Jerry. Besides, Gertrude had been gushing about him all week, and
Rebecca wanted to see if the attraction was one-sided.

"How's it going, Jerry?"

He kicked at a loose rock with the toe of his dirty boot. "I, uh, wanted
to tell you thanks."

"For what?"

A half grin laced his face. "For turnin' me down on New Year's Eve."

A gust of wind blew Rebecca's hair into her face. "Really?"

He stuffed his hands in the backs of his pockets, big belly jiggling.
"See, the way I figure, if we'd got together, then me and Gertrude
wouldn't of." The smile on his face screamed male.

"So, you really like her?" Rebecca asked;

He nodded. "She's somethin' else."

"Be good to her, then." Rebecca grinned and headed down the sidewalk.
Love must be in the air. Hers had certainly grown for Thomas.

Although he hadn't said he cared for her and she certainly hadn't used
the L word, she sensed he had feelings for her. His touch, his look, his
lovemaking, all held so much tenderness and passion, and sometimes he
looked at her with such reverence, her insides quivered. Other times
she'd catch him watching her, staring, and she felt as if she were
living in a dream that might end any second....

At night, they listened to music, and sometimes she read the erotic
poetry to him by candlelight. And they always wound up making love, then
she'd curl into his arms and sleep with his breath feathering against
her neck and his big arms holding her tight.

Inspired by her new euphoria, she'd plunged into a new art project, a
completely different take on her usual landscapes. She was painting a
bed of lilies on the mountainside with two lovers intertwined, lying
amongst the white petals. Although the bodies were simple outlines, the
faces not visible, the man's body was definitely Thomas's.

Although, last night she'd woken in the middle of the night with an
awful premonition that things were about to end. She'd also dreamt about
a pair of clogs. According to the dream book, dreaming about wearing,
owning or buying a pair meant you were going to have a passionate but
short-lived love affair.

The passionate part she had.

Would it be short-lived?

No, she was just being paranoid.

172

Nothing could burst her bubble of happiness. She'd even stalled talking
to the people at the sperm donor clinic in hopes that things would work
out for her and Thomas. Then she could have a family the old-fashioned
way, with the man she wanted.

Friday was Grammy's party. The whole family would be together. She'd
decided to wear the violet dress she'd bought on the shopping trip with
her sister and cousins. Then she would surprise Thomas with a room at
the Honeysuckle Inn and they could have a romantic night together.

Nothing could go wrong now.

It had been the best and worst week of Thomas's life.

Turmoil gripped him every time he thought of Rebecca. During the day
when he was immersed in work, he reminded himself to end their
relationship, to let her down gently, to break it off so he could move
to Atlanta and not hurt her.

Then she would walk into a room, and all that sweetness and bright
sunshine that surrounded her like a halo would burst into the dark
emptiness of his soul and his intentions evaporated like rainwater on
the hot pavement.

He would not only forget his intentions, hell, he'd take her in his arms
and make love to her until neither one of them could breathe.

He dropped his head in his hands and tried to gather his composure, then
took a deep breath and knocked on Sonya Farris's hospital room door.
He'd just finished delivering twins at the hospital; he shouldn't be

thinking about Rebecca. He should be thinking about work.

Her husband called, "Come in."

He smiled as he entered. "How's the new mother doing?"

"Great." She looked exhausted but happy. Even when they'd resorted to
the emergency C-section, the thirty-year-old woman had been a trooper.
"I can't wait to hold the babies again."

Her husband looked worse than she did as he stood by her side. He stuck
out his hand. "I can't thank you enough, Doc." The man's voice broke and
tears filled his eyes. "Me and Sonya wanted a baby forever. Now you give
us two."

"Your wife did all the work," Thomas said, touched by the man's emotions.

Mr. Farris nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
"Yeah, she's amazing. But I was scared there, Doc, when things started
happening. If you hadn't been there, things could have really gone wrong."

Thomas shrugged off the praise. "I simply did what any doctor would do."

"No, Doc, you've been more than a doctor. You've been a friend. You kept
us both going these past few months when we were worried the twins would
come early." He cleared his throat as emotions gripped him again. "I
don't think we could have survived without you."

"I'm just grateful the babies are here and all right." Thomas shook the
man's hand again, then promised to check on her later, but his chest
ached as he left, and he contemplated the man's words. The doctors

174

he'd met at the seminar claimed they barely knew their patients' names.
Was he really making a difference here in this small town?

He enjoyed knowing his patients and their families and seeing the babies
he delivered later when he passed the young mothers on the street. Would
he miss that personal involvement when he worked at the Atlanta practice?

Rebecca's face flashed into his mind. They were leaving for her
grandmother's party tomorrow, and his interview was scheduled for next
week. He would find a way to tell her about his plans after the party.

An image of Rebecca lying in a hospital bed, hugging an infant to her
breast, singing the baby a lullaby, flashed into his mind, and his
breath left his lungs.

Once he left town, would Rebecca find someone else to fill her
evenings-and her bed? A man who would give her a baby and convince her
that marriage could work for her, even though her father's hadn't?

"Oh, my!" two of the elderly women from the church screeched as they
toddled across the bookstore. "We were in the doctor's office yesterday
to see Hannah," Myrtle Baker said, "and those murals you painted are
wonderful, Rebecca. Why didn't you tell everyone you were so talented?"

"I...I don't usually show my work to anyone," Rebecca said, surprised by
their reactions.

"My daughter Wilamina's having her first baby in the spring. Will you
paint something like that for her nursery?" Delores Coggins asked.

Rebecca shrugged. "Maybe."

"How about some dancing kittens or dolls?" Delores waved a bejeweled
hand. "They know it's goin' to be a girl."

"Lawdy-mae, things have sure changed haven't they?" Myrtle exclaimed.
"People know the sex of their baby before it even gets here."

Rebecca laughed and promised she would consider the commission work.
Oddly, the rest of the afternoon passed much the same. Word had spread
about her artwork, and half the town had come in to praise her. Trudy
Rodgers at the middle school invited her to talk to the schoolkids about
ideas for painting a mural on their cafeteria walls. And Lynette Porter
tried to enlist her to paint a backdrop for the local art theater's
performance in the summer.

She couldn't wait to tell Thomas. Thanks to him, she had never felt more
a part of the town.

On the way home, Thomas stopped by the clinic to check his messages. The
usual phone calls from two nervous expectant mothers claimed a few
minutes, then he checked his e-mail. A message from a sperm clinic in
Atlanta came up and he read it, his mind spinning.

It was obviously a reply to a request for information: Dear Ms. Rebecca
Hartwell, the information you requested is in the mail. Please let us
know if you'd like to schedule a conference to discuss our services.

Thomas pushed back the chair and stared at the message. Why had Rebecca
requested information about a sperm donor clinic? Was she planning to
use their services?

His heart pounded as he mentally reviewed their

176

conversation about single mothers. She had been suspiciously silent.

And she'd told her grandmother she was against marriage. In fact, not
once during the time they'd been together had she pushed for more
between them. She had come to him that night to sleep with him, had
claimed she didn't expect promises.

A thought stunned him.

No.

Rebecca was sweet and loyal and had no secret agendas. She would never
use him to have a baby. Would she?

No, she was not like his mother....

Struggling with emotions he didn't understand-anger, hurt, fear-he
printed the e-mail and stuffed it in his briefcase. He was a doctor; he
would not jump to conclusions. He would do the intelligent, mature thing
and calmly ask Rebecca about the note.

Surely she had some logical explanation.

Rebecca sensed something was wrong the minute Thomas walked into her
apartment. Even his kiss felt stiff as he greeted her. She had been
adding the finishing touches to the painting and quickly hid it so he
couldn't see the work.

If he ever confessed his love for her, maybe she'd give it to him as a
surprise.

"Have you had dinner?" she asked.

He nodded. "I grabbed something at the hospital."

She poured him a glass of wine and coaxed him to her sofa, then sat
beside him with her feet curled up beneath her. "What's wrong, Thomas?
Did you have a problem delivery? Is the Lackey baby all right?"

His gaze rose to meet hers. "No, the Farris twins arrived fine. And the
Lackey baby is actually doing better."

"That's all good news, then." So what had him so uptight?

She waited silently, her heart pounding in her chest. He rose, then
removed a sheet of paper from his briefcase. His expression was troubled
as he handed it to her, his eyes solemn.

"This came today."

Rebecca took the paper and read it, a feeling of doom mushrooming in her
stomach. She hadn't expected the clinic to reply by e-mail, just send
the information.

"What's going on, Rebecca?"

Panic gripped her at the sound of his cool tone. She couldn't lose
Thomas now, not when things were going so well between them. Not when
she loved him and had hoped he might be falling in love with her.

"Why are you checking out sperm donor clinics?"

"It...it's for a friend." Lord forgive her for the lie.

His eyes narrowed. "A friend?"

She nodded, half avoiding his gaze. "From the b-bookstore. She...she
asked me if I knew anything about the process."

"Is this woman having trouble getting pregnant?"

"It's an odd situation," she said, drumming her nails on her leg. "But I
promised I'd keep our conversation confidential. I...shouldn't have used
your computer at work, but one night I was there painting and saw those
books you have and remembered her questions so I...I just sent the e-mail."

His troubled look faded slightly. "Well, if she asks

178

again, tell her to come and talk to me. I'll be glad to advise her."

Rebecca's guilt mounted. She had never been dishonest in her life. Yet
she'd never had such high stakes that depended on her answer.

And she didn't want to lose Thomas.

Thomas couldn't explain the relief that washed over him at Rebecca's
answer. He'd known she was too good, too honest to ever lie to him or do
something underhanded.

Not his sweet, loving Rebecca.

But for a minute he'd thought she had, and the pain had been excruciating.

Because he cared for her...really cared.

He cupped her face in his hands, memorizing each delicate feature. "You
are the most beautiful woman I've ever known." And she'd been a virgin.
His virgin.

Tears glittered in Rebecca's eyes.

He kissed them away.

Then he slowly stripped her clothes and kissed every inch of her. And
when she cried out his name in ecstasy this time, the fear and pain he'd
experienced earlier faded, and he was almost certain that he'd fallen in
love.

Trouble was, what was he going to do about it?

In the early hours of morning, Thomas turned on his side and studied
Rebecca's sweet sleeping form. She'd curled into him all night, and he'd
held her as if he could never let her go.

But he would have to soon.

Unless he could convince her to come with him

when he moved to Atlanta. But Rebecca loved Sugar Hill. Her family was
here, her friends, her store. Still, she had so much talent in her
artwork. Talent that she hadn't revealed to the world.

Why?

Was she afraid people wouldn't recognize the beauty in her work or
appreciate it? She was wrong. He'd already heard from patients and
Hannah that people loved the murals on the walls at the clinic. If they
saw some of her other paintings...

If she moved to Atlanta with him, she could open a studio. She wouldn't
even need the bookstore.

He sat up slowly, unable to believe he was contemplating asking her to
move to Atlanta with him. But Rebecca had emerged from her shell lately.
She wasn't the same shy, timid girl he'd first met. She was smart and
artistic, could discuss literature and music and would adjust to life in
the big city.

But what about his schedule?

She'd never complained when he'd been on call or had to leave for an
emergency. And she would have her art... If she would only show it, she
could probably turn her talent into a lucrative business.

An idea percolated in his head. He slipped out of bed and dressed, then
scribbled her a note saying he'd left for work, that he would pick her
up later tonight for the party. Then he tiptoed into her studio room,
studied the paintings and found one of the smaller ones she'd finished
of her grandmother's tulip garden and carried it to his car. One of the
physicians he'd met at the seminar had connections to an art dealer in
Atlanta. He'd ask them to show the painting and see what happened.

When it sold, Rebecca would be so surprised....

181

Rebecca hurried into Mimi's house, her nerves frayed. She was running
late, and Mimi had promised to fix her hair in a fancy twist with
ringlets around the edges to frame her face.

She was also still battling the guilt she felt over the lie she'd told
Thomas. What had happened to her these past few weeks?

She had never lied in her life.

Of course, she'd never been so bold as to go to a man's house and seduce
him before, either. Maybe she should have chanced that Thomas would
understand the truth.

But she didn't want to lose him.

"Come on in, Rebecca," Mimi said with a big grin. "I hope you brought
your dress and makeup with you."

"I did." Except for Suzanne, who was riding down with Bert, the girls
had all planned to meet at Mimi's to dress for the party.

"Look, I fixed Cosmopolitans to start the party." Mimi waved toward the
colorful plastic glasses on the counter.

Great." Hannah walked into the room holding Maggie Rose in her arms.
Rebecca's heart clamored at the sight of the baby in the fluffy pink
blanket.

"What do you think?" Mimi flounced her curls. "Cissy gave me a few
highlights this morning at the Cut and Curl."

"You look great," Rebecca said.

Hannah cooed at the baby while Rebecca played with Maggie's tiny
fingers. "I'm baby-sitting while she fixes your hair," Hannah said, "I
adore being an aunt."

Alison waltzed into the room, grinning. "Then I get to tend to Maggie
while Hannah gets dressed."

"Alison was telling us about her honeymoon," Mimi chirped. "But, darn
it, she won't share the good parts."

"I have to have some secrets," Alison said with a wink. "But it was so
romantic!"

The girls all laughed and began to talk at once. Rebecca sat in the
kitchen chair so Mimi could work on her hair, envious as her cousins
compared wedding and honeymoon stories.

"I remember when I found that ring in my hope chest and had that crazy
dream about Jake," Hannah said. "I thought I was losing my mind. But
then I fell in love with him."

"And I almost freaked when I found baby items in my hope chest," Mimi
said, reaching over to tug at Maggie Rose's toe. "But look what
happened. Now I have a great man and the most perfect little girl in the
world."

"And I have Brady, the only man I ever loved," Alison said dreamily.
"But when I found those annulment

182

papers, I was afraid things weren't going to work out." She sighed, held
out her hand and stared at her wedding ring. "I'm just so happy it did."

Rebecca wondered if her story would have a happy ending like theirs.

It would all depend on Thomas-after all, he still hadn't mentioned
anything about love. Or commitment.

Mimi twisted strands of Rebecca's hair and fastened them with glittery
pins. "Alison, you know Rebecca's been seeing Thomas, right?"

"Hannah told me." Alison claimed the kitchen chair beside Rebecca. "I'm
so glad you two are dating. Thomas deserves someone wonderful, and I
can't think of anyone more perfect for him than you."

Rebecca gaped at her, her earlier worries resurfacing. "You don't feel
weird about us dating?"

"Of course not, it's fantastic." Alison squeezed her hands. "You two
make a wonderful couple."

"Who knows?" Mimi said, grabbing the can of hair spray, "Maybe
Rebecca'll be walking down the aisle next."

"What did Grammy give you in your hope chest?" Hannah asked.

Rebecca blushed as she described the contents.

"Erotic poetry," Mimi exclaimed. "And Grammy wrote it?"

"She's full of all kinds of surprises," Rebecca said.

"She's going to be the one surprised tonight," Hannah said.

"As long as everyone behaves themselves," Alison added.

Mimi added a hint of hair spray, stood back and

admired the results. Rebecca couldn't believe her eyes; she looked like
some kind of princess. The next few minutes they dressed and pampered
each other, trading cosmetics and accessories.

"Okay." Mimi gathered them into a huddle before they dispersed. "Here's
the plan. Everyone man their stations tonight. If you see any trouble
brewing between our dads, intercept immediately."

The girls all saluted. Nothing could go wrong, not as long as the
Hartwell girls stayed on the alert.

The entire way to Rebecca's, Thomas ordered himself to tell her about
his plans to interview for the job in Atlanta. But she and her cousins
were anxious about the party and their fathers, and he didn't want to
add to her worries.

Or was he being a coward? Using that as an excuse not to rock the boat
of the tentative bond they'd formed over the last few weeks.

Was he afraid if he asked her to move with him to Atlanta that she'd
reject him?

He grabbed the corsage he'd bought and headed up the sidewalk to her
door. Memories of childhood resurfaced-his mother pushing him away after
she'd lost his brother. His father deserting him when his mother had
said she didn't need him.

What about his needs? Why couldn't they have loved him?

Did Rebecca?

She'd never mentioned love, and she was against marriage....

Still, he stared at the welcome sign on Rebecca's door and remembered
the sweet, tender way she made

184

love to him. The painful memories faded. She couldn't fake the depth of
emotions he glimpsed in her eyes when they held each other, or the
passion in her paintings and in the way she touched him. She had to care
for him, she couldn't love him with her body with such tenderness if she
didn't have feelings for him, could she? Rebecca was too sincere for that.

He punched the doorbell, his pulse racing as she opened it. "My God, you
look stunning." He'd never imagined the shy girl he'd first met
metamorphosing into such an exquisite creature.

The soft violet dress hugged curves that he knew by heart yet teased him
to unveil them again, right then and there. "Your hair looks wonderful,"
he whispered, leaning forward to nibble at her ear. "I can't wait to
tear it down."

Her face flushed. "Thomas," she whispered in a throaty voice, "you are
too much."

He checked his watch. "I guess there's not time."

She grinned a female grin that sent his libido surging. "Later, honey."

He laughed and handed her the corsage. "A lily for you to wear tonight."

Tears misted her eyes as he took it out and placed it around her wrist.

"Why did you get a lily?" she asked, emotions tingeing her voice.

"Because they stand for purity," he whispered. "Just like you are."

Pure?

Thomas thought she was sweet and pure and sincere, and yet she had lied
to him!

For a minute after he'd given her the lily, she'd wondered if he'd seen
the painting of the two of them naked and entwined.

Why hadn't she just admitted she wanted a baby from the beginning and
was exploring her options?

Because she'd been such a chicken.

He would think she was hinting at commitment. After all, he'd admitted
right away that he couldn't make promises to her. She'd thrown herself
at him and pretended she didn't want a commitment or marriage when that
was exactly what she wanted. Mercy, she'd dug herself into a hole. What
was she going to do now?

Thomas felt slightly out of place as the Hartwell family gathered in the
Tiara Room. His own lack of family hadn't prepared him for the happy,
boisterous group. Hannah, Mimi, Alison, their husbands, Rebecca, Suzanne
and their twin cousins, Caitlin and Angie, along with dozen of Grammy
Rose's friends, hugged and laughed as if they'd come together for a long
overdue family reunion when, in actuality, they'd recently seen each
other at Alison's wedding. The door squeaked open and two elderly
blue-haired ladies toddled in.

One of them tapped her cane on the table edge. "She's here."

"Hit the lights," Mimi hissed. "Everyone in their places!"

Seconds later Grammy Rose entered, and they jumped up and yelled,
"Surprise!"

"Oh, my word!" Grammy Rose's wide eyes glittered with joy as she scanned
the crowded room of

186

friends and family. The girls had arrived early enough to hang a Happy
Birthday banner and streamers of silver and gold across the ceiling. In
the midst of the gold-lace-draped table, the three-tiered birthday cake
Mimi had baked sported enough candles to set the entire place on fire.

Grammy Rose wagged a bony finger at Clara Mae, her best friend. "You sly
old fox, you knew about this, didn't you?"

Clara patted her curly gray bob and tittered. "Got you on that one,
didn't we?"

Grammy Rose cackled. "You're dern right. I thought we were going to
Bingo night."

Everyone laughed and clapped, each of the girls taking a turn to hug and
wish their grandmother a happy birthday while the church ladies started
the line for the buffet. Thomas spotted Wiley on one side of the room
with Hannah, and Bert on the opposite with Suzanne as if the girls had
posted themselves as guard dogs.

But it was Rebecca who stood out in the crowd. He couldn't take his eyes
off her. She seemed radiant tonight in that violet dress, and so happy
that the thought of confessing his possible move to Atlanta didn't seem
like such a good idea. After all, he'd booked a room at the Honeysuckle
Inn and wanted to convince her to stay the night with him.

He didn't want anything to spoil the evening for her.

The party was a huge success, Rebecca thought, as she watched everyone
eat and mingle. Grammy Rose seemed on cloud nine.

And Thomas...she felt his eyes on her everywhere she went. His heated
looks and sultry glances were

driving her crazy. She'd looked forward to this party, yet now she
couldn't wait for it to end so they could spend the night together. Her
body tingled at the thought of what they would be doing later.

Grammy opened Rebecca's gift, a book of love poems, and laughed out
loud. She clutched Rebecca's hands, then leaned over and whispered, "How
are you and your young man getting along, dear?"

Rebecca blushed. "Fine, Grammy."

Her grandmother winked. "I had a feeling about him."

Rebecca laughed and Mimi handed her another gift. Her grandmother oohed
and ahhed at the photo of Maggie Rose that Mimi framed for her. "There's
a gift certificate to the spa in there, too," Mimi said. "You can get a
facial, a pedicure, a massage, the works."

"Mercy," Grammy Rose said. "I can't wait for that!"

Hannah gave her a new quilting book. "And we have a surprise," Hannah
said. "Jake and I are pregnant."

"Pregnant!" Mimi yelled.

"Oh, my word!" Grammy screeched.

Wiley pulled Hannah into a hug, and the other Hartwells joined in.
Rebecca's eyes misted, her gaze meeting Thomas's over the chaos. He gave
her an odd look, then glanced away.

Wiley hugged Grammy. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Grammy Rose punched his arm. "Oh, heck, son, I'm thrilled y'all are all
here. Having you and Bert together and all my granddaughters is a gift
in itself."

188

She winked. "Even if you have been keeping to opposite sides of the room."

Wiley laughed that boisterous laugh of his. "We both love you, you know
that."

A twinge of sadness touched Grammy's eyes as the girls1 twin cousins,
Caitlin and Angie, approached. "Now about your mother?"

"We tried to get in touch with her," Caitlin said. "But we couldn't
reach her."

"I tried to, as well," Wiley said. "But we don't know where Shelby took
off to."

Grammy Rose shook her head. "She'll come back in due time, I reckon."

Rebecca caught the cue from Mimi and urged her to open the remaining
gifts. Grammy hooted and cried and laughed as she opened gag gifts and
sentimental ones.

Uncle Wiley handed her a small box. Grammy shrieked, "Look at this, it's
a key!"

"To that gold convertible Cadillac you've always wanted." He hugged her.
"I found one and had it restored."

"I declare, what a surprise, Wiley. I can't wait to drive it!"

Bert moved toward her and handed her another box. Grammy's gaze flitted
from one brother to another. "Happy birthday, Mother."

Rebecca held her breath at the way the two men stalked around each other
like two big old lions vying for the same territory.

Grammy opened the small gift box and held up a diamond necklace trimmed
in rubies, then turned for

Bert to fasten it around her neck. "Thank you, son. It's beautiful."

"Always trying to buy people's affection with his money," Wiley muttered.

Bert scowled at Wiley. "Least ways I made something out of myself."

Oh, good heavens, Rebecca thought, they couldn't get into a brawl over
the presents.

Wiley reared back as if to fight, and Mimi yanked him backward while
Suzanne carted Bert off to the other side to put some distance between them.

Apparently, the boys had competed for their mother's attention all their
lives. Trouble was, Rebecca understood the feeling. Suzanne and her
father had always shared that special closeness, and she had been the
outsider. Her father attempted to compensate for his lack of time with
money, while Wiley took the sentimental route, which might be the reason
Rebecca felt closer to him than her own dad.

She went to refresh her lemonade when she spied Thomas in the corner,
deep in conversation with her father. Suzanne stood close by, stunning
looking in a short, black scoop-necked cocktail dress that showcased her
endless legs. Her father's voice rang out over the noisy room. "So, you
have an interview all lined up with the board on Monday? Good job,
Thomas," her father said. "I'll look forward to talking to the board
members about bringing you on staff."

"Have you discussed leaving your practice with Hannah yet?" Suzanne asked.

Rebecca froze, lemonade sloshing over her hand as she tried to pour it
from the ladle into her cup.

"Not yet, I wanted to see if things worked out

190

first." He leaned in closer. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me mention
it to her. I'm planning to talk to her Monday morning. I wanted to wait
until after the party."

So, he intended to break up with her after the party, while she'd
planned a romantic night at the Honeysuckle Inn!

Her father pumped Thomas's hand. "All right, we'll talk more at the
interview. By the way, if you're staying in Atlanta overnight, come out
to my place around six. I'm having a dinner party there for colleagues
and investors of the center." Her father curved an arm around Suzanne.
"Suzanne's agreed to come and help my new wife play hostess. She's a
beauty, isn't she?"

Rebecca's heart clutched as Thomas smiled at Suzanne.

"Yes, she is. And thank you, sir, I'm looking forward to next week,"
Thomas lowered his voice, "In fact, I'd hoped to swing an invitation to
this party just to get to know you better."

Rebecca's father chuckled. "You'd be prepared to move to Atlanta soon?"

"Definitely," Thomas said. "I'm really excited about the new medical
facility and eager to see it. Sugar Hill's just not the place I want to
settle."

Rebecca let the ladle slip from her hand. Thomas was moving to Atlanta?
Applying for a job because he didn't want to settle in Sugar Hill?

Meaning he didn't want to settle with her.

Not that he hadn't warned her-I can't make any promises.

Because he'd never intended to stay in Sugar Hill or develop a serious
relationship with anyone.

Especially her.

191

Rebecca's stomach twisted, her hopes and dreams shattering into a
thousand pieces. Thomas thought Suzanne was beautiful. He was moving to
Atlanta and he hadn't told her or Hannah yet.

And he would be having dinner with her father and sister next week.

How could her father be so heartless as to push him toward Suzanne when
Rebecca was in love with him?

Because it had never occurred to her father that his other daughter
might interest someone like Thomas.

Her hand flew to her stomach. She'd wanted to have Thomas's baby so
badly, but she'd wanted him, too. And they had used birth control
religiously. Still, what if it had failed and she accidentally wound up
pregnant, and he ended up going to Atlanta and became involved with Suzanne?

No, Suzanne wouldn't do that. She knew Rebecca had feelings for Thomas.

Memories of the other times men had used her to get to Suzanne flooded
back, adding to her insecurities. What if Thomas had only been using her
to get to Suzanne?

192

No, that didn't seem feasible. But his conversation with her father
echoed in her head....

I'd hoped To swing an invitation to this party to get to know you better.

Other memories rushed back-Thomas asking her about her family. Thomas
attending the seminar in Atlanta. Thomas showing up at the coffee shop
just when her father and Suzanne had visited. Thomas sitting with them
that day. Had he planned that impromptu meeting just to meet her father?

Had he thought dating her would put him in her father's good graces so
he would offer him the job he wanted?

Pain squeezed at her lungs, threatening to cut off the air. Suddenly
Wiley tapped his wineglass and called everyone around to sing "Happy
Birthday" while Mimi cut the cake. Rebecca's throat clogged with tears
and she ran to the bathroom, too choked up to sing.

A twinge of unease nagged at Thomas after his conversation with Bert.
Although he appreciated the man's medical knowledge and professional
reputation, it seemed as if Bert was throwing Suzanne at him. Didn't
Bert realize that he and Rebecca were involved?

Rebecca wasn't very close to her father. Perhaps he had no idea...

And where had Rebecca disappeared to?

Last he'd seen her, she'd been talking to her cousins and hovering
around the lemonade bowl. He excused himself from Bert and Suzanne to
find her. Yet as he

searched the crowded room, he didn't see her anywhere.

His anxiety grew.

Mimi pushed a piece of cake toward him, and he took it, still scanning
the room. "Have you seen Rebecca?"

"I saw her duck into the powder room." Mimi waved a chocolate-coated
finger where she'd scooped up a bit of icing. "She's probably in there
sprucing up for you."

Thomas relaxed slightly.

"You've been good for her, Thomas," Mimi said.

He shrugged. "It works both ways." She had filled a void he hadn't even
known existed.

Mimi pointed a fork at him. "Just don't hurt her, you hear me. She's too
good to have her heart broken."

REBECCA'S HEART WAS BREAKING. Why hadn't

Thomas told her that he was leaving?

He obviously didn't feel as if he owed her anything. All the feelings
she'd imagined were just sexual ones. He'd found a willing woman who'd
accept him without promises and he'd used her.

She had no one to blame but herself.

Still, he could have been honest with her.

Although she herself hadn't been up-front about her plans....

Tears trickled down her cheeks as nausea gripped her. She locked herself
in the bathroom stall and let the floodgates open. Sobs racked her, even
as she told herself she shouldn't be so hurt. That he hadn't exactly
lied to her.

194

She slumped on the toilet, ripped off pieces of toilet paper, blew her
nose and wiped her eyes, struggling to gain control. But another sob
escaped her.

"Rebecca?"

She froze, her erratic breathing tumbling out.

"Rebecca, it's Alison, what's wrong?"

"Go away." The last person she needed to tell was Alison.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong."

"I...please, Alison, just leave me alone."

"Rebecca."

Oh, for pity's sake, now Hannah was knocking at the stall door. "Come
on, sugar, open the door."

"I- Just go b-back to the party. I'm fine."

"You are not fine," Hannah said. "Now, talk to us."

"What's going on in here?"

Lord, now Mimi. Had her cousins seen her rush in here and known
something was wrong?

Rebecca dropped her head forward in her hands, shaking with humiliation.

"We're your cousins and we're here for you now, Bee," Hannah said. "Come
on, let us help."

"You can't," Rebecca wailed. "I'm such a fool."

"Uh-oh, sounds like man trouble," Mimi said.

"Did Thomas say something to upset you?" Hannah asked.

"You want me to go get him?" Alison asked. "I'll drag him in here and
make him explain-"

"No." Rebecca lunged up, panicked. "Please don't let him know I'm upset."

"Then open up," Mimi said.

Oh, heck, what else could she do? She couldn't very well hide in here
forever.

Then she would ruin Grammy's party.

Rebecca turned the knob, knowing she looked pathetic with her red puffy
eyes and smeared makeup. On a sob she spilled the entire story.

Hannah paced back and forth. "So, he's planning to leave the practice
and he hasn't told me yet."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you."

"No, I'm glad you did. But he should have been the one to let me know,
and he should have been honest with you."

"He never made me any promises," Rebecca said.

"I hope he's not doing this because of me." Guilt laced Alison's voice.

"Don't blame yourself," Mimi said. "This is all my fault. I pushed him
toward Rebecca." Mimi's voice trembled. "Now I feel horrible."

"So do I," Hannah said.

"But you warned me this could blow up in our faces," Mimi cried. "I'll
never try to play matchmaker again."

Hannah patted Mimi. "I thought he was interested and just needed a
nudge, too."

Rebecca stared up at them in confusion. "What's going on?"

Hannah confessed about them coaxing him to ask her about painting the
murals. So, even that hadn't been his idea.

"But I thought he really liked you, anyway," Mimi said in misery.
"Honest, Bee, or we wouldn't have interfered."

196

"And I thought he liked it here in Sugar Hill," Hannah said. "I know
he's ambitious but he acted as if he enjoyed the practice."

Rebecca hugged her cousins. "It's not your fault, I appreciate you
trying to help me, though."

"I just don't understand," Alison said. "I've seen the way he's been
gawking at you all night. I'd swear he's in love with you."

Rebecca shook her head. "Well, he's not. He told Dad he doesn't want to
settle in Sugar Hill." And they all knew she could never live anywhere else.

"I'll talk to him," Hannah offered. "Or better yet, I'll get Jake to.
Maybe he can pound some sense into him."

"No," Rebecca whispered in horror, "then he'll know I overheard."

"You want me to say something?" Alison offered.

"I've been taking kickboxing," Mimi said. "I can kick him where it hurts."

Rebecca laughed in spite of her tears. "Thanks, but no." She inhaled for
courage. "Just help me repair my makeup so I can walk out there and save
my pride."

The girls exchanged sisterly glances but finally nodded.

"It won't be easy not to cream him," Alison said.

"Or to hold my tongue," Hannah said.

"Or not to kick him," Mimi said, wagging her finger. "Now, listen, Bee,
when the moment's right, you stick it to him or else we will." Mimi
raised her head, then reached inside her purse for her makeup. "No

man is going to get away with hurting one of the Hartwell girls without
paying for it."

Thomas had engaged Wiley in a conversation about cars, his ears burning
from listening to Jake and Seth and Brady talk about the high points of
marriage and having a family. Seth bragged about Maggie Rose, and Jake
was thrilled that Hannah was expecting. He didn't feel comfortable
joining in the conversation with the new husbands, especially with Brady
giving him the evil eye as if he feared Thomas might still be harboring
feelings for Alison.

He had never felt about Alison the way he did Rebecca. And he couldn't
help but imagine the two of them having a baby. But if she wasn't
interested in marriage, would she want a child?

"I swear all my girls have disappeared," Wiley said, waving a champagne
glass around. "Wonder what they're plotting?"

Thomas laughed. "You know how girls are, they always go to the bathroom
in groups."

"Right, well, I need to find them. Some of the guests are about to
leave, and they need to say goodbye."

Thomas nodded and watched Wiley head toward the women's room, wondering
if he should follow. Rebecca had been in there an awfully long time.

He certainly hoped nothing was wrong.

"What's wrong?" Wiley asked as all the girls exited the bathroom in a
huddle.

Rebecca winced. If he'd taken one look at her and known she was upset,
how would she fool Thomas and everyone else? "Nothing."

198

Wiley grabbed Rebecca's arms. "Are you sure, honey?" His gaze
scrutinized her face and his eyes glazed over with horror. "There is
something wrong. You've been crying."

Mimi gave him the short version.

"I told you not to tell," Rebecca hissed.

"Sorry," Mimi said with a shrug. "But Dad is family."

Hannah and Alison patted Rebecca's back. "We won't tell anyone else,
don't worry."

Wiley bristled, squaring his shoulders inside his bright-purple coat.
"You mean your daddy was pushing Suzanne toward Thomas when he's been
dating you? What kind of fool is he?"

"Dad-" Hannah warned.

"I don't think my father has a clue," Rebecca said. "It probably never
occurred to him that Thomas would like me."

"Why the hell not?" Wiley asked, his voice booming. "You're one of the
prettiest girls in town."

Rebecca blushed. "Thanks, Uncle Wiley, but Dad doesn't see me that way."

"Then he's not only a fool but a blind old fool." Wiley started forward,
hands clenched. "And I've got a good mind to tell him right now. He
thinks money can buy everything, but doesn't he know people want love
and time?"

Hannah, Mimi and Alison all grabbed him at once. "Stay out of it, Dad."

Rebecca kissed her uncle's cheek. "Thanks, Uncle Wiley, but this is my
problem, not yours. And I don't want Grammy's party ruined. She was so
happy you and Dad were both here."

Wiley shrugged, his red face turning ruddier.

"We're family, hon, one person's problem is everybody's."

Rebecca felt tears sting her eyes again. "Thanks, and I appreciate it,
honestly I do." She dabbed at her eyes again. "But Thomas is one problem
I have to take care of myself."

She gave them all a weak smile. She just had to figure out a way to end
her relationship with him gracefully so he would never know he'd hurt her.

Thomas was just about to start searching for Rebecca when she emerged
from the ladies' room, her entire family in tow. Having lived alone most
of his life, he envied the way the Hartwells were bonded by blood and
family, sharing a closeness he'd never known.

It didn't matter, he reminded himself. He had almost everything he'd
ever wanted at his fingertips. A great job in Atlanta, prestige, money,
a bright future.

But would he be sharing it with the woman he wanted? Was Rebecca the
right one to stand by his side and help him climb the ladder of success?

He caught her gaze, and his heart gave an odd leap at the expression in
her eyes. Not the adoration he'd seen earlier, but a darker look.
Wariness. Worry.

He couldn't quite read her feelings, but noting Wiley's glare toward
Bert, he assumed her anxious look resulted from the two men and their
ongoing feud, so he brushed off the uneasiness. He rushed toward her
with a smile. The party was breaking up and he wanted to have her to
himself. Alone at the Honeysuckle Inn.

At least for another night.

She met him halfway. "Thomas, I hope you enjoyed

200

the party and weren't too bored with all this family stuff."

"No, it was fun. Your family is charming." He'd accomplished everything
he'd set out to do, so why did he suddenly have this feeling of
impending doom. "Are you ready to leave?"

She nodded. "Thanks for bringing me here. But I-I've decided to go home
with Grammy tonight."

"What?" He tempered his hurt and leaned over to kiss her. "I thought
we'd spend the night together."

She turned slightly so his kiss landed against her cheek. "I'm sorry. I
should have said something sooner, but I didn't realize Grammy was
expecting me." Her eyes turned pleading. "I just don't want to
disappoint her on her birthday."

He swallowed his disappointment. He couldn't deny a
seventy-five-year-old woman her birthday request, either.

Besides, it was only one night. If he worked things right, he'd have the
rest of his life to spend with Rebecca.

Rebecca barely made it through saying goodbye to Thomas without bursting
into tears again. Though part of her had wanted to confront him for
using her, her pride kept her from creating a scene.

Her father and uncle were a different story. With only a few minutes
left, they forgot pride, and their snipping careened out of control.

"Did you have to wear such a godawful suit?" Bert said. "I'm surprised
you didn't blind the poor hostess when you came flashing in. All those
whistles and

bells and lights on your car, you'd think you were some rock star."

"Maybe if you'd strip off your snottiness, you'd realize I'm just trying
to show people a good time, not buy their love."

"You're simply jealous that I'm a success and you're not."

"My business is doing very well," Wiley boasted.

"You mean those cheesy ads and corny signs you post draw in suckers for
your jalopies?"

"My cars are not jalopies."

"At least my daughters can be proud of me," Bert said, puffing up his chest.

"Proud?" Wiley bellowed. "You ignorant oaf! You dote on one daughter and
ignore the other-"

"I do not."

"You most certainly do. It's so obvious it makes me furious. I'd like to
pound some sense into you-"

Mimi and Hannah and Alison grabbed Wiley's arm before he could throw a
punch. Suzanne caught Bert's hand just as it formed a fist, and dragged
him toward the door.

Rebecca curled an arm around her grandmother, mortified. "I'm sorry, Gram-"

"Shh, don't fret." Grammy Rose laughed. "Boys will be boys." Rebecca
gave Thomas one last pained look as she walked her grandmother outside.
Once Grammy was settled in with her friend, Rebecca sneaked into her
uncle Wiley's Suburban.

She couldn't let Thomas see her riding home with her uncle instead of
leaving with her grandmother. Wiley threw an arm around her and hugged
her, then

202

shifted the SUV into gear and tore down the mountain, mumbling about how
idiotic Bert could be.

Rebecca huddled her arms around her waist and stared out the window, but
Thomas's face was etched in her mind. The miles and bumps in the road
accentuated the distance and hurt that separated them.

203

One weekend shouldn't have been so long. But it seemed to drag on forever.

Monday afternoon, as Thomas entered the medical center in Atlanta to
meet Bert Hartwell and the other board members, he tried to clear his
head. But his mind kept whirling with worry.

All weekend he'd attempted to concentrate on his medical journals the
way he used to do before he became involved with Rebecca, but that last
odd look in Rebecca's eyes haunted him.

Something had been wrong.

He just couldn't put his finger on the problem.

The fact that he hadn't talked to her for days magnified his anxiety. He
missed her voice, her shy sultry smile, the way she whispered his name
in the throes of passion, the way she lay curled against him in the dark
of night.

He'd tried to convince himself she'd just spent the weekend with her
grandmother. So, why did he feel as if everything in his life had just
changed? As if he'd lost her somehow?

If only she'd stayed with him at the inn that night

204

and he could have held her in his arms, he would have known everything
was all right.

Since when did you get so dependent on a woman, Emerson ? Or anyone else.

Work had always been all that mattered. It should be all that mattered
now. People's lives, babies' lives, depended on him being his sharpest,
most focused, on him knowing every possible thing that could go wrong
and being able to read the situation and data correctly during a
pregnancy and delivery.

Yet he hadn't been able to read Rebecca's thoughts at all.

Hannah, on the other hand, had been an open book. She'd told him she was
disappointed he was considering leaving but wished him well. Odd, but
he'd actually expected her to ask him to stay.

Not that she couldn't find a replacement, but she'd been slightly
distant, a little quieter than usual. Maybe she just didn't understand
his ambition, his drive.

He stepped up to the receptionist's desk, excitement warring with worry.
Once he firmed up his plans, he'd drop by the art studio and check on
that painting of Rebecca's to see if the dealer liked it. Then, after
Bert's dinner party, he'd drive straight back to Sugar Hill and see
Rebecca. They needed to have a long, serious talk about their future.

Rebecca gathered the children around for story hour, knowing her own
dreams for a future with Thomas had disintegrated this past weekend.
Thank heavens he'd gone to Atlanta today and would be moving soon. At
least she wouldn't have to face him

every day and be tortured by his handsome face and the fact that he'd
made a fool out of her.

"Okay, kids, I'm going to read you one of my favorite stories." Rebecca
held up The Ugly Duckling. "My grandmother used to read me this one when
I was little. Listen very carefully..."

When she finished the story, the children clapped. "I wike the duckie,"
one of the four-year-olds said.

"I wanna be a swan," Tonya, a tiny five-year-old whispered.

"You will be," Rebecca assured her with a hug. Thomas had made her feel
like the beautiful swan.

At least for a little while.

So she couldn't be too angry with him, could she?

She sang a few songs with the children, then herded them over to Mimi,
who'd planned to decorate duck cookies with them in the activity corner.
But Rebecca was too melancholy to join in; she simply sat and watched,
her heart heavy. Maybe she'd overreacted....

Gertrude tapped her on the shoulder. "You have a phone call."

Please not Thomas, "Who is it?"

"A man named Robertson. He's an art dealer from Atlanta."

"Hmm, I don't know him." Gertrude shrugged and Rebecca rose and went to
the phone. "Rebecca Hart-well speaking."

"Hi, Ms. Hartwell, I'm delighted to speak to you, and I appreciate you
giving us the opportunity to show your painting."

"My painting?"

"Oh, sorry, we must have a bad connection?" He chuckled. "The painting
of the tulip garden. It's fantastic.

206

I love your use of colors and the lines...you show a lot of depth and
sensitivity in your work."

Rebecca frowned into the phone, totally confused. "You have my painting
of the tulip garden?"

" Yes... Dr. Emerson brought it in for you." He hesitated, sounding
confused. "Is there a problem?"

You might say that. "Uh, no. I just didn't realize he'd given it to you
yet." The lying, conniving, sneaky...

"Oh, well, yes, he brought it to me last week."

"Last week?"

"If you have any more you'd like to send, I'd be happy to show them on
commission. I think they're going to fly out of the gallery."

Rebecca chewed a thumbnail for a second. "As a matter of fact, I do have
another one for you. Give me your address and I'll ship it to you ASAP."

"Great." He recited the shop name and street. "And let me know whenever
you want to come in. If we could get several of your pieces at once,
we'll feature you in a special showing."

Just what she wanted, every art critic in Atlanta coming in to criticize
her work. Her very personal work. She'd told Thomas that, but he
obviously hadn't been listening.

She hung up, furious. Why had Thomas taken her painting to a gallery
without her permission?

For the money.

Was he so much like her father that he thought money was the key to
everything? That all happiness hinged on financial and career success?
Forget about the people and their feelings and wants...

Well, she'd fix him. She'd send that painting of him

lying naked in the lilies to the gallery. And she'd make certain the
gallery owner sent him the profits when it sold.

She certainly didn't want it hanging around her house, reminding her of
their romance.

Their affair, rather.

Romance was meant for lovers, for people in love.

She was the only one who'd experienced the feeling. He'd simply been
using her.

And she was ready to be done with him.

Thomas rang the doorbell to Bert Hartwell's home in Buckhead, awed at
the prestigious neighborhood and Georgian-style mansion. The interview
with the board members had gone as smooth as silk, and his tour of the
facility proved to be more astounding than he'd imagined. Bert had
already brought in some of the finest physicians in the country plus a
few European specialists who would add to the impressive staff. Bert had
also offered him a deal he couldn't refuse.

His dreams were about to come true.

So why did it feel like such a hollow victory?

Because he had no one special to share the joy with.

Rebecca. He wanted her with him, wanted her to be proud of him and
excited and-

"Come in, sir." A butler ushered him through a massive foyer to a formal
dining area where cocktails and hors d'oeuvres abounded. Servants roamed
the crowd offering drinks and fancy appetizers. An attractive woman who
looked to be in her midforties with a stylish chignon and enough jewels
glittering on her

208

fingers to nearly blind him, stood beside Bert. She must be the latest
Mrs. Bert Hartwell.

Two of the doctors at the fertility clinic spoke to him, then he
introduced himself to Irwin Jacobs, a specialist in the area of birth
defects. He'd heard the man had examined the Lackey baby.

"His prognosis is good now," Jacobs said. "You made a good call in
transferring him to the neonatal unit here right away, Doctor."

Thomas nodded as the man excused himself to get another drink.

"It's nice to see you, Thomas."

He nearly spilled the scotch on his suit when he glanced up to see Suzanne.

"So, are you impressed with my father's party?"

"He certainly knows how to entertain."

"Part of the job," she said in a low voice, then gestured toward the
woman at Bert's side. "But at least I can fade into the woodwork. I
think the new Mrs. Hartwell is going to be exactly what Dad wants."

He raised an eyebrow at her cynical tone.

"A trophy wife," Suzanne said matter-of-factly.

"You don't think love is involved?"

"There hasn't been with the others." Suzanne wrapped her fingers around
the stem of a crystal champagne flute. "That's why they never last."

He sipped his drink, studying the crowd, the expensive furnishings, the
obvious appearance of success.

"Dad just wants someone to look good on his arm to impress investors and
his co-workers, someone who can serve and cater and help run the
charities and fund-raisers that help boost him to higher positions. I
fill in between wives."

"You don't like the hostess job?"

Suzanne shrugged. "I can handle it. But," she gave him a wary glance,
"Rebecca, she's a different story. She always hated these big parties."

He dragged his gaze from the crowd to her, sensing that Suzanne had
issued a silent warning of some type.

Then she surprised him with directness. "Does she know you're coming to
work with Dad?"

He swirled the glass around and watched the amber liquid splash over the
ice. "I'm going to talk to her about it when I return to Sugar Hill."

She opened her mouth to say something else, but her father suddenly
summoned her. "Don't hurt her," she whispered as she headed toward the
throng of men.

"I don't intend to," he said softly.

But he wasn't sure Suzanne heard him. And if she had, the dark look she
tossed him over her shoulder implied she didn't believe him.

Rebecca dragged herself home, struggling not to think about Thomas and
the fact that he was in Atlanta planning a new job and a new life
without her. And that at that moment he was probably having dinner with
her father and her sister.

Suzanne was probably charming the pants off him.

No.. .her sister wouldn't do that, not when she knew Rebecca had
feelings for him.

Would she?

Jerry and Gertrude waved to her from their patio as she climbed the
stairs to her apartment. "Look!" Gertrude shouted, holding out her hand.

Something shiny glittered in the fading sunlight.

210

m

"Jerry proposed! We're getting married!"

Rebecca gulped; that was fast.

Jerry shrugged and pulled Gertrude to him.

Gertrude looked so happy Rebecca waved and yelled, "Congratulations.
When's the big day?"

"We're not sure. We may run off to Reno one weekend," Gertrude said over
the wind. "Doesn't that sound romantic?"

Any proposal sounded romantic to her. "I'm so happy for you." Rebecca
unlocked her door. "But if you decide to get married in Sugar Hill,
don't forget to invite me to the wedding."

Probably the only one she would be going to anytime soon, Rebecca
thought, as she rushed inside. She flipped on the light and walked
straight to her studio to box up that painting and mail it. The sooner
she rid herself of it the better.

Then she'd pack away that silly hope chest and her dreams of marriage
with it. Poor Grammy would be disappointed that this time the magic of
the hope chest hadn't worked.

Thomas stopped to pick up a dozen roses for Rebecca and a bottle of
wine, hoping to mellow Rebecca for their talk. He should have told her
sooner about the job offer.

He just prayed she'd understand.

And that she'd consider coming with him.

If she didn't...could he stay in Sugar Hill? Live in the small town and
practice medicine?

All the pros and cons warred with one another in his head as he drove
through the small town. The friends he'd made, the warmth of the people,
the content feeling that engulfed him when he saw his patients with
their new babies, the safe streets and countryside which would be
perfect for family life.

But the negatives echoed just as well-the lack of specialists, the
distance for emergencies, the limitations of the hospital. His vow to
his parents and the little baby brother he'd lost....

In Atlanta he could afford a big house with a yard, and could give his
child the best of everything. He and Rebecca could move into a nice
neighborhood in the suburbs with a pool and tennis courts, and Rebecca
could show her paintings. They could have it all. With her love of books
and art, she would make a great conversationalist at parties. Plus, her
volunteer work at the church and that reading club she'd started with
the kids at her bookstore could filter over to PTA events and their own
family. And her experience as a small-business owner would bring
practical advice to any committee she might want to chair.

If she chose not to serve on any of them or help with fund-raisers,
hell, he could hire an assistant to take care of those things.

Determined he'd ironed out the details for a smooth transition for both
of them, he parked his car, grabbed the flowers and wine and hurried up
the steps. He knocked and waited, his heart pounding.

He was so excited over his upcoming plans; Rebecca just had to agree.
Surely she wouldn't think he was rushing things.

But she had told her grandmother she wasn't getting married. Only, that
was before they'd gotten involved. Before she'd stolen his heart and
he'd taken her virginity.

212

Still, his hands shook as he pushed the doorbell again, and his pulse
clamored like a teenager's asking for his first date.

Would Rebecca be shocked when he admitted he loved her? And what would
she say to his proposal?

213

Rebecca had just packed away the erotic poetry book, the bride's book
and garter and closed the hope chest, shutting out her dreams of
marriage and babies, when the doorbell rang. Ten o'clock-who would be
visiting her now?

Thomas? No, he was probably spending the night in Atlanta. Her father's
dinner parties usually ran late, and there were always drinks flowing
and laughter and lots of business acquaintances. Plus it had started to
rain, creating hazardous traffic conditions. She'd been listening to it
pound the roof for hours.

The chime sounded again, and she pulled her bathrobe around her and
forced her legs to move, when all she really wanted to do was collapse
on the bed with a good book and have another cry.

It was probably Gertrude and Jerry with more talk about their wedding
plans. She'd paste on a cheery face and be happy for them if it killed her.

But she opened the door and saw Thomas on the other side, rain sluicing
off him. His handsome face and smile sent a thunderous roar of pain
through her.

214

"Can I come in?" His hand snaked from behind his back to reveal a
bouquet of roses. "I missed you."

Tears seemed to choke her throat, but she swallowed and accepted the
flowers, then moved aside. "They're beautiful,"

She walked to the kitchen, grabbed a vase and put the flowers in water,
clipping the stems carefully, stalling as long as possible. At least
until she could string together a coherent sentence. He flipped the
kitchen towel off the counter and swiped at his damp hair and clothes.
She itched to take the towel and dry his face but gripped the vase,
resisting.

Finally she turned to him, unease rippling through her at the odd way he
was staring at her. But she sucked up her courage, determined not to
make a dramatic scene. She should have just told him goodbye the night
of Grammy's party when she'd overheard his conversation with her dad.

"We have to talk, Rebecca."

Here it comes. The flowers were obviously his way of easing into his
breakup speech.

He moved inside the kitchen, found the corkscrew she kept in the drawer
as if he was right at home, then opened the wine he'd brought and poured
them each a glass.

Wine to soften the blow....

Then he handed her one glass and gathered her free hand in his and led
her to the sofa. His dark eyes gleamed with emotions she didn't
understand as he raked them over her. Then he urged her down beside him.
"I...I should have mentioned this before, but..." He took a sip of his
wine, suddenly looking nervous, so she sipped hers, then he set his
glass down, took

hers from her, and pulled both her hands in his. She'd never seen him so
nervous. "I went to Atlanta today. I wanted to talk to the board of the
new women's medical center being set up there about working with them.
Have you heard of it?"

Rebecca nodded. She had to be brave. "I've heard my father mention it."
Just like I heard you talk to him before you left.

"Of course." He squeezed her hands, studying them for a few minutes, and
Rebecca's heart melted. This would be the last time she would hold his
hand. Touch him.

"I met your father, the other directors of the board and some of the
physicians. It's a remarkable facility and the possibilities for
advanced-medicine techniques are amazing."

"I know, Dad's very excited."

"Anyway, I just don't see the same opportunities for me here in Sugar Hill."

Yeah, like more sophisticated women. "So you already accepted the job?"

He nodded. "I'm going to talk to Hannah about bringing another doctor
onboard immediately. Meanwhile I'll come back once a week to see my
patients or, if they choose, they can drive to Atlanta. Otherwise, Dr.
Taylor in the next county will take on some patients, those Hannah might
not be able to handle."

Rebecca pulled her hand from his. "I hope you'll be happy there."

His smile faded slightly, his forehead creasing. "It's everything I've
ever wanted, Rebecca. I have to take this opportunity, but I want-"

216

"You used me to get to know my father so you could get this job."

His mouth gaped but guilt flashed into his eyes. "What?"

"I heard you at my grandmother's party, Thomas. I knew you were going to
talk to my father today."

He ran a hand over the rough stubble of his beard, looking panic-stricken.

"You didn't have to sleep with me or bring me flowers or wine. You could
have simply asked, and I would have introduced you." She waved her hand
around, fighting emotions. "Romancing me wasn't necessary."

He jerked up. "Geez, Rebecca, just listen, I didn't-"

"You didn't date me so you could meet my dad? Come on, Thomas." Anger
tinged her voice now. "Once I heard you at the party, I put two and two
together. I must admit you flattered me at first, but the timing should
have been obvious, the way you showed up at the cafe at the same time my
father did that day, the way you finagled an invitation to Grammy's
party, you even complimented my paintings-"

"I complimented your art because I liked it. You're very talented,
Rebecca, but you hide your talent away here in this small town."

"I like this small town. I'm happy here." She folded her arms. "But you
charmed me, and you're good at it, Thomas. Better than I would have
imagined, but maybe that's because I was such an innocent little fool."

"No." He grabbed her arms and forced her to face him. "I admit that at
first I wanted you to introduce

me to Bert, but then I got to know you and I fell in love with you-"

Hurt knifed through her again. "It's over, Thomas, you don't have to
keep up this act-"

"It's not an act." His dark eyes flared. "I came here to tell you I love
you, and to ask you to move to Atlanta with me."

She stared at him, the emotions in his eyes confusing her even more. "To
come with you?"

"Yes, we can get married and buy a big house in the city or the suburbs
and you can show your art there. You won't have to work at the
bookstore. I can support us so you can open a studio if you want and
you'll be fantastic with the committees-"

"I like running the bookstore," she said, unable to believe how little
he understood her. He was more like her father than she'd ever imagined.
He had the drive, the ambition, the intelligence, and he wanted the wife
to help him make it to the top.

But she could never be what he wanted, what her father had wanted her to
be all these years. And she would not make herself miserable trying.

"I'm not moving from Sugar Hill, Thomas. I finally have a home."

"Why not?" Thomas shook her gently. "We can have it all in Atlanta."

"Don't you understand? I have it all here." At least I thought I did.
"I've never approved of my father's trophy wives, and I certainly don't
fit the image."

"I want you, Rebecca, not some trophy wife."

"Do you, Thomas?" She stared at him long and hard. "Or do you want that
sophisticated woman

218

who'll raise money for the center, who'll hobnob with the rich and
famous and be the perfect doctor's wife?"

His throat worked as he swallowed.

"Because I like small-town life. I like owning my own business and
working with the children at story hour. I like painting for myself and
my family. I don't need to be rich or famous like you do."

"For God's sake, Rebecca, this is not about me wanting to be rich or
famous. It's about helping people."

"Then why do you have to leave? You have a great job here. The people in
Sugar Hill respect and love you. They need you just as much as the
people in Atlanta, maybe more, because we don't have all the choices of
medical care. So if this is about helping people or loving me, you
wouldn't need to move."

His heart raced painfully in his chest. He was losing her; he could feel it.

When he spoke, his voice was low, full of hurt. "If you cared about me,
you wouldn't mind moving, Rebecca." His voice turned gravelly, breaking.
"But you obviously don't love me." He paced across the room, ran his
hand through his hair, stood at the window for several seconds, then
turned, and his gaze fell to the desk in the corner. To the books on
pregnancy she'd bought months before. His gaze rose to meet hers, and
pain and suspicion flashed in the dark depths. "Are you pregnant?"

"No."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Don't lie to me, Rebecca."

"I'm not. I swear I'm not pregnant, Thomas. I would never lie about that."

"But you wanted to be?"

She couldn't very well deny it, so she nodded. "It...it all started with
that hope chest."

A puzzled look crossed his face. Then suddenly the hurt in his eyes
flared into anger. "That e-mail-you sent away for information for
yourself. You lied to me."

The devastation in his voice was so raw that she realized she had to
make him understand. "Thomas, it's not how it looks."

"You accused me of dating you to get to know your father, but you used
me, too, didn't you? You wanted a baby, and I gave you the perfect
reason not to go to a sperm clinic. I was the real thing." He stepped
backward toward the door, his face pale. "That's the reason you showed
up at my door and seduced me."

"No, at first I wanted to ask you, but I was so shy..." She clenched her
hands into fists, dug her fingernails into her palms. It was time to end
this before they hurt each other any more. "I thought you...you would
never love me. I wanted to ask you to help me, but then..."

"Then what, Rebecca?"

"Then..." How could she admit she loved him when he still didn't want
her for herself? When they wanted such different things in life.
"Then...we sort of got involved."

He dropped his gaze from her face then, the seed of hope she'd seen
sprout for a moment washing away with anger and betrayal. Then he shook
his head and turned and walked out the door.

Rebecca felt her heart being ripped out.

But she didn't move, because she had no idea how

220

to fix what had gone wrong, so she let him take her bleeding heart with him.

Hurt, betrayal and anger bombarded Thomas as he drove to his house.
Rebecca has used him just as his mother had used his father. And when
he'd found that stupid e-mail and confronted her, she'd lied to him, and
he had believed her.

If she'd gotten pregnant, would she have sent him out of her life as his
mother had his dad?

Emotions tightened his chest as he let himself inside the house. The
empty walls screeched with silence, yet everywhere he looked and turned,
he sensed Rebecca. Her perfume lingered in the den, the sight of her
wearing his shirt while she made coffee in the kitchen as vivid as it
had been the morning after she'd spent her first night with him. And the
imprint of their bodies lying together on the pillows in front of the
fireplace would be etched in his mind forever.

He'd been a fool.

He tossed his jacket onto the cold leather sofa and picked up the phone
to call Trish Tieney, his Realtor. He'd tell her to put the house on the
market tomorrow.

Then he'd call Hannah and work out some kind of arrangement for his
patients so he could start the job in Atlanta as soon as possible.

There was nothing left for him in Sugar Hill.

Maybe there never had been.

221

The next day Rebecca phoned in sick. Business had slowed with the new
year, and Gertrude could handle any customers that did drop in. Besides,
.she couldn't face the possibility of running into Thomas downtown.

It wasn't likely, she reminded herself. In fact, he would probably be
avoiding her.

Fueled with hurt and anger and running on nerves, she spent the day
cleaning out closets, reorganizing her bookshelves and trying to forget him.

But echoes of his voice remained in her small apartment, remnants of his
compliments and tender touches and lovemaking whispered to her at the
oddest moments. Like when she'd smelled his cologne on one of her new
shirts. And when she'd gathered items for the cleaners and remembered
the way he'd looked at her in that violet dress.

And her art-she'd avoided painting, even going into her studio because
Thomas's face flashed into her head each time she looked at an empty
canvas. She'd been so nervous about allowing him to see her art, yet
he'd immediately alleviated her anxiety by praising her work.

222

Had everything been a lie?

The doorbell chimed and she froze, half wanting it to be Thomas, but
knowing it wouldn't be. Probably Jerry. She wasn't in the mood to hear
about his newfound love.

It chimed incessantly, though, so she finally dragged herself to the
door. Instead of Jerry, her cousins Hannah, Mimi and Alison stood on the
stoop with bags of ice cream in their hands and sympathy in their eyes.

"Thomas called and told me he's moving," Hannah said softly.

"I'm so sorry," Alison whispered.

Mimi looked furious. "He's a dirtbag. But don't worry, Bee, we'll find
you someone better."

Rebecca's lip trembled. "That's just it--I don't

want anyone else. I-love him."

"Ann, sugar," her cousins murmured.

They pulled her into a group hug, and she tried to make herself believe
everything would be all right. But she didn't think she would ever
survive losing Thomas.

And she didn't know how she'd get over loving him.

Thomas was miserable all week.

Hannah had offered to take over his patients and had relieved him
immediately.

Apparently she wanted him out of Sugar Hill as fast as possible.

Just as Rebecca obviously did. Until the last second, he'd hoped she
would stop by to see him and tell him their whole nightmarish
conversation had been a figment of his imagination.

But that hadn't happened. And it wouldn't. He was too much of a realist
to expect miracles.

So, he'd checked into a rental suite at a hotel in Atlanta until he
could find time to house shop. He had already moved into his office and
would start seeing patients next week. This week had been filled with
committee meetings, routine sessions on acclimatizing himself to the new
facility and their philosophy, along with all the accompanying red
tape-he'd forgotten all the politics and paperwork attached to a
bureaucracy.

He opened a box of medical journals and began to stack them on the
polished cherry bookshelves in his plush new office. He'd have plenty of
time to keep up with journals now that his weekends wouldn't be tied up
with a woman or a family.

Every good doctor had to make sacrifices.

He glanced around at the pristine walls, looked out the windows at the
impressive view of the city and smiled. He had achieved his goals.

So, why did he feel so empty inside?

It wasn't as if Rebecca missed him or wanted him back in her life.

A knock on his door jerked him from his thoughts. Before he could even
reply, Suzanne Hartwell flounced in and stalked toward his desk,
brandishing a bad attitude that he didn't quite understand.

"You scum bucket, how dare you hurt my sister like you did!" She pointed
a sharp, blood-red fingernail at him that looked lethal. "I can't
believe you used her to get to know Daddy. Buddy, if I'd known your
intentions, I would have told him not to hire you!"

224

"Is that what Rebecca told you?" he asked, irked by her attitude. After
all, Rebecca had used him, too.

Not that it alleviated his own guilt.

"No, she hasn't told me anything, but Mimi called, and I talked to
Hannah and Alison."

"Oh, dear God, is your uncle Wiley running our personal lives on a
billboard now?"

"Don't you dare insult my family," Suzanne stammered. "I have a good
mind to tell Daddy what you did-"

"Then tell him how his lovely daughter used me because she wanted a baby."

"What?" Suzanne barked out a laugh. "That's the most ridiculous thing
I've ever heard."

"But it's true." He stood and gripped the desk with white-knuckled
fists, then leaned forward, pushing his face in her angry one. "I went
to her to propose and-"

"You proposed?"

"Yes, but-" he waved off her obvious surprise "-but she turned me down."

"She turned you down?"

"Yes," he ground out. "It seems the only thing she wanted out of me was
a baby."

"I don't believe you." Her voice rose in indignation. "Rebecca wouldn't
use anybody."

Suzanne had left the door wide open, and Bert strode in, arms waving.
"What the hell is going on in here? I heard you two shouting all the way
down the hall."

Suzanne aimed a warning look at Thomas. "He hurt Rebecca."

"What?" Bert staggered back and grabbed the door. "Is she okay?"

"No, she's so brokenhearted she can't even paint." Suzanne gave Thomas a
furious look. "And now he's accusing her of using him, when it was the
other way around."

"I asked her to marry me," Thomas argued when Bert lunged forward. "I
wanted her to move here with me, but she refused."

Bert froze, his body wobbling as he sank into a nearby leather chair.
Suzanne made a clicking sound with her mouth.

"Why did you ask her to move here?" Suzanne asked.

Insanity clutched at Thomas. Didn't these people understand English?
"Because I love her, why else?"

Bert's mouth flopped open, then closed. "Is she in love with you?"

"Yes," Suzanne said.

"No," Thomas said at the same time.

Bert glanced from one to the other, obviously perplexed. "I don't
understand what's going on here at all."

Thomas was losing patience with them both. "Maybe that's because you
haven't paid very much attention to Rebecca lately," Thomas said. "Or
maybe you never did."

Bert's head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean, young man?"

"It means you ignore her," Thomas said, knowing he'd probably lose his
job, but for once he didn't care. He had to speak his mind. "You dote on
Suzanne but you hardly even speak to Rebecca when she's around. It's so
obvious it's pathetic. Maybe Rebecca is shy, but there's nothing wrong
with that, and it certainly doesn't mean she's not as intelligent or
beautiful."

226

Suzanne was watching him with a strange look on her face. He realized he
was babbling so he clamped his mouth shut.

"I...that's not true." Bert dropped his head forward into chubby hands,
emotions overcoming him. "Could Wiley be right?"

Thomas inhaled sharply, confused now himself. Suzanne twisted her hands
in front of her as if she was at a loss, too.

"I do love Rebecca," Bert finally choked out. "It's just..."

Suzanne edged toward her father and placed a hand on his shoulder. When
he sobbed out loud, she stooped down and patted him. "It's what, Dad?"

Bert raised his head and glanced up at her, then at Thomas, tears
brimming in his eyes. "It's just that she reminds me so much of your
mother." A tear rolled down his ruddy cheek into his beard. "I was so
lost when your mother died, and Rebecca, she... every time I looked at
her, I saw your mother. It hurt so much sometimes I could barely breathe."

Thomas swallowed, shocked at the man's confession. Did Rebecca have any
idea how he felt? She had probably been vying for her father's love all
her life.

Just as he had his own father. Had he thought becoming more successful
would bring his own father back into his life?

Bert dragged out a handkerchief and wiped at his eyes. "Rebecca and your
mama were so close. They were both quiet. They liked art and books and
then when I..." He gripped his hands into knots. "When we couldn't save
your mama from cancer, Rebecca withdrew and I didn't know how to help
her. How to reach her." He had his hand on top of Suzanne's.

"You were easy, you cried and let it all out, but Rebecca, she felt
everything so deep, just like your mother."

Thomas sympathized with Bert. Every family reacted to grief in their own
way, and sometimes they let each other down in the process of recovery.
"Dr. Hartwell." Thomas cleared his throat. "With all due respect, I
think you're telling the wrong people here."

"Huh?" He sniffed, dragged out a monogrammed handkerchief and blew his nose.

"You need to tell Rebecca," Thomas said in a low voice. "She needs to
hear this, not us."

Bert's questioning gaze lasted a half second, then he nodded. "You're
right, son. It's time I fix my relationship with my daughter."

Suzanne hugged her father, then turned to Thomas. "Now, what about you?
Are you going to fix your relationship with my sister?"

The day after her cousins left, Rebecca drove up to Pine Mountain to see
her grandmother. She'd thought the fresh country air and beautiful
scenery would help her regain perspective. She'd even brought her paints
and a new canvas, but they sat untouched in her car.

She kept remembering the last time she'd been here. The day Grammy had
given her the hope chest and she'd smashed into Thomas's car.

The day their romance had begun. It seemed like years ago.

"But now it's over, Grammy," Rebecca said, hating the telltale quaver of
her voice.

Grammy plunked down beside her in the glider on the screened-in front
porch. The winter wind whistled

228

softly through the mountain, the dried leaves and bare trees mirroring
Rebecca's empty, aching heart.

Grammy quirked a gray brow. "You say he proposed to you, child, but he
wanted you to be different?"

Rebecca searched her memory for Thomas's exact words. "Well, not
exactly. But he's ambitious like Daddy and works with him and-"

"And you think just because your father has these pretty wives on his
arm that your young man is just like him."

"He's not my young man," Rebecca said.

"He can be if you want him."

"But I do." Didn't Grammy understand a single word she'd been saying?

Grammy wrapped Rebecca's hands into her age-spotted ones. "Do you know
why I think your father keeps marrying these showy women?"

Rebecca shook her head.

"Because they are the exact opposite of your mother, dear."

Rebecca frowned.

"I believe your daddy loved your mama so much that he never got over
her. Him being a doctor and all, he just couldn't get past the guilt of
not being able to save her."

"But the doctors did everything possible, didn't they?"

"Yes, of course. Emotions aren't always rational, you know."

Hers certainly hadn't been lately, not since the day she'd received her
hope chest and slammed into Thomas's car.

Grammy pursed her lips. "Sometimes doctors, especially men, think
they're supposed to save the entire world. And when they can't save
someone they love, they become more driven."

Rebecca remembered the pain in Thomas's voice when he'd confided about
his brother. Her father and Thomas were so much alike....

"But your father's marriages haven't lasted, because they're not built
on love. They're filled with empty hopes and business functions and then
he soon realizes that, and the woman gets the money she wants and they
split up."

"How sad for Daddy," Rebecca said, really considering the extent of his
devastation over her mother's loss for the first time since she was
little. And then he'd been left with two daughters to raise alone.

"Now, if your young man is as wonderful as you say he is, I have a
feeling he meant it when he confessed his love."

Rebecca's heart gave a funny little flutter.

"Don't let pride, or the fact that you've always been shy, stop you from
going after what you want, Rebecca." Grammy made a tsking sound.
"Sometimes you have to take a chance and put your heart out there."

"But I did that and look what happened. He wanted me to be someone else."

"Did he?" Grammy's eyes sparkled with wisdom. "Or did he see something
wonderful in you that you may not have realized? You know, the best
mates are the ones who challenge us to be all we can be. That may take
us out of our comfort zone, but it's because they love us that they see
under the surface. That means they understood our fears, too, but they
have confidence we can overcome them." She patted Rebecca's

230

hand. "Just remember," she said in a low voice, "true love comes around
once in a lifetime. Isn't it worth making a few sacrifices for?"

Rebecca hugged her grandmother, analyzing their conversation as she
started back to Sugar Hill. Could she sacrifice the life she'd built in
Sugar Hill, her family and friends and her work for the chance of a new
life with Thomas?

And if she could, would he even want her after what he believed she'd done?

Before Thomas could reply to Suzanne's question or decide how to make
things right with Rebecca, his receptionist tapped on the door. "Excuse
me, Dr. Emerson, but you had a phone call from your old office in Sugar
Hill. Dr. Tippins thought you'd want to know that a Mr. Lackey called."

"Yes?"

"The Lackey baby had to have emergency surgery. She figured you'd want
to be there."

Panic seized him. After all the couple and that infant had endured, they
had to face another surgery, more waiting. He gave Suzanne and Bert an
apologetic look. "I have to go. We'll finish this talk later."

Suzanne frowned but Bert nodded, and Thomas rushed out the door. They
couldn't lose the Lackey baby now, they just couldn't.

231

The next three hours were excruciating. Thomas sat with the Lackeys,
offering them reassurances when he had no idea what the outcome for
their baby would be. Not being involved in the surgery himself gave him
an entirely different perspective on the case and the emotions the
parents faced while waiting. It also resurrected those old haunting
memories of losing his baby brother and feeling helpless.

The only thing they could do was pray.

It humbled him to realize that Rebecca was right. Although the surgeon
had excellent credentials, no one could predict the future-no one except
God.

He watched the Lackeys cling to each other and turn to their faith, and
he prayed along with them, the minutes on the clock ticking by as if in
slow motion. When the surgeon finally appeared in the doorway, he had to
steady Mr. Lackey as he stood to greet the other doctor.

"The baby is fine," Dr. Lowenbrau said in a thick New York accent. "The
surgery was a complete success. Barring fever or complications, you
should be able to take your son home with you in a few days."

232

The Lackeys hugged and whooped with joy, both crying deliriously.

Lowenbrau shook Thomas's hand. "It's a good thing that couple had you on
their side when the baby was born. You saved that little boy's life by
getting him to us so quickly."

Thomas nodded, although he knew the Lackeys didn't share that sentiment.
He even understood their frustration and their need to blame.

But Mr. Lackey turned to him and swiped at tears. "Doc, I owe you an
apology."

Thomas waved it away with a hand. "That's not necessary."

Mr. Lackey cleared his throat. "Yes, it is. I said some harsh words
right after little Tyler was born. I was hurt and angry and I lashed out
at you. I...I've been ashamed ever since.

Thomas's throat closed.

"My wife and I, well, we appreciate you taking care of our son that day,
and coming to us now." Mrs. Lackey dried her tears on her husband's
handkerchief. "Most doctors wouldn't take the time to do what you've
done for us, to sit here and wait with us."

"You've been more than a doctor, you've been a friend." She threw her
arms around him and hugged him.

Moisture pricked Thomas's eyes. He'd been searching for recognition and
love in his career, and his job had brought him to the town that could
give him both.

And to the woman who could give him the love he had always needed so much.

Rebecca claimed that Sugar Hill needed him more than the people in the
city did, and she was right. He

needed them, too. But he'd already turned in his resignation. Had Hannah
replaced him?

Worse, was it too late for him and Rebecca-had she only wanted him for
the purpose of making a baby? Had she loved him at all? He had to
believe she had, that she couldn't have given herself to him if she
didn't have feelings for him. But he'd deceived her....

Had he lost her forever?

Rebecca had meant to drive home to Sugar Hill from her grandmother's,
but her old jalopy had a mind of its own. Or maybe it just knew her
heart lay with a man in the city so it had raced there on autopilot.

Anyway, she had no idea where Thomas was staying or if he would even
talk to her, but the only way to find out was to ask her father.

She dreaded seeing him.

Her legs wobbled as she took the elevator to her father's office. He
would probably demand to know-why she wanted to see Thomas. Hopefully,
she'd be able to explain without completely falling apart. But she would
not lie again. Not to her father or to Thomas or even to herself.

When she'd given her wardrobe and face a makeover and become a new
bolder woman, she'd only taken baby steps. Now she had to take a bigger
one, dig deeper into her soul, forget the safety net she clung to....

Sucking in a deep breath, she opened the door to her father's
receptionist's office. An attractive woman in her midfifties peered over
bifocals. "Yes?"

"I'm Rebecca Hartwell. I came to see my father. Is he in?"

234

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he's been trying to call you, dear. Go on in."

He'd been trying to call her? Was something wrong? Suzanne...

Panic seized her chest as she knocked on her father's door. She didn't
wait for him to answer. "Dad?"

His face lit with surprise, then he rose and crossed the room in quick
strides and wrapped her in a hug. "I've been calling you for an hour.
God, I'm glad you're here, baby."

"What's wrong?" She angled her head back enough to study his face. His
eyes looked slightly red and his voice was hoarse. Had her father been
crying?

Oh, heavens, it was Suzanne, that would be the only thing that would
upset him so much.

Her knees felt weak. She had to sit down. Trembling, she practically
dragged him along to the leather love seat in the sitting area.

"Dad, what's happened? Is Suzanne all right?"

"Suzanne?" His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Suzanne's fine as far
as I know. Why? Did you hear something?" Now he looked panicked.

"No, no, but you look upset. I figured it had to be Suzanne. And your
receptionist said you've been calling me and you never call..." She let
the sentence trail off when she saw tears pool in his eyes again. "Dad,
what's happened? You're scaring me."

He sniffled, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, darling, I...I..."

He'd called her "darling"? He hadn't done that since grade school. "You
what, Dad?"

Yanking out a handkerchief, he wiped at perspiration popping out on his
forehead. "I've been a terrible father to you. I...I didn't mean to be,
I really didn't. I'm just an old fool."

Rebecca sank back against the cool leather, stunned.

"You're right, I never call, but that's going to change. I realize it
seems like I've favored Suzanne, but that's not true."

Rebecca clung to the edge of the love seat, the pain she'd felt over the
years shifting slightly at the emotions thickening his voice.

He dropped his head forward, then jerked it up and looked at her, really
stared at her face, something he hadn't done in so long. "I'm not
excusing myself, but you have to know the reason. It's not that I love
her more, it's just...just that when I lost your mother, I was so
devastated." He sucked in a harsh breath.

"I didn't know how to go on without her. She was so quiet, and everyone
thought she depended on me, but it was the other way around. She was my
backbone. My...my everything."

Rebecca's heart stammered, missing a beat.

"Then she was gone and I felt guilty. Guilty that I couldn't save her."
He rolled his fingers out and stared at them, flexing them and studying
the tips. "After all that medical training, I couldn't save the most
important person in my life."

"Oh, Dad." Rebecca cradled an arm around his neck. "You're not God. You
did everything you could."

"I knew that up here," he said, pointing to his head. "But I couldn't
accept it. Then I had you and Suzanne to face." He brushed a knuckle
across her cheek. "You were so devastated, and withdrew into your

236

books and art. I didn't know how to reach you. Your mother always knew
how to do that, though. She was my rock."

"But I needed you," Rebecca whispered, for the first time in her life
admitting how much his withdrawal had cost her.

"I know, and I'm sorry. It's just that you look so much like your
mother." His voice turned huskier as if it hurt to say the words out
loud. "I ached to look at you. Every time I did, I saw her and felt the
loss all over again. All the guilt would rush back."

"I'm so sorry, Dad," Rebecca whispered, near choking. "I didn't understand."

"I poured myself into work to ease the pain. I kept thinking if I knew
more, if I learned more about medicine, I'd never lose anyone else that
I loved." A tear slid down his cheek. "But in doing so I lost you. You
slipped farther and farther away and I didn't know how to cope." He
cleared his throat. "You are so beautiful, Rebecca. So quiet and
sensitive and intuitive, just like she was." He paused, collected
himself again and squeezed her hand in his. "She could paint, too, you
know. I still have the painting she gave me for our first anniversary."

For the first time in ages, Rebecca realized how much her father had
truly loved her mother. And why he'd chosen such opposite types to marry
since then. Grammy was right. He'd never been able to replace the love
of his life.

Another reason she couldn't lose hers.

She hugged him fiercely. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, and I promise, sweetheart, if you

give me another chance, things will be better. I'd do anything for you."

Rebecca nodded, wiping at her own tears. "Then I have a favor to ask."

"Anything, just name it."

"Do you know where Thomas is staying? I...I need to talk to him."

His eyebrow rose, and she braced herself for the onslaught of questions.
Instead he stood and grabbed a pad, then scribbled an address. "He's at
this hotel. But he's probably not there right now."

Disappointment flitted through her.

"Hannah called about the Lackey baby he delivered in Sugar Hill. The
doctors in Atlanta had to do emergency surgery."

"Oh, no. Is the baby okay?"

Her father shrugged. "I haven't heard yet. Thomas tore out of here to
sit with the Lackeys. You should find him at the hospital."

Rebecca hugged her father one last time. Thomas cared so much about that
infant, he would be worried sick. She needed to be with him, to show him
that she cared, too. That she understood the reason he was so driven,
and that she would always be there for him to lean on. That she would be
his rock.

She'd hidden inside her baggy dresses and the safety of the small town
and her family long enough. She would let him know that whatever he
decided to do, she would stand beside him. That is, if he still wanted
her....

She raced out the door, then practically ran to her car. But when she
jumped inside and turned the key,

238

the darned jalopy wouldn't start. She banged the steering wheel and
tried again.

This could not be happening....

When Thomas left the hospital, he drove straight to the florist's shop.
He didn't want to arrive at Rebecca's without some kind of flower in
hand. A few minutes later he'd made his selection, then swung back by
his office to pick up his briefcase and cell phone. He jogged up the
steps, hurriedly grabbed his things and took the elevator down, tapping
his foot impatiently. What if he was too late? What if Rebecca didn't
believe him?

What if she really didn't love him?

His head ached with worry as he found his Porsche in the dark garage. He
shoved his briefcase to the floor, turned the key, then put the car in
reverse. Now that he'd decided to talk to Rebecca, he couldn't wait. He
had to see her tonight. He checked his watch. By the time he arrived it
would be midnight. He needed to hurry.

Tension knotted his muscles and neck as he cranked the car. Distracted
by his thoughts, he threw the gearshift into reverse and rammed the gas.
He glanced back just in time to see a car careening down the aisle, but
he didn't hit the brakes fast enough and he slammed into it. Metal
crunched, the tires of the other car squealed, and the car spun and
slammed into the concrete boulder support in the middle of the parking lot.

Damn.

He threw his door open and gasped in horror at the twisted, mangled heap
of metal. He recognized the clunker station wagon immediately. It
belonged to Rebecca.

241

Oh, dear heavens, not again.

Rebecca's entire body quivered with the shock of the impact. Then
suddenly Thomas appeared at her door, pulling her out and checking her
over, and she was too stunned to speak.

"Rebecca, are you okay?" He gripped her arms gently. "Tell me, are you
hurt anywhere? Did you hit your head?"

She shook her head. "I'm s-sorry."

"Dammit, it wasn't your fault this time. It was mine. Now answer me, are
you hurt?"

"No. I'm fine."

A harsh breath escaped him, then he dragged her into his arms. "You
scared the hell out of me."

She clung to him until her shaking subsided, but unfortunately a
different sort of trembling began deep inside, a trembling spurred by
desire and fear and hope.

But she didn't come here to cling to him or get sympathy; she came to
prove she was strong and independent. That she was ready to take a chance.

She slowly extricated herself from his embrace, and

he straightened his sportscoat, squaring his broad shoulders. "I'll pay
for the damages," he said stiffly.

"Forget the car," Rebecca said, remembering his words the day she'd hit
him at her grandmother's house.

His eyebrows shot up. "But it's probably totaled."

"I said forget the damn car."

Surprise registered, then a half smile played on his lips. "So...what
were you doing here, anyway?"

"I came to see you. I...I heard about the Lackey baby."

"Oh." His smile faded.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"The prognosis is good. He survived surgery with flying colors and
should be able to go home soon." He ran a hand over his face, drawing
her gaze to the thick five-o'clock shadow. The stubble that had scraped
her skin when he'd kissed her. She wanted it to touch her again. But
Thomas wasn't moving toward her, and she was losing her nerve.

"Is that the only reason you came?"

"No." She gestured toward the building.

"You came to visit your father?"

Was that disappointment lacing his voice. "I...yes, I saw him."

"You've been crying," he said in a gruff voice. His hand reached out
tentatively to brush her cheek. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," she said, emotions pulling at her. "Everything's fine."

He nodded. The silence stretching between them was so painful Rebecca
closed her eyes and willed herself courage. When she opened them, Thomas was

242

watching her with a mixture of wariness and some other emotion she
couldn't quite read.

It was now or never.

"Actually, I came for another reason."

He waited, his eyes flickering with a moment of hunger. At least she
hoped it was hunger.

"I'm moving to Atlanta."

This time shock registered on his face. "You're moving here?" He turned
and glanced inside her car, then back at her, a puzzled look in his
eyes. "But you didn't bring anything with you."

She licked her lips, then shrugged. "Th-that's," she paused and focused
so she wouldn't stutter, then reached out and took his hand. "That's
because everything I need is already here. In fact, it's standing right
in front of me."

Thomas's lips parted slightly as if he was going to reply, his breath
wheezing out, then he squeezed her hand.

Hope fluttered inside her. "I don't know if you still want me or not,
Thomas, but I had to come and tell you how I feel."

"And how do you feel, Rebecca?" he asked in a throaty voice.

"I love you." She slowly dropped to her knees, then pulled their joined
hands to her lips and kissed his palm. "I love you and I need you and I
want to be there for you, Thomas." She hesitated, her voice shaking, but
continued, "You asked me once to marry you and move to Atlanta with you.
I want that, Thomas. If you still want me."

His dark eyes raked over her, his long look so tension-filled that her
courage weakened. He swallowed,

then slowly released her hand and left her. His footsteps echoed on the
hard pavement, pounding in the fact that he had turned her down. Then he
opened the car door and her heart stopped as she waited. Was he leaving?
Going to drive away with her stooped on bended knee?

Humiliation stung Rebecca's cheeks, the emptiness inside her so
agonizing she nearly curled into a ball on the cold pavement. Instead,
she stared at her banged-up car, wondering if she had the strength to
crawl to it.

Thomas reached inside the Porsche, picked up the flowers he'd bought and
turned to Rebecca, his heart in his throat. Her confession had shocked
him so much he hadn't been able to speak. Rebecca was willing to move to
Atlanta to be with him....

He gripped the flowers in a shaky hand, then circled back and stood in
front of her. "Actually, I was leaving in such a hurry because I was on
my way back to see you."

"You were?" Her gaze rose, the tears that glittered in those eyes
tearing at him.

"Yes. I wanted to give you these." He offered her the arrangement and
watched as she examined the rose-colored heart-shaped pendant flowers.
She lifted the flowers to her nose and sniffed. "Its technical term is
dicentra formosa...."

Her gaze locked with his. "Yes."

"Otherwise known as a-"

"Bleeding heart."

"My bleeding heart." His love for her was so intense he felt raw inside.
"I was coming back to Sugar

244

Hill to give it to you. To ask you to forgive me and heal my wounded
heart." Moisture clogged his throat as he knelt in front of her. "I love
you, Rebecca. Without you my life is empty. I'm so sorry I hurt you-"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "We both hurt each other. But that's
in the past."

"That means we have a future?"

She nodded. "If you want one with me."

"I don't want one without you. I need you, Rebecca, I love you with all
my heart." His dark eyes turned almost black with hunger. "But there's
one problem."

"What?" she asked softly.

"We have to live in Sugar Hill."

"No, I was wrong not to compromise," she said. "It doesn't matter where
we live as long as we're together."

"You're right about that, sweetheart. Just like you were right about
me-about the reason I pushed myself and about the town needing me." He
brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. "But I still want to
live in Sugar Hill. Everything I want is there." He pressed a hand to
her stomach. "Of course, I'm open if some little people want to join us
in the future."

Then he took her in his arms and sealed his love with a kiss. Passion
rocked through him, the tenderness in her touch so humbling that the
empty void he'd felt in his life for so long suddenly overflowed with
the promise of tomorrow.

"Uh, er, excuse me." A deep, throaty voice broke into the kiss.

Thomas glanced up to see a beefy security guard

leaning over the edge of the dented Porsche, hands on his chunky hips.
"You two okay?"

Rebecca giggled and he nodded. "Yes, sir, we're fine."

He shone his flashlight at them, then toward the dented cars blocking
the exit of the parking lot. "These your cars?"

"Yes, sir."

"Had an accident, huh?"

Thomas helped Rebecca stand. "No, sir, I believe it was serendipity."

The cop scratched his head, looking puzzled. "Need to file insurance
papers or something?"

"No." Thomas circled his arm around Rebecca. "The only paper we're going
to file is a marriage certificate."

Later, as they lay in the king-size bed in Thomas's hotel room, sated
and cuddled up in each other's arms, Rebecca pressed tender kisses along
his jaw. On the way to the hotel, she had murmured one of the erotic
love poems to him, and their passion had exploded. Now she gazed at her
husband-to-be in awe. How could she ever have been afraid to take a
chance on love when her heart had known all along that Thomas was the
man for her?

"No more secrets between us, no more lies," Thomas whispered.

"No," Rebecca said against his chest. "Not ever,"

But Thomas's phone rang, jarring them from their

blissful moment. He stared at it once, then frowned.

Rebecca angled her head to look up at him and traced

a finger along his hairline.

246

"Go ahead," she whispered. "It might be an emergency."

He nodded. "Dr. Emerson." Seconds later he angled his head toward her
and covered the speaker with his hand, a wary look darkening his eyes.
"It's this art dealer from midtown. I forgot to tell you that I took him
one of your art pieces. I wanted to surprise you."

She sat up, jerking the sheet to her. Dear heavens, she'd forgotten the
painting.

He mouthed, "I'm sorry," then turned back to the phone. "You have what?
A buyer for both paintings. What second painting?" His eyes suddenly
widened. "A painting of two nude lovers on a mountainside?"

His gaze swung to hers, his eyebrow arched as he pointed to his chest in
question.

Rebecca nodded.

"Don't sell it," Thomas screeched. "I'm buying both pieces. We'll stop
by to pick them up tomorrow."

He hung up, then turned to her with a devilish look on his face. "You
painted me in the buff?"

She answered with a playful look of her own. "Yes. And you're buying the
painting without even seeing it?" She giggled as he tickled her neck
with his tongue. "Not a wise investment."

"Huh. I think it's a damn good investment." He licked along her
collarbone, "I can't believe you sent it to the art dealer."

She threaded her fingers in his hair. "You're the one who wanted to show
my work, remember?"

He slipped his hands beneath her and cupped her bottom in his hands.
"Your landscapes."

"This one has a landscape."

"And me naked in it?"

"Well, that, too." She traced a finger down to his navel, stirring his
sex. "But the real thing is better."

He braced himself above her and slid over her skin, the whisper of his
breath so erotic she bucked beneath him. "Really?"

"Yes, really." She moaned as he claimed her.

"You found out I took your painting and you wanted revenge, didn't you?"

She dug her fingers into the corded muscles of his arms. "I guess I did."

He stroked her breast with his tongue, tormenting the hardened pebble
tip. "I like a woman with spunk. But I might have to get some revenge of
my own."

"Oh." Rebecca snuggled down beneath him and let him have his way.

His revenge was the sweetest thing she could ever have imagined.

249

Epilogue

"You may kiss the bride."

Thomas lifted the bridal veil and pulled Rebecca into his arms, then
pressed his lips to hers to seal the vows they had just professed.
Rebecca closed her eyes and savored the moment. This was the happiest
day of her life.

Alison had helped plan their wedding in a matter of weeks, Mimi had
catered the reception, her father had given her away with tears in his
eyes, and her sister, Suzanne, and her cousins had all been bridesmaids.
And Grammy Rose had taken the bride's book from her hope chest. Now it
was filled with names of all their friends from Sugar Hill.

The kiss slowly ended, and Thomas offered his arm. They raced down the
aisle to the squeals and cheers of all their family and friends, then
were bombarded with congratulations. The reception passed in a blur of
hugs and kisses and cake and laughter. They even danced on the lawn in
front of the gazebo with the beautiful mountain scenery as a backdrop.

"How are Dad and Uncle Wiley holding up?" Rebecca whispered to Suzanne
later when she finally had time to breathe.

"Keeping to separate sides of the lawn," Suzanne said. "For now."

Rebecca laughed. Sure enough, Mimi and Maggie Rose had Wiley cornered,
while Hannah and Jake tracked her father. She wondered if the two men
would ever end their brotherly feud. And if her father's wife would be
able to fill the void her mother had left. She wanted to see him happy
again. This time she thought she detected a spark of true affection
between them.

She turned to Suzanne, grateful she and her sister had gotten closer.
"Thanks for being my maid of honor, Suzanne."

"I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. You are the most beautiful
bride, sis." Suzanne hugged her, and they both wiped at the tears.
"Guess what? It looks like I'm going to be spending a good bit of time
in Sugar Hill in the future."

"You're moving to Sugar Hill?" Rebecca asked.

"Heavens, no," Suzanne said. "But my boss is looking for some property
nearby to develop. He thinks there is a run-down ranch around that we
could snap up for next to nothing. From some down-on-his-luck cowboy
who's fallen on hard times."

"You mean Rafe McAllister?"

"I think that was his name."

"Gertrude said he's the guy who won Uncle Wiley's purple pickup truck."

"Really?"

"Yes." Rebecca frowned. "But I doubt he'll sell,

250

Suzanne. I think that property's been in his family for ages."

"He may not have a choice," Suzanne said.

"Just be careful, I've heard he's pretty tough."

Suzanne winked. "Nothing I can't handle, sis. He won't know what hit him
when I get ahold of him."

Rebecca laughed at her sister's cockiness, but she still wasn't sure.
Rafe McAllister was supposedly tough, macho, and had once been a
troublemaker in the town when he was younger.

What would happen when he met her sister? Especially when Suzanne tried
to buy his ranch out from under him?

"Time to throw the bouquet!" Grammy Rose shouted.

Rebecca laughed, remembering a few short weeks ago when she'd caught
Alison's. Her cousins, Caitlin and Angie, and Suzanne all crowded
together, along with Gertrude and Grammy Rose and a few of her
grandmother's friends. They laughed and argued back and forth over who
should catch the bouquet. Rebecca turned her back to the group and
tossed the lilies over her shoulder, then spun around when squeals rang out.

Her sister, Suzanne, stood holding the flowers, her odd look almost
comical. Caitlin and Angie moaned that they should have caught it, but
Grammy Rose looked at Rebecca and winked.

Rebecca smiled back, her heart so full of love and joy she was almost
bursting.

Did Grammy Rose already have Suzanne's hope chest waiting? And what kind
of surprises had she put inside for her sister?

Check out what's inside Suzanne's hope chest

in HAVE COWBOY, NEED CUPID

Coming next month from Harlequin American Romance