Chapter 1
To another woman, the baby's cry echoing down the hall might have been an unwelcome interruption, an interference that meant she had to stop her own activities and tend to someone else's needs.
But not for Rachel St. James.
For Rachel, the cry meant something else entirely. In fact, to her, the baby's wail was the sweetest sound in the world.
She jumped to her feet and hurried down the parqueted hall toward the newly decorated nursery. As she passed her husband's study, she paused, then glanced inside. He was on the phone—as usual. When he saw her, he grimaced toward the receiver propped against his shoulder and pantomimed the fact that he'd be with her as soon as he could.
Too excited to mind, Rachel smiled and nodded, then kept going toward the baby's room. A second later she entered the nursery, the plush pink carpeting swallowing her footsteps as she crossed the room toward the crib that held the one-month-old infant.
"It's okay, sweetie. Your mommy's here." Rachel scooped up the baby and cupped her daughter's head with her hands, smiling all the while. "Mommy's here."
Mommy. Daughter. Nursery. They had to be the most wonderful words in the world, but they were words Rachel had almost given up hope of ever applying to herself. She and William had been married for twelve years, and for twelve years, she'd yearned for this baby and everything else associated with a child.
Twelve incredibly long years.
Years of tests, years of drugs, years of self-doubt and heavy guilt when she'd even begun to wonder if her infertility was psychological—something William had told her was ridiculous to think. One short phone call less than twenty-four hours ago from their adoption attorney, Sylvia Martin, had changed all that completely, though. Had erased the tears and fears and sadness as if it had never existed.
The baby gurgled and grunted and started to cry once more. And at the very same time, Rachel realized why. A large dark splotch now stained the front of her silk pant-suit and had started to spread. She knew it was ridiculous, but all Rachel could do was laugh with delight. "Oh, my gosh, Elizabeth, would you look at that!" Rachel replaced her grin with a mock frown. "You just ruined a very expensive outfit, young lady. I'm going to have to take that out of your allowance!"
As if she understood her mother's words, the baby started to cry even louder, and Rachel instantly began to soothe her. "It's all right, darling. Mommy didn't mean it. Not at all." For a second, Rachel held the baby even tighter and, ignoring the wet spot, murmured sweet reassurances to her daughter. When the baby's sniffles dried up, Rachel carried her to the changing table and gently placed her on the padded top.
"I hope I do this right, Elizabeth, but you're going to have to bear with me just a little bit here. I don't have much experience with changing diapers, you know."
Her words notwithstanding, Rachel deftly removed the damp diaper, her hands brushing over the velvet skin with an inborn mother's touch. Freed from the confines of the diaper, the baby kicked her legs and fussed, the sound bringing another smile to Rachel's lips. She paused and stared at Elizabeth, an incredible sense of love overwhelming her. Rachel had never felt anything so strong. Never.
Capturing the baby's waving hands with her own, Rachel leaned down and looked into the child's eyes. "I'm going to love you for the rest of your life," Rachel whispered. "I'll be there for you forever and ever. The first time you walk. The first time you speak. The first time you write on the walls with a red crayon." The baby stared at her, and Rachel's heart swelled. "I'll always love you, Elizabeth St. James. No matter what."
The baby cooed once more as Rachel finished her task, the scent of baby powder and lotion filling the beautiful room. With the fresh diaper in place, she picked the infant up again and turned. At that instant, William entered the room.
Rachel grinned with delight. "She had a wet diaper. I changed it."
His eyes swept over her silk jacket. "I can see. Maybe next time you might want to wear an apron before you attempt that task."
 "It's not important." Rachel kissed the baby's cheek and closed her eyes, the skin under her lips feeling like the softest petal on a rose. "That's what cleaners are for."
"You won't be saying that after a few more of those, I'm sure."
Rachel opened her eyes and stared at her husband. He didn't understand, but she didn't mind. A family had never been an obsession for him like it had been for her, and she'd always known that. He had his business. That was his passion. St. James Development had over a dozen engineers, six secretaries, and investors around the world for whom he found oil and produced money. Most people worked to live. William lived to work. Sometimes she wished it were different... but she understood, too.
Elizabeth sighed and snuggled deeper into Rachel's arms. Rachel found herself staring at the baby's downy head once more. "Isn't she incredible, William? I can hardly believe she's actually ours." She looked up. "Do you want to hold her for a little while?"
His eyes went to the baby but he was already shaking his head. "I'd love to, honey, but I've got to get back to work."
"So soon? Don't you want to take a break?"
"I can't. I'm expecting an overseas call, and Paul Delaney is coming over, too. I called him—"
"Paul Delaney? Today?" Rachel had nothing against William's business associate. He was a handsome man with a real knack for working with William's investors. He could get them to write checks bigger than William ever had. Still... "I thought we might have a family evening, William. I've got a nice dinner in the oven. Afterward we could head out for a drive. It's so gorgeous outside." 
"That sounds wonderful, babe, but I just can't. I've got this big deal going on with these guys in South America, and you know how it goes	"
Indeed she did.
"I understand," she said quietly, her disappointment going on the back shelf where she always put it. "Maybe next week."
"Next week," he repeated, with a smile. "Next week would be good."
The portable phone in his hand began to ring, and he turned his attention to it, their quick exchange obviously already forgotten. She stared at him a moment longer, then started back toward the crib.
"Rach?"
His voice stopped her, and she turned around hopefully. Maybe he'd changed his mind. "Yes?"
His hand was over the receiver. "Paul likes martinis. Would you please put a glass in the freezer so it can chill?" Before she could answer, he was speaking into the phone again.
Rachel St. James opened the door, and as Paul stood on the threshold and stared at her, the realization overwhelmed him again—as always—of how beautiful she was. And how much he loved her.
It didn't matter that she was married.
It didn't matter that her husband was Paul's business associate.
It didn't even matter that Paul couldn't explain the emotion, only feel it.
To Paul Delaney, nothing mattered. He'd loved Rachel from the moment he'd met her.
She didn't know, of course, and looking at her now, in the soft light of the dying day, Paul knew she'd never know. There were some things in life that just weren't meant to be. A relationship between him and Rachel St. James was definitely one of those things. She and William had the perfect marriage—and Paul Delaney would be the last man in the world to threaten something like that. He knew how rare good marriages were.
"Hello, Paul." Her voice was as gentle as the last rays of sun edging over the mountains behind him. "Please, come in."
Her invitation was hard to turn down—any opportunity to see Rachel was precious to Paul—but he had no intention of staying. He knew they'd picked up their baby daughter today, and seeing Rachel and a child was simply too much. Once again, he thanked God he was moving to South America to open the newest branch of St. James Development. The loneliness would be awful, but it couldn't be worse than what Paul felt now every time he saw Rachel and William together.
Standing where he was, Paul held out a large brown envelope and kept his voice neutral. "I can't stay, Rachel, but thank you, anyway. I just stopped by to drop these off."
An expression of concern came over her delicate features, then she pulled her bottom lip in. "Oh, dear. I guess William didn't know. He wanted to talk to you." She was totally unaware of her effect on Paul, her melodious voice wrapping around him like a silk scarf. "Can't you come in for just a moment? I'd love to introduce you to Elizabeth."
He hadn't thought it possible, but at the mention of the baby's name, Rachel's face turned even more radiant.
And his heart took an even deeper dive.
What else could he do? "I'd love to see her," he said quietly.
 He followed Rachel into the entry hall, noticing, as usual, how perfectly she was dressed, a pair of pale pink slacks and an oversized tunic making her seem even more petite. Small pearl earrings decorated the lobes of her ears. As a rule, Paul didn't notice women's shoes, but Rachel's were impossible not to notice. Peeking out from the hem of her pants, the pink tennis shoes were dotted with small white pearls.
He'd never seen her look less than immaculate, but she wasn't one of those cool, distant women whose flawless appearance said "look, but don't touch." She was a warm, inviting woman with a generous spirit. A toucher, too. He'd often seen her lean forward to take William's arm or brush his hand as she spoke.
As Paul watched her hang up his coat, he remembered one time specifically. She'd dropped William off at work. Paul had looked down from his office window as they'd kissed in the car, Rachel's hand around William's neck, her fingers brushing his hair. William had hurried away a second later, but she'd held her fingers to her lips and watched him disappear into the building. Paul had been unable to see her face because he'd turned away, a flame burning inside him as fierce as it was undeniable. He'd never acknowledged, until that point, how intense his loneliness—and his envy—was.
Stepping from the closet, she smiled and tilted her head toward the living room. "Let's have our drinks first, then I'll take you to the baby."
He followed her into a room of generous proportions, one wall made up of French doors that revealed an inviting pool and sloping yard, the Colorado mountains shimmering in the evening dusk beyond, their October foliage an extravagance of gold. Paul moved toward these windows while she went to the wet bar in the corner of the tasteful room. A second later, carrying two glasses, she walked up to him and offered him the chilled one.
"I hope I did your drink right," she said, looking up at Paul through thick, dark lashes. "I've never been too good a bartender."
He found himself smiling—something he did infrequently. "It's perfect, I'm sure." As if to prove the point, he sipped. The drink was perfect—perfectly awful—but he swallowed hard and continued to smile, the almost straight shot of gin going down his throat like fire.
Rachel stood next to him and stared out the window. A second later, she reached up to minutely adjust the nearby silk curtains, the scent of her perfume wafting toward him. He swallowed hard again.
"I didn't want to come here today," he found himself saying. "I didn't want to bother you."
Her fingers let the drapery slide out as she tilted her head to look at him. "It's not a bother. I understand there's a lot going on at the office."
Paul doubted Rachel really knew what was happening at the office. Besides Paul and William, no one knew what a precarious state St. James Development was in. William wanted everyone in the dark, Rachel especially. He'd told Paul once that he wanted to protect her from all that, to keep the gritty details of the business away from her so she wouldn't have to worry about them like he did.
And Paul didn't blame him. If Rachel were his wife, he'd want to do the same. She was that kind of woman—she made you want to protect her and love her and keep her happy.
He took a deep breath and tried to steer the conversation away from the business. "You must be terribly excited. It's not every day you get to bring home a brand-new baby, is it?" he said, sipping his drink.
 "I didn't think it would ever happen." She ran a finger over the edge of her wineglass, her voice suddenly so happy he smiled just hearing it. "She's the most beautiful baby in the world, Paul. And I love her so much. I can't believe she's actually ours. The whole process went so smoothly I think I'm still holding my breath, waiting for something to happen. Of course, she isn't legally ours until the court hearings are done, but I'm sure—"
Just then, William entered, his shoes clattering down the two broad steps that led into the room, the portable phone plastered against his ear. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can, Senor Sabatini. Gracias." He clicked it off then spoke without preamble. "Paul—did you bring those papers?"
Paul nodded toward the sofa table where Rachel had placed the envelope. "They're right there."
"Excellent." William picked up the papers, then spoke to Rachel, his eyes on the envelope as he ripped open the flap. "Could you close the door on your way out, honey? We're going to be tied up quite a while and I don't want to be disturbed."
"Of course." She headed out of the room, then stopped in the center of the double doorway, her hands outstretched as she reached for the brass levers. "Paul?"
He looked over William's head to meet her warm gray eyes. "Yes?"
"Call me when you two finish. I'll take you to see the baby."
"Of course."
Without another word, she slipped from the room.
"Those people in Argentina have no idea of the expenses we've got looking at us, Paul. To open an office down there is going to cost us a fortune, and now they're insisting we hire at least twenty nationals as part of the deal." William's voice was full of tension. "They say we can't even bid on the field if we don't add that clause to the contract."
It took Paul a moment to concentrate on William's words. He was still hearing his name the way Rachel spoke it.
William didn't notice. He ran a hand through his short, gray-streaked hair and took a deep breath. "I don't know how we're going to do it. And we're in too damn far to quit."
Forcing himself to focus, Paul answered, "It's never too late to quit."
William shook the papers in his hands. "It is in this case. We have to bid, and we have to win. I don't want to even think about what would happen if we lost." His voice was grim.
"We'd make it okay, William. We always do."
"I doubt it." A red flush started at William's neck and slowly moved upward to color his face. He stuck a finger inside his collar and pulled uncomfortably at the edge. "I've invested too much of my time and too much of my life in this company to see it go into the toilet now. All I can say is it's a damn good thing I managed to get a second mortg—" He broke off abruptly and sat down heavily into a nearby chair with a moan, his hand going down to his chest then falling limply into his lap.
Shocked, Paul rushed to William's side and dropped to one knee. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"It's—it's nothing," he stuttered, waving his hand toward Paul. "Nothing but some indigestion." He pulled a small roll of tablets from his pocket and peeled two of them off to stick in his mouth. His fingers shook. "It's nothing," he repeated.
"This doesn't look like nothing, William. Are you sure—"
"I'm fine!" William cut him off sharply. "And don't say anything about this to anyone, especially Rachel. I don't want her worrying about me." He pushed himself up in the chair and sat straighter. "All I need is the investors to think there's something wrong with me. You might as well put a gun to my head. The company would be ruined."
"Of course," Paul said. "I won't say a word, but maybe this discussion could wait another day? I'm sure you want to spend some time with Rachel and the baby, anyway—"
William shook his head impatiently. "It can't wait. We've got to talk about—"
It took Paul only a second to decide. "No. Not now." He spoke firmly. "We can discuss it tomorrow. At the office. You need to rest."
For a second, it looked as if William would argue, then he seemed to shrink within the chair. He nodded his head. "Maybe you're right. I... I guess it can wait." He sat quietly for a few more moments, then pushed himself up from the chair. "I'll call Rachel for you."
The three of them stood beside the crib, Paul on one side, Rachel and William on the other. William had his arm draped over Rachel's shoulder and he was leaning on her. She was obviously too excited about the baby to notice that it was more than an affectionate gesture.
"I think she already recognizes me," Rachel said, her eyes glowing in the pale lamp beside the bed.
"Already?" William's voice was light with none of the earlier stress in it that Paul had heard. He wondered if William was right—maybe he had just been experiencing indigestion. "Don't you think that's stretching things, honey?"
 "No." Rachel shook her head stubbornly, her glance never leaving the child's face. "She knows me. I came in here a little while ago to check on her and she smiled at me.
William's arm tightened around Rachel's shoulders and he looked over at Paul with a wink. "That's gas."
With a mischievous look, she elbowed William and grinned. "You're just jealous because she doesn't know you yet."
Paul forced himself to look down at the child and away from Rachel and William. It was a special kind of torture for him to see the two of them together. Looking at the baby didn't help, either. She made him think about the family and wife he didn't have.
Rachel leaned over the crib, her gaze on Paul. "Do you want to hold her?" she asked.
He forced his voice into a casual timbre. "I don't have much experience in that arena, but I'm game if she is."
Rachel smiled. "Don't worry—experience in the baby department is pretty slim in this house. She won't know the difference."
She reached in and slipped her hands under the baby's head and torso, lifting her up and cradling her against her breasts. Walking carefully around the crib, Rachel looked up at Paul. "Just hold your arms out," she instructed. "I'll put her in them."
Feeling awkward but incredibly drawn, Paul did as Rachel said. A second later, the baby was in his arms, a warm, but surprisingly heavy weight against his own chest. She looked up at him with bright blue eyes. And smiled.
Something turned over in his heart. Paul didn't know the emotion and couldn't have put a name to it if his life had depended on it. All he knew was that it felt wonderful... and sad at the very same time.
 Rachel stood beside him, reaching out and adjusting the collar of the baby's flowered nightgown. "Who's got you?" she cooed toward the child. "Who's holding you now?"
The infant responded by babbling softly and jerking her hands in the air. Paul couldn't help himself. He grinned widely and put one finger out. She grasped it.
Rachel raised her face to his, her eyes filled with love. "Can you believe it?" she breathed. "Isn't she wonderful?"
All he could do was look at Rachel and nod. She was wonderful. And the baby was pretty great, too.
That evening, just before she dropped off to sleep, Rachel realized Paul Delaney had held Elizabeth in his arms for more than twenty minutes.
William had yet to even pick her up.
Rachel added another log to the fireplace, then turned around and crossed the living room to stand beside the playpen where Elizabeth was sleeping. She'd grown so much in just eight weeks, Rachel couldn't believe it.
"I guess I'd gain weight too if all I did was sleep and eat." Rachel bent down and brushed her fingers over the downy blond hair that covered the baby's head. "Must be nice to have a job like that."
She rocked back on her heels and stared at her daughter. Every day, Rachel discovered something new and wonderful about being a mother. It was as if she'd been born to the task. William, on the other hand, had been so busy they'd hardly seen him. In fact, the last time they'd had more than two hours together was the day they'd brought Elizabeth home. Since then, he'd either been out of town or had come home after Rachel had gone to bed. It bothered her, of course, but every time she let herself be disappointed, an equal amount of guilt would appear, as well. She had absolutely no right to be upset—he was working hard for all of them.
The front door bell rang, interrupting her thoughts. Rachel frowned, then rose and headed toward the entryway, glancing at her watch as she walked. It was well past nine, and she was expecting no one. Had William forgotten his key?
She glanced through the glass of the front door and saw the tall outline of Paul Delaney. A flash of surprise came over her—he wasn't the type of person who would just drop by. But she hadn't thought he'd be the kind of man who would send baby presents, either. The day after he'd held Elizabeth, though, a gigantic lady teddy bear had arrived. In bright pink thread, "Elizabear" had been embroidered on its lacy vest.
She opened the door. "Paul—what a pleasant surprise. William's not home yet, but..." His expression was so grave, Rachel felt the words die on her lips. "What... what's wrong?"
"May I come in?"
"Of course." She stepped aside, then quickly closed the door behind him, a few flakes of snow coming in with him. An unexpected storm had started in the mountains this morning and had made its way down the valley by noon. Already the yard was white and beautiful. "Let me take your coat."
He shrugged his broad shoulders out of the white-flecked overcoat, then handed it to her. Taking the garment from him, she stood still and looked at him, alarm bells sounding in her head.
A deep furrow split his forehead. He started to speak, then stopped, his hand going to a lock of black hair that had fallen down. "I've got some bad news, Rachel. Very bad."
"What... what is it?"
"Can we sit down?"
"Of course." Her throat suddenly dry, Rachel turned around and led him into the living room. They stopped in front of the fireplace.
"I've just come from the hospital." His voice was thick, as if he were having a hard time speaking.
His words were so unexpected, it took her a second to understand. "The hospital?"
"It's William," he said. "He... he had a heart attack, Rachel."
"Oh, my God." A sweep of nausea came over her, and she reached for the mantel to steady herself, Paul's expensive cashmere coat becoming a mound at her feet. "How is he? He's okay, isn't he?"
Without answering, Paul reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, his dark, deep eyes locking on hers. Instinctively, she knew his answer, but denied it, anyway.
"No." It was the only thing she could manage to say. "No."
"I'm sorry, Rachel. There was nothing we could do. He... he died before the ambulance even arrived." 
Chapter 2
January—four months later
Rachel lowered the volume on the stereo, then turned back to face Paul. Bright sunshine poured in through the glass behind her, highlighting her silver-blond hair and turning her skin luminescent. Her navy blue dress and severe-looking high heels made her seem even thinner than she already was. Paul wished he could tell her to eat better, to take care of herself, to let the sun warm her skin a little, but he couldn't. Even though he'd been beside her and helped as much as he could the past four months, he was still nothing more to her than the man who'd worked with her husband.
Nothing more.
He thought back to the day William had died. He'd asked Paul to take care of Rachel and Elizabeth, to watch over them for him. Paul couldn't tell Rachel that he would have done that, anyway—without William asking him to—just as he couldn't tell her why he felt that way. What kind of man would tell a new widow that he'd been in love with her for years? He'd avoided the details of what had happened that dreadful day that William had died, and Paul had every intention of keeping it that way.
"I really appreciate you coming over today," she said, her soft voice unable to hide the tension behind her words. "I...I know it's another imposition, but I didn't know who else to ask. If Abe and Emma could have gotten here in time—"
"I'm glad you called me, and it's not an imposition. Not at all. I meant it when I offered to help you. Besides, the roads are supposed to get worse tonight. A front's coming in. I wouldn't want your aunt and uncle to get stuck in bad weather."
Nodding her agreement, Rachel turned to the bookcase at her side and moved a crystal vase a quarter of an inch. The beautiful furniture looked as out of place in the small, older home as she did, but she'd had no choice. The payments on the big house were too much to carry; William had taken a second mortgage on it so he'd have more money for the company. She'd had to move.
Her gaze roamed over the back garden as if she were surprised that the day could be so beautiful. She turned and looked at Paul, the helpless expression of grief and confusion in her eyes twisting his stomach with concern. "I have no idea what Sylvia wants, but I'm scared. Really scared."
"She didn't say anything?"
"No. Only that it was too complicated to explain over the phone. She had some depositions to take and then a court appearance at one. She said she'd be here after that. I offered to go to her office, but she said she had to be on this side of town for a meeting and she'd just stop by." Rachel hesitated, a frown crossing her forehead. "I got the feeling that she didn't want me there. For whatever reason, she wanted to come here."
"Maybe she has a question about William's estate. It could be nothing more than that."
Rachel shook her head. "Sylvia didn't do his will. She's a family law attorney, nothing more. In fact, we didn't even know her before she'd handled Elizabeth's adoption for us."
"It's probably not important, Rachel. Just some formalities. Don't you think she'd have told you if it was something more?"
"I don't know. She's been so busy lately	" Rachel
shook her head, her words falling off before she spoke again. "But I can't imagine that there would be a problem with the adoption papers. Before he... he died, William assured me that everything was in perfect order. That there'd be no problem."
"And I'm sure he was right," Paul said smoothly. The words sounded good, but in the back of his mind, he was already wondering himself. Why hadn't the attorney just called? He forced away the questions and tried to sound positive. "Maybe she just wants to reassure herself that you're doing all right, that the baby's fine."
For the first time since he'd arrived, Rachel's face broke into a smile, and the transformation almost took away his breath. "Elizabeth couldn't be more fine. In fact, she's the only thing that's kept me sane." Like the sun on a cloudy day, her smile hid once more. "Especially with all the trouble at the company..." She looked at him. "Have you heard any more?"
He'd been hoping Rachel wouldn't bring up the business—he didn't want to lie to her, and foremost in his mind were William's words about burdening her with the details of the business. She was the owner of St. James now, though. And that made everything different. He took a deep breath. "To be honest with you, the rumormongers are going wild. If we don't get those investors settled down, the company's going to be in even bigger trouble than it is right now."
She made a sound of disbelief. "I don't see how that could happen."
"It can," he said grimly. "In fact, as much as I hate it, I may have to let some of the secretaries go."
"Oh, no. Do you have to?" Rachel's gaze darkened with dismay. "Pearl's been with William for years. I just can't imagine her looking for another job at her age. And there's Marilyn—she's pregnant." She brought her hand to her throat. "And what about Louise? Her husband just lost his own job. We can't lay her off now, too."
He stared at her swimming gray eyes and felt his decision evaporate in their warmth. What was a few more months? He'd been paying the secretaries' salaries out of his own salary for three months, anyway, some vestige of hope in him that the company might survive, after all. "Well, maybe I can work something else out," he said.
"Could you?" She smiled so gratefully, it was almost as if it were her check he'd agreed to keep coming. He turned his eyes away from her. He'd been paying for that since William's death, too.
"I'll try," he answered. "But we're going to have to do something, Rachel. And soon. William tied us so tightly to that well in Argentina that I have to follow through on it. I'm going to talk to his contact there, Senor Sabatini, in the next few days, but frankly I think we're stuck, and I don't know where we're going to get the money. We're damned if we do, and definitely damned if we don't."
She turned and looked out the window. "If he hadn't borrowed against his life insurance policy..."
"It wouldn't make any difference," Paul said gently. "We need more money than that. Lots more."
Outside, a sudden bank of winter clouds had unexpectedly covered the sun, and as the shadow passed over the window Rachel closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. It was all Paul could do not to take her into his arms and promise her he'd make things all right. Whether it was possible or not.
"I don't know what else can happen," she said quietly. "Thank God I've got Elizabeth—"
The doorbell broke into Rachel's words, and she flinched at the sound. For a moment, Paul had the distinct impression that she wouldn't answer it, then she seemed to gather herself and she moved toward the entry hall.
The door opened, and he heard the deeper tones of another woman's voice as she greeted Rachel. When they both entered the living room a moment later, Paul was surprised by Sylvia Martin's appearance. He'd expected someone much younger, much more contemporary. Instead, the attorney looked like someone's grandmother, her dark suit attempting but failing to camouflage a more than generous waistline. Sensible low heels and straight silver hair added to the image. He might have expected her to be carrying a plate of cookies if he'd seen her walking down the street.
"Hello there." She spoke in a bright, cheery voice and extended her hand toward him. "Sylvia Martin. And you're...?"
"This is Paul Delaney, Sylvia," Rachel said. "I told you about him. He worked with William—"
"Oh, yes." Curiosity flashed through the older woman's hazel eyes. "I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Delaney," she said. "I hope things are going well at St. James's. I know you've been a great help to Rachel with the details of the business. She told me you had."
Paul glanced at Rachel, and she smiled at him as if to confirm the attorney's words. His heart melted around the edges.
"I'm trying," he answered truthfully.
She nodded. "Sometimes it's difficult when a company like William's loses its owner. Things get.. .complicated."
Complicated? Complicated didn't even start to describe it.
"I'm sure we'll work it all out in time." His earlier nervousness returned, and finding himself inexplicably anxious to make her think everything was normal, Paul spoke again. "In fact, we're about to undertake a major expansion into South America."
"How exciting." Sylvia made the comment by rote, without the smallest bit of real interest, and it was at that point that Paul realized she was nervous. Her eyes were darting around the room, and her face had a tight, pinched look about it that he'd be willing to bet was not her usual expression. The perception increased his own uneasiness, and flashing Rachel a look, he wondered if she'd noticed the attorney's discomfiture.
If she had, she wasn't revealing it. "Would you like a cup of tea, Sylvia? Or something to eat? I just made some bread."
"No, no, my dear. My figure can't take any more stuffing than it already has, but thank you, anyway." She smiled, but the effort was obviously strained. "I think we'd better just talk right now."
They sat down, and Rachel spoke, her voice soft and questioning. "I hope that nothing's wrong, Sylvia. With Elizabeth's papers and everything." She paused for a moment, then continued, obviously trying to keep the apprehension from seeping into her voice. "I told myself I was being silly—you didn't have any problems last week when we met but..."
The older woman looked down at her hands, then back up at Rachel.
"I am being silly.. .aren't I?" Rachel bit her bottom lip.
Sylvia leaned forward in her chair, her elbows resting on her knees. She stared at the carpet a minute, then finally lifted her head. "I was hoping I could get everything resolved and not involve you at all. There is a problem, though, and that's why I wanted to come by today. I... I wanted to tell you this in person."
Paul hadn't thought it possible, but Rachel's alabaster skin turned even paler. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we can solve it," she said, her voice rising imperceptibly. She glanced at him. "Right, Paul?"
"Absolutely," he said.
"I'm not so sure, my dear," the attorney replied. "In fact, I don't think there's any solution to this problem, but I have to think about Elizabeth. She has to be everyone's number one concern."
In her lap, Rachel's fingers folded tightly together. Paul could barely stand to look at her. His eyes went to the attorney's face. A line of wrinkles furrowed her brow, and she looked almost as miserable as Rachel. It was obvious she was having to force herself to continue. "However much we hate it, the fact is, your circumstances have changed. And Hollis Sarif has found out."
 A small gasp came from Rachel's side of the room, and Paul's gaze jerked to her face. She'd gone completely white. "Elizabeth's birth mother" was all she said.
"Yes. Elizabeth's birth mother," Sylvia echoed, knitting her fingers together. "Right after Elizabeth's birth, Hollis went to Europe. She lived there until just recently. When she returned, she found out about William's death."
Paul could almost see the fear rising from Rachel, and Sylvia looked as if she wanted to cry, too.
The attorney took a deep breath, then spoke. "I don't know how to tell you this, Rachel, but Hollis said that she had approved of you and William because she wanted a two-parent family for her daughter. Now that that's no longer the case, she doesn't feel you're acceptable." Sylvia looked down at the floor then back up to Rachel. "She's insisting that I find another home for Elizabeth."
The room turned silent, and a movement by the window caught Paul's eye. The clouds had delivered on their promise, and it had begun to snow. Big, fat flakes. By dark, the streets would be covered. Somewhere, down the road, a dog began to howl.
"I... I don't think I understand." Rachel's voice was tremulous.
The attorney lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm sorry, Rachel, but I don't know what else to do. I've spent the past eight weeks trying to convince Hollis not to do this, but I've had no luck. She's insisting."
"She...she wants Elizabeth back? Just because I'm alone?"
"She doesn't want her back. She wants her placed with a two-parent family."
Slowly, a numbing paralysis started in Rachel's stomach and spread to her arms and legs. It would reach her heart at any moment, she knew, and then she would die. Of a heart attack.. .just like William had. Disjointedly, she wondered if he had felt this kind of pain in those last few moments.
"I hate it, but I have to tell you the contract between the two of you is ironclad. I make them that way because my reputation is at stake. That's why the birth mothers come to me—they trust me to honor that agreement. If I violate that trust now—for whatever reason—then I won't have children for anyone anymore."
All Rachel could do was shake her head. Disbelief, shock, fear, all coursed through her at once. She found her voice. "But you can't.. .you mean...you want to just take Elizabeth away? Is that what you're saying?"
Sylvia looked up at her. "Yes," she said softly. "I'm afraid that's what I'm trying to tell you, Rachel. I don't want to—God knows I don't want to—but I have no other choice."
The room began to spin, while underneath her fingertips, Rachel's pulse leaped. She closed her eyes, then a second later, opened them again. "I...I don't think that's possible." Looking at Paul, her mouth so dry she could hardly speak, she heard her voice rise. "Is it possible? Can they do that? Can they take her away from me?"
Before Paul could answer, Sylvia spoke. "It is totally within the contract, Rachel. Look at your papers. Until the adoption is finalized—through the courts—the baby isn't legally yours."
The paralysis returned. Rachel couldn't even speak. Paul's voice filled the void.
"Ms. Martin, this is obviously a surprise, and I think Mrs. St. James needs some time to consider what this means." With a smoothness she might have appreciated any other time, Rachel watched him pick up Sylvia's coat and purse and hand them to her. "Could you let her come to terms with it? I'm sure she'll have some questions to ask you later."
Almost gratefully, Sylvia took her things and rose. "Of course, I understand, and believe me, I do know how difficult this must be. It's hard for everyone."
"Hard?" Rachel found her breath and repeated the word. "Hard? For you? What on God's earth are you talking about? How could you possibly understand the meaning of what you've just said?"
Sylvia's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Rachel. Truly I am. I have to uphold the contract, though. Surely you realize that—"
"No." Rachel felt a surge of righteous anger take over. "Hollis is the one who has something to realize, Sylvia. I've just lost my husband, my way of life, and now she wants to take my child away from me, too?" Her hands turned to fists at her side, her stomach heaving. "How can she even consider such a thing? How can you? Elizabeth is my daughter. I... I love her. She loves me. Y-you can't take her away."
"You signed the contract. It clearly states—"
"Damn that contract," Rachel cried out. "We're talking about people's lives here! My life! My baby's! You can't reduce things like that to a piece of paper." Unaware that she was even moving, Rachel stepped forward. Sylvia's expression turned into one of alarm, then Rachel felt Paul's hand on her arm and she stopped, her chest heaving as her anger turned into despair.
Taking a deep, ragged breath, Rachel tried to regain her control, her mind spinning and twirling until it landed on a single point. "At least let me talk to Hollis," she suddenly begged. "Maybe I can convince her that nothing's changed, that I'm still all right. Please?"
 Sylvia was already shaking her head. "You know I can't do that, Rachel. That's part of the contract, too—"
Beside her, Paul spoke quietly. "What can it hurt, Ms. Martin? Can't you at least ask the woman if she'd speak with Rachel?"
"Please," Rachel pleaded again. "After everything that's happened... let me have this chance at the very least."
Sylvia's eyes filled up with tears, and for a moment the only sound in the room was Rachel's harsh breath. Finally, the attorney spoke. "All right. I'll ask, but she won't agree. She's been a stickler all the way." She opened the front door, a blast of frigid air coming in to swirl around them. Despite the cold, she stopped and looked at Rachel, the tears now running down her face. "I'm really sorry, Rachel. I really and truly am. But I think you should be prepared for the worst. You're going to have to give up the baby."
A second later, the front door closed... and Rachel's heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.
That night, Rachel stood beside the crib with the moonlight pouring in the window nearby, the faint scent of baby powder mixing with the fragrance rising from the vase of roses she'd splurged on at the market three days ago. Over the baby's bed, a mobile of crystal angels swung slowly, their wings occasionally touching to sound a gentle, bell-like chime.
Rachel would never have thought it possible, but in the past four months, she'd come to love Elizabeth even more than she had the day they'd picked her up. Her needs had kept Rachel sane, had kept her from thinking. About the bed with the sheets so smooth on one side. About the dishwasher that rarely needed emptying because there weren't enough dirty dishes to fill it up. The grief and anger and even a vague sense of guilt were overwhelming at times, and only the baby could pull her out of the black hole she shared with the terrible emotions.
She hadn't thought it could get any worse.
But she'd been wrong. Very wrong.
Rachel bent over, then eased a finger down the side of Elizabeth's smooth cheek. A tear slipped down her own face at the same time. "I won't let them take you," she said in a fierce whisper to the baby. "Never. Ever. No matter what happens, Elizabeth, I promise you that. Whatever it takes, I'll do it. I'm your mommy, so don't worry."
Stuart Thomas's office held all the required diplomas, plaques and certificates befitting an attorney of his stature and reputation, but as she waited for the company lawyer the next day, Rachel's disquiet refused to be appeased. She was beginning to wonder if she'd ever be calm again.
She'd called her aunt and uncle last night and given them the details, as much as she could in between her tears. They lived in Boulder, about an hour away, and just after William's death, they'd come and stayed with her for as long as she'd let them. It wasn't the first time they'd come to Rachel after death. When she was only five, she'd lost both her parents in a car wreck. For twenty years, Abe and Emma Hoke had been Rachel's surrogate parents.
Finally, though, this time she'd had to tell them to go home. They had their own lives, their own friends, and she couldn't expect them to comfort her forever. They'd insisted on driving down again tonight.
From her chair in front of the desk, Rachel glanced at Paul as he stood in one corner of the office. He'd helped her a tremendous amount since William's death, as well, and she knew the business couldn't have survived the past four months without him. She'd been aware of how much William had depended on him to run St. James, but she'd never had more than casual conversations with him before William's death. In fact, the day Paul had come over when they'd brought Elizabeth home was one of the few times she'd ever talked to him outside a company function.
Briefly, with part of her mind, the part that wasn't terrified she was about to lose her child, Rachel wondered why Paul had helped her so much. She could understand his help with the business, but the difficult decisions with everything else? With the funeral? With the house? Why had he done it? And still, she realized with a start, she knew nothing about him personally. He never, ever, talked about himself.
His dark eyes held secrets, though, secrets she'd glimpsed here and there in the past few months. If Rachel had had more time to think about it, she would have realized how uneasy that made her feel. William had been, for the most part, like an open book with her. And she should be thinking about him, not Paul Delaney.
She blinked away the thoughts and focused on the moment. "Thank you for coming with me, Paul. You've done so much... including setting up this appointment. I don't know how I can ever—"
He seemed uncomfortable with her appreciation. ''Stuart's here for all of us, Rachel. You don't have to thank me for this."
"But I'm sure you have enough going on at the office."
"I wanted to hear what Stuart had to say about the situation." He shook his head, his dark hair brushing the collar of his impeccable white shirt. "I just can't believe they could actually take Elizabeth away from you. It's too... too—"
"Cruel?" Suddenly impatient, Rachel stood as she spoke. "It is amazing, isn't it? One minute you think things are fine, and the next minute, your world is falling apart. It's cruel and unbelievable." Her throat closed on itself. She knew better than anyone that life wasn't fair. But Rachel turned so Paul couldn't see more of her distress. She'd already subjected the man to more than was necessary.
An instant later, she felt him by her side and a pristine handkerchief appeared within her sight. She took it without turning and put it to her eyes, her poor red-rimmed eyes that couldn't take much more.
"There's got to be something that can be done,'' he said, his deep voice surprisingly soft. "Something."
She dabbed her nose. The square of cloth held his cologne, and she found herself calmed by the clean, fresh scent. When she looked up at him, his eyes—those secret eyes—regarded her carefully. His stare was so unlike William's pale blue gaze—more intense, more piercing, somehow—that Rachel found herself disquieted. The moment broke when the door to the office opened to reveal Stuart Thomas.
The rotund attorney breezed into the room. Rachel had seen the look that was in his eyes a hundred times in the past four months. Compassion, pity, curiosity—they were all mixed together as he took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Hello, Mrs. St. James. Paul." The lawyer perched on the edge of his desk.
If he had good news, he would have sat down, she thought instantly. He would want to be comfortable and take his time, to explain everything. As it was, he looked like a bird that wanted to fly away as soon as possible. She told herself she was being ridiculous, but before she could calm down, Stuart's words confirmed her suspicions.
"I've looked over the papers, and I'm afraid I don't have good news."
Her heart tumbled, and she sat down hard. "How bad is it?"
"The birth mother is entirely within her rights, and you and William signed a contract that outlines it all. If, for any reason, any reason at all, she wants to terminate the adoption before it's final, that is her prerogative. The contract's very clear on that point."
"Are you sure there aren't any loopholes, Stuart? Some way around it?"
Rachel watched numbly as the attorney glanced at Paul and shook his head. "There's nothing. I had one of the interns search for other cases to see if there was a precedent for breaking the contract. There were other cases, but they were all upholding the contract."
Sick with disbelief, Rachel barely managed to find her
voice. "But, Elizabeth is my daughter. I'm her mother.
They can't just take her away	"
"They can, and they probably will."
"But why? I'm as good a parent now as I was when Hollis selected us." Rachel gripped the arms of the padded chair, her nails digging into the fabric. "Just because William is gone, that doesn't mean I'd be a bad parent."
"I know, I know." The attorney nodded his head like one of those dogs people stick on their dashboards. "But in the eyes of the law, as the contract states it, a good parental situation means two parents. A mother and a father. It's not fair, but that's the way it was written. In these private adoptions the parties can do whatever they want, and people go along with it. They're so crazy and desperate for children that they seem to forget their heads when—"
He broke off immediately, his already florid face flushing with embarrassment as the implication of what he was saying became clear. An awkward silence filled the room before Paul finally broke it.
"Can't we fight it?"
"Absolutely." The attorney shifted against the desk, his eyes meeting Paul's. "But you've got to weigh the odds. It's a matter of time, money and the chances of success." He shot Rachel a look that made her hope sink completely. "To be frank, your company doesn't have much of the first two, and with that signed contract, there's not much of the last, either, I'm afraid. At the moment, the courts seem to favor the biological parents, as well."
With what she knew was a dazed expression, Rachel leaned back in her chair, the air suddenly abandoning her lungs as though it too wanted to escape from the agony coursing through her. How could this be happening? That's all she could think. How could it be happening?
The attorney slid off the edge of his desk and stood. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. St. James, but it looks like there's nothing we can do at this point." He glanced toward Paul. "If the situation changes—say the South American thing goes through and the company has a great success—then I'd say let's go for it. We'd have plenty of cash and enough time. The odds would still be against us, but we could work on them." His pale blue eyes rested on Rachel's face. "I'd never promise you more than that, though. It would still be a long shot. A mighty long shot."
Heavily, Rachel rose from her chair. His words had been painfully clear, but she had to ask one more time. "There's nothing I can do? Absolutely nothing?"
He blinked at her and pulled on his tie. She got the distinct impression that he wished the interview had ended at least fifteen minutes ago. "I wish I had some words of wisdom, Mrs. St. James, but I'm afraid there are none in this case." He glanced at Paul almost apologetically as though he knew he should be doing better, but couldn't. Finally he looked back at Rachel. "I can't think of a single suggestion short of remarriage."
Paul took Rachel's elbow and led her down the hall toward the elevators. Like a piece of delicate china, she wouldn't be able to take many more knocks before she would shatter and break. A few minutes later they were on the street, and ten minutes after that, they were in Paul's office.
"Bring us some coffee, please, Amanda," he said to his secretary as they passed by her desk, "then order us some lunch from Jason's. Something hot and substantial," he added, feeling the bones of Rachel's elbow through the silk of her blouse.
"Yes, sir."
He closed the door behind them and led Rachel to the couch in one corner of his office.
"You don't have to do this," she said in an automatic voice. "I need to get home. I need to get back to Elizabeth. I need to—"
"You need to eat," he answered. "It won't take ten minutes for the food to get here, then you can go on your way."
She sat very still, like a small child, on the edge of his sofa. Even her hands were motionless as she clasped them together in her lap. Finally she nodded once, but said nothing more.
 Paul walked to the windows that made up one wall of his office. He never looked at the Denver skyline; instead, his eyes always went to the mountains hovering just outside of town. He wished he were there right now, in the quiet stillness of the winter snows. He might be able to make sense of what was happening.
In the reflection of the window, he watched Rachel, and his heart cracked in two. She was so beautiful, so incredibly beautiful... and so incredibly sad. He'd needed no interpretation to understand the look on her face when Stuart had said the word remarriage. It would never happen. Rachel would never remarry. At least not any time soon.
She spoke in a small, still voice. "I don't know what I'm going to do." She stared straight ahead almost as though he weren't even in the room. "I can't just give her up.''
He turned around to face her. "Stuart Thomas is one of the best attorneys in town. If he says the chances are slim you'd win, then you need to listen to him."
She lifted her eyes. "I will not let them take her."
As she spoke, she lifted her chin and Paul suddenly realized something about Rachel St. James. Something he'd never understood before. She might be grieving, she might be confused, but behind those temporary emotions, there was a determination of steel, a spine that might bow but would never break.
"It simply can't happen."
Paul nodded slowly. "Do you have a plan?"
"Other than pleading with Hollis? No, not really... but I will."
Outside a siren started then wailed into the background of street noise. Paul glanced down at the street and watched a man in a suit dash in between two cars, a woman pushing a stroller, a boy selling papers. Everyday sights that suddenly seemed out of place with the tragedy happening in Rachel's life.
"Have you spoken to Sabatini?"
Her question threw him off. He would have thought the company was the last thing on her mind at the moment. "Yes," he answered, "and the answer's exactly what I thought it would be. We're obligated to drill that well. The fine print in the contract..."
She smiled ruefully. "There always seems to be fine print in these contracts, doesn't there. I guess the people who signed them were 'desperate' and 'crazy,' too."
Paul crossed the room and sat down beside her. "Stuart didn't mean to hurt you, Rachel. He doesn't understand."
She shook her head, then touched his arm briefly, almost as if she were the one comforting him. "It's okay. He
was right. I was so nutty to have a child, I would have
signed anything. I guess I'm paying the price now." She
looked into the distance beyond the windows, beyond the
city skyline. "I wonder what William would say	"
Her voice seemed to catch on William's name, and Paul was relieved a second later when a knock on the door broke the silence.
"Here's your lunch, Mr. Delaney. They had split pea soup and ham sandwiches today.''
He glanced up at his secretary and nodded. "Thanks, Amanda. That's great."
The young girl looked uncertainly at Rachel, then spoke. "I'm sorry about your husband, Mrs. St. James. He...he was a nice man."
Rachel smiled, her composure so in place Paul wondered if he'd imagined the break in her voice. "Thank you, Amanda. That's very sweet of you to say."
 The secretary nodded once, then slipped out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, Rachel rose, crossed the room and took her purse from the table. "I'm sorry, Paul, but I can't stay." He stood swiftly. "Rachel, you've got to eat—" She held up a hand and stopped him. "What I've got to do is find a way to keep my daughter. Nothing else matters but that." 
Chapter 3
Rachel felt as if her life was on a countdown. She still hadn't heard a word from Sylvia about talking to Hollis Sarif, and every day seemed to hurtle Rachel closer to disaster. At times, she couldn't seem to contain the anger that rose up in her. Why had William left her? This was all his fault. Immediately grief, then guilt, would swamp her. On Wednesday, when she heard her aunt and uncle's car pull into the small, unpaved driveway outside her rental house, she was almost at the breaking point. She met them at the front door with tears in her eyes.
Her aunt gave her a brief hug, then stepped aside a second later as Rachel's Uncle Abe filled the doorway. He wrapped his arms around Rachel like the bear he resembled. Her real tears started then.
The three of them moved into the tiny living room.
Guiltily, Rachel dashed a finger across her cheeks. "I... I'm sorry I'm crying, but things are just so—"
"Don't apologize, honey." Abe's voice was as big as he was, and it overflowed the living room as he removed his leather coat and looked at her in amazement. "You think you're too big now to cry in front of your ole Uncle Abe?"
Rachel looked at the seventy-four-year-old man who'd been in her life since she was eight years old. She hardly remembered her natural father. After he and her mother had left one day in a shiny new car and never come back, Rachel had gone to live with her only relative, her mother's sister, Emma. Shortly after that, Emma's husband had walked out on her, leaving Emma and Rachel to fend for themselves. One year later, Abe, who'd lost his wife to cancer, had married Emma and brought with him five children for her to care for.
There had been plenty of love for everyone, though, and since the day Abe walked into their small, cheerless house in Denver and handed Rachel a china doll with real hair, she'd been crazy about him.
Secretly Rachel had always wondered if Abe was one of the reasons she'd married William. The two men had always been a lot alike—steady, reassuring, always there for her. She looked into Abe's blue eyes and gave him a watery smile.
"No.. .it's just that every time you and Emma come here, I've got some new kind of crisis going on. I feel like I'm eight years old again and totally helpless."
"Well, that's ridiculous, now, and you know it." As she unwrapped the bright red scarf from her neck, Emma Hoke spoke in the no-nonsense manner that was her typical way. "You're not eight years old, and you definitely are not helpless. There's got to be an answer to this, we just don't know what it is yet." She dropped the scarf on the couch and looked around. "Where's the baby?"
"She's napping," Rachel answered with a glance at her watch. "I'll get her up in a minute."
"Let me do it," Emma said briskly. "You go fix some coffee, then we'll start to figure this thing out." She strode out of the room and down the short hall like a general about to go into battle.
Rachel and Abe watched Emma disappear, then Abe spoke gently. "Have you spoken with any more attorneys?"
Rachel turned toward the kitchen, Abe following close behind. "I just got off the phone with another one—someone that Stuart Thomas had recommended for a second opinion. He basically said the same thing Stuart did."
"Which is?"
"Our chances are not too good. Very poor, in fact. A trial could drag on for years, cost a fortune, and worst of all, Elizabeth would probably be placed in a foster home while the decisions are being made. I couldn't stand that."
Rachel opened the refrigerator, pulled out the coffee beans, then closed the door and leaned against it wearily. "There's almost nothing we can do. We signed a contract. According to the lawyers, we should have known what we were getting into when we did it." She clutched the cold beans in her hands and barely felt their chill. "We didn't know, though, Abe. We had no idea whatsoever. And how on earth could we have known that William would die? That things would work out like this?"
"Have you gone back to that woman? Tried to talk to her?"
He was talking about Sylvia Martin. He and her aunt always referred to Sylvia as "that woman."
"Not yet." Moving toward the cabinet, Rachel pulled out the grinder, dumped the beans in and set the knob before glancing at him. "But if she doesn't call me by noon, I'm calling her again. I've got to know if she's spoken with Hollis yet. That's my last hope." She clicked the grinder on, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. A second later, her aunt, carrying the baby, entered the room.
Abe rose and took Elizabeth from Emma's arms. Rachel had seen him do this countless times, and it always made her wonder if he'd done that with his own children. She had a feeling he had. "How's my baby girl?" he boomed.
Elizabeth responded as she always did—with a wide blue-eyed glance and a remarkable smile. Grinning himself, Abe proceeded to walk around the kitchen and talk to the cooing baby as Rachel repeated to her aunt everything she'd just told him.
"Well, we'll just have to go with you to see that woman." Emma opened the refrigerator, removed the cream for their coffee, then slammed the door shut. "She's obviously ignorant and doesn't understand how your family will support you. As soon as she sees that, she's bound to realize how ridiculous that contract is." She set the carton down on the kitchen counter with a solid thump. "That's what we've got to do."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Rachel grinned and finished filling the coffee pot and clicked it on. Emma didn't understand the meaning of the word no, and she never had a problem explaining that to someone.
Standing across the kitchen by the calendar, where he was letting Elizabeth pull on the pages, Abe looked over at Rachel and read her feelings. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Emma. We're the backup quarterbacks here, not the starters." Behind Emma's back, he gave Rachel a thumbs-up sign.
 Rachel winked back. A high-school football coach for more than thirty years, Abe found it impossible to talk without an allusion to sports.
Swirling around, Emma put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "This isn't one of your stupid playoff games. This is my grand-niece we're talking about."
"Our grand-niece, and I understand that," he said patiently, "but I also understand something else that I'm not too sure the two of you do." He held Elizabeth's tiny fingers in his own huge hand and stared sadly at them. "The odds are with the other team—home field advantage, more experience, better backers. There are some games you just can't win... and I'm afraid this may be one of them."
The only sound breaking the silence was the coffee as it bubbled into the pot, its rich aroma filling the kitchen. Rachel wanted to dispute Abe's words, but she couldn't. She was afraid they were too close to the truth.
"Well, you just need some help, that's all." Emma's mouth went into a narrow line as she stubbornly ignored his warning. "There's got to be someone around here who knows how to get around this."
"What about that Paul fellow?" Abe said suddenly. "Hasn't he been helping you a lot? Can he do something?"
Rachel reached into the cabinet behind her and pulled down three mugs, shaking her head as she answered. "I don't think so. He's done everything he can, and frankly, this isn't his battle, anyway. He's gone way beyond the call of duty as it is."
The phone rang sharply, and Rachel reached for it, almost knocking the cups over as her heart suddenly jumped into her throat.
Sylvia Martin had just one question. "Can you be here at two? Hollis has agreed to see you."
Rachel tugged at the jacket of her gray shantung suit, then reached once more for her lipstick. She was nervous and pale and needed more color. Whatever she seemed to add just made her cheeks appear whiter, though. With a final look in the mirror, she gave up and glanced at the clock. Paul would be here at any moment to pick her up. He'd called right after Sylvia, and when he'd found out what was happening, he'd insisted on going with her. Rachel had agreed. She needed some kind of support, regardless of where it came from.
She'd already checked on the baby once during her afternoon nap, but Rachel headed down the hall toward the nursery. She never left the house without kissing Elizabeth's downy cheek. Before Rachel could enter the room, her aunt stepped into the hallway. Tilting her head toward the baby's bedroom, she whispered, "Is she still asleep?"
Rachel nodded. "Yes. I just wanted to check on her before I left."
Together they peered inside the nursery. Lit by the soft afternoon sun creeping over the mountains, the room wasn't the expensively decorated nursery Rachel had done for the baby in the other house, but this one held just as much love. The angels, as they hovered over the crib, added to the feeling. For two long seconds, Emma and Rachel stared at the sleeping child, then by silent accord, they both eased out of the room and softly closed the door.
Rachel looked at her aunt. "I really appreciate you and Abe coming here. I... I don't think I could leave her with a sitter knowing every hour could be our last one togeth—"
"Don't say it." Emma put her fingers over Rachel's lips. "Words have power, you know."
"Then say I'll be successful. Say it over and over and over.''
Emma squeezed Rachel's arm and smiled into her eyes. "I've done just that for years, sweetie, and you always have been."
The words of support, so rare for the hard-edged woman, went straight to Rachel's heart.
"I want you to know something else." Emma spoke quickly, as though she had to get the statement out before she lost her courage. "I...I want what's best for you, and I don't want you to be hurt more than you already have. Please be careful."
Rachel looked at Emma in surprise. In the past few years she could count the times on one hand that her aunt had spoken so intimately. "I will, but—"
"I know what it's like."
The words were clipped. Rachel didn't understand them, but the pain they held was obvious. "What do you mean?"
"I suffered when my first husband left me, Rachel. I was young—twenty-eight—and didn't have a soul in the world to help me. I'd already lost your mom and I didn't have children of my own. It's not the same, but I do understand your feelings."
Rachel's breath caught in her throat, and she felt her fingers flutter up to her lips. "I... I hadn't realized ..."
"I know," Emma said. "You've had too much on your mind to see the similarities, but I did." She glanced over her shoulder toward the guest room. They could both hear Abe humming as he moved around, hanging their clothes up. Emma looked back at Rachel. "Don't let it stop you, though, Rachel."
"Stop me? Stop me from what?"
 "From loving again. I wasted years thinking I couldn't feel those kinds of feelings again. I don't want you to do that."
Rachel was shaking her head before Emma even finished speaking. "Falling in love is the last thing I want right now. There's no way I'd—"
Abe's voice boomed into the hall. "Honey—where's my black pants? You brought them, didn't you?"
Emma rolled her eyes and stuck her hands on her hips. "Look closer, Abe, they're in there."
"Well they must be invisible, then, because I don't see them."
The two women looked at each other a second longer. "I appreciate the advice," Rachel said, "but my plate is full right now. I have to concentrate on Elizabeth, nothing more."
Emma looked like she wanted to argue, but a second later her expression turned into its usual one of total exasperation when Abe's voice boomed again.
"I found my pants, but where'd you put those dad-burned socks, Emma? Emma?"
"You've never met her?"
Rachel looked across at Paul, her fingers digging into the leather seat of his car. They were almost at Sylvia's office, and Rachel's stomach was in knots. The last time she'd been this nervous she and William had been on their way to pick up Elizabeth. That had been a wonderful kind of nervousness.
This wasn't.
"It was part of the contract that William and I never meet Elizabeth's birth mother," Rachel said. "She wanted it that way. All I knew was her name. Hollis Sarif. I don't know how old she is or what she looks like. Absolutely nothing."
"Are you nervous?"
His question took her by surprise. Paul seldom, if ever, asked personal questions. Rachel suspected that was because he didn't like to answer them himself. She turned to look at him. "Yes," she said. "I am nervous. Very nervous."
He reached across the seat and covered her hand with his. His touch felt heavy and warm. He squeezed her hand for just a second, then took his fingers away. The contact was so brief it might not have happened, but the sensation it left lingered, confirming its reality. He didn't say a word.
The car rolled to a stop, and with dread, Rachel realized they were in front of Sylvia's office. Rachel had wanted so much to talk to Elizabeth's birth mother, to convince her of how wonderful a mother she could be, but now all Rachel wanted to do was turn the other way and run as fast as she could. She'd told Paul she was nervous, but she'd lied. Petrified was more the word. Two minutes later, they were standing outside the attorney's office door. Rachel tugged on her jacket and wished she'd stopped at the ladies' room to brush on a little more blush.
"Don't worry. You look great." Paul's eyes went over her suit with a look of approval. "Like the consummate PTA mom."
Anxiously, Rachel looked up at him. "Really?"
"Really." His voice was perfectly serious. "I'd buy raffle tickets from you all day long."
She couldn't help but smile. He was trying to calm her down, and even though it wasn't working, she appreciated his efforts. "A whole book?"
 "Absolutely." He smiled and tried to reassure her once more. "You'll do just fine, Rachel. Don't worry."
He swung the door open and they walked inside, Rachel's legs almost rubbery. When Sylvia's secretary saw them, she picked up her phone and spoke quietly. Ten minutes later, she ushered them into Sylvia's inner office. Rachel's heart was pounding so hard, she thought it would explode.
From behind her desk, Sylvia stood up, but Rachel hardly noticed. Her eyes were on the woman sitting in the chair in front of the windows.
Hollis Sarif, Elizabeth's birth mother, was much older than Rachel had imagined. Early to mid-thirties, close to Rachel's own age, she realized with shock. A full black skirt, almost reaching the floor, swirled around her boot-encased legs, and a thick white sweater covered with gold chains topped it off. Wild black hair tumbled around her shoulders, and that was a surprise, as well. Since Elizabeth was so fair, Rachel had always assumed her mother was, too. That wasn't the case, though. Her sun-kissed skin was dark, almost polished. It made her green eyes, which were tilted up slightly at the corners, even more remarkable.
Elizabeth resembled her in absolutely no way.
Clearly conscious of Rachel's evaluation, the woman waited until Rachel's nervous gaze went back to her face. "Do I pass your inspection?" she said bluntly.
Rachel felt her cheeks flush, but she didn't let it deter her. "I think I'm the one who needs to pass inspection here, aren't I?"
Hollis Sarif's eyes registered surprise—she was clearly a woman who wasn't accustomed to receiving questions to her questions. Behind the surprise a grudging flick of respect came, then left. She ignored the question, her gaze going to Paul. "And you are?"
"Paul Delaney." He put his hand on Rachel's shoulder. The warmth felt good. "A friend of the family.''
"I see."
The tiny silence seemed to grow, then Sylvia waved toward the other two chairs in the office. "Sit down, Rachel. Paul. Would you like some coffee?"
Paul shook his head, and so did Rachel. She was sure if she put a single thing down her stomach, it would come right back up.
"I'm going to leave you all, then," Sylvia said. "Call me when you finish."
Before the door had closed completely, Hollis spoke, her voice husky and deep. "I'm sorry about your husband, Mrs. St. James. My condolences."
She had the faintest of accents, so distant that Rachel could barely discern it, much less place it. "Thank you."
"I've been away for several months, and I was unaware of his death until recently. It was brought to my attention." She rested her arms on the chair, and Rachel wondered blankly if the woman had ever felt the gut-wrenching anxiety that was now tearing Rachel apart, bit by bit. She doubted it. Hollis Sarif looked like nothing could rattle her. "When I heard, I contacted Ms. Martin immediately."
The gold around her neck shimmered with a cold yellow haze, and Rachel realized it couldn't be fourteen karat—it was something more generous, more expensive. Somehow, the exotic richness of the gold seemed appropriate. It matched the woman it adorned.
"Sylvia was reluctant to accommodate me, but I was persistent." Hollis held up a finger and inspected her ring as if she'd just now noticed she was wearing it. "Finally she realized I was not going away... and she called you. I didn't want to talk to you, but she insisted."
"I'm glad," Rachel said quietly. "Because I'm not going away, either."
The eyes flashed again. Hollis tapped her nails against the chair. "And so here we are."
"Yes."
"You're a young widow."
"Yes."
"And alone?"
"Not entirely." Rachel forced herself to breathe normally. "I'm very close to my family. My aunt and uncle live about an hour from here, and I have many cousins."
"And friends... of the family." Her gaze went to Paul.
"That's right," Rachel said. "Many friends."
"But no husband." Hollis crossed her long legs, her boots whispering against each other, the gold chiming in. "No husband and no father for the child."
Until that moment, Rachel wasn't sure she liked Hollis Sarif. She appeared hard and cold and almost unfeeling. But when she said those two words—the child—Rachel understood her perfectly. Hollis loved Elizabeth. Loved her so much that the only way she could cope with her action was to put an incredible distance between herself and the baby she'd been forced to give away. The charade might have fooled other people, but not Rachel. She'd put on the same act herself every time she'd seen a pregnant woman for the past twelve years. A pregnant woman. A crying baby. A loving father.
Hollis loved Elizabeth, maybe even as much as Rachel did.
With this understanding, Rachel felt her nervousness abate. It was still there—Hollis held her fate in her hands— but at least now, Rachel understood the woman better. She leaned forward in her chair. "Elizabeth has no father in the house, Ms. Sarif. That's true, and I can't deny it. But it doesn't change how I feel about her."
"And that is?"
"I love her. With every ounce of my body, I love her. And I want only what's best for her, I promise you."
"Then how can you say she should stay with you? A child needs a father."
"Yes, she does." Rachel's agreement seemed to surprise the woman. "Every child does. But she needs love even more. And I have enough of that for ten fathers."
"It's not the same." Hollis rose and moved toward the window, and a whiff of exotic perfume floated across the room. Rachel looked at Paul, and he tried to reassure her with a look.
"I understand that but—"
"The reason I picked you and your husband to raise my child was simple, Mrs. St. James." Hollis spoke with her back to them. "I wanted her to have what I could not provide." She turned around. "Breakfast at the same table every morning. A mother and father who kissed her good-night every night. A puppy in the yard, a doll in the bed... all those things that make up a stable home."
"I want those things for her, as well, and I can give them to her—"
"No. Not now." Hollis's voice softened minutely. "You could have before, but now...now you can't. Already something has changed in her short, little life, and I hate that for her."
With her heart in her throat, Rachel found herself rising from her chair, unable to sit a moment longer. "Do you really think I can't raise a child simply because I'm alone now?"
 "If I had thought differently—" Hollis's words were as cold and clipped as the wind outside the window "—I would have kept her myself.''
Despair swept over Rachel as Paul stood and moved to her side. "That's an awfully one-sided view, Ms. Sarif. There are a lot of single parent families these days. Many children are raised by a mother or a father."
"That may be true." Her eyes measuring Paul, she crossed her arms, a tangle of gold bracelets flashing in the sunlight. "But it will not be true for this child. For her it will be a mother and a father."
She wasn't going to budge. For some reason—a very personal one Rachel was sure she'd never know—Hollis Sarif had made up her mind. Rachel tried to maintain her sense of sympathy, her understanding of the woman, but it was almost impossible. Despair swept over her. "There's got to be something I can do that would change your mind. Just tell me what it is. I'll do whatever it takes."
Silence filled the room with unbearable tension, and beside her, Rachel could feel Paul's own anxiety. It seemed nearly as strong as hers. "I'm entirely serious, Ms. Sarif," Rachel said. "You tell me what to do, and I'll do it."
This time the silence was even longer.
Finally, Hollis spoke. "I'll think about what you've said, Mrs. St. James, but if you want my advice, there's only one thing you can do." Outside, the sun disappeared behind a cloud, and the office darkened. Glancing first at Paul and then at Rachel, Hollis's green eyes turned almost luminescent in the dimmer light. "You'll figure it out." 
Chapter 4
"Dinner's in the oven, and the baby's been bathed. She's fast asleep." Wrapping her scarf around her neck, Emma looked at Rachel. "Don't wait too late to eat or the casserole will dry out."
"Yes, ma'am," Rachel said automatically. She couldn't think of dinner right now. The only image in her head was of Hollis Sarif.
"Don't forget it now. There's a cake on the counter, too."
Abe lumbered down the small hallway with an overnight bag in each hand. Sunday was a big day at their church—a new pastor was arriving. Emma had been on the selection committee and only a snowstorm of terrible magnitude would have kept her away.
"Are you sure you don't want us to stay, sweetheart?" Abe's blue eyes darkened with concern. "We don't mind."
"No," Rachel answered. "It's not necessary. Sylvia said she'd call the minute Hollis called her. I can phone you and tell you what she said."
"All right, but if you need us..."
"I'll call."
A moment later they were in their car and backing down the driveway. Rachel waved from the cover of the small porch, then stepped back into the living room. She'd closed the door, then leaned back on it for just a second, her shoulders slumping against the scarred wood.
She'd lost her home and her husband. Now a stranger, a woman who appeared to be thoroughly in charge of herself, held Rachel's life in her hands. How much worse could it get?
For ten more seconds she let her self-pity build, then she put it aside. Gathering herself together, she kicked off her heels and padded barefoot to the door of the baby's room.
In total defiance of her great aunt, Elizabeth was wide awake, her tiny arms moving over her head in wild abandonment as if she were directing an orchestra that only she could see. She laughed as her mother's face appeared over the edge of the crib, then she reached up and pulled on the tufts of soft blond hair that covered her head, making them stick straight up.
Looking at that sweet, precious face, Rachel couldn't help but grin. She reached out, picked up the baby, and swung her into her arms, smoothing a hand over the baby's head as she cuddled her tight. "Your hair's as bad as mine," she said to the laughing child. "You really need to see Jessie. Maybe he can work you in."
Elizabeth continued to giggle. Rachel laughed with her for a few more seconds, then slowly her chuckles turned into tears. How on God's earth could she give this child up? Let some stranger bathe her and feed her and change her diapers? They wouldn't know that she didn't like carrots, and they'd have no idea that she hated to get her head wet. When she cried at night, would they come?
Sensing the game had changed, Elizabeth started to whimper, and Rachel immediately stifled her own fear to soothe the baby. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice as reassuring as possible. "It's okay. Don't cry." The baby snuffled into silence, but as Rachel looked into the bright blue eyes she heard the advice she'd been receiving replay in her head. The words pulled with them the beginning stabs of panic.
I'm only doing what's best for the child.
The odds are with the other team.
If Stuart Thomas says you don't have a chance...
Rachel cradled her daughter's head against her chest and moved to silent music. The only sound she heard was her heart breaking in two.
Two hours later, the doorbell buzzed like a disgruntled hive of angry bees. Startled, Rachel grabbed for the nearest towel and tried to dry off and put her robe on at the same time. She'd been in the tub and had no idea who could be at the door.
It was probably hopeless to think that the baby would sleep through the noise, but as she dashed by the nursery, Rachel darted a look toward the crib. Unbelievably, Elizabeth was sleeping soundly, her rump in the air.
"I'm coming," Rachel called out. "Just a minute." Working the numerous locks, she managed to get them all undone but the chain. With it still in place, she cautiously cracked open the door.
"Rachel? It's me—Paul."
He stood on the doorstep. In his hands, an aromatic wisp of steam rose from the biggest pizza box she'd ever seen.
 Surprise was her first reaction, embarrassment her second. She'd already scrubbed off her makeup and her hair was piled on top of her head in a jumbled mass of confusion. Instead of doing anything about it, though, she said, "Just a minute," then closed the door so she could release the chain, the question coursing through her mind of why she even cared how she looked.
She opened the door wider to admit him, and her answer—if she'd had one—disappeared in the blast of frigid air that gushed in to flap wide the lower half of her robe. Shivering, she grabbed a handful of chenille and stepped away from the door. "Come in... come in."
He hesitated for a second, then stepped across the threshold, a flurry of early snowflakes coming with him and dusting the floor around his feet. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said, his deep voice filling the tiny room.
Rachel didn't know why but for some reason she felt his presence as surely as though he'd touched her with his hands instead of his voice. Maybe it was her intimate apparel or maybe it was her exhaustion. Whatever it was, the sensation startled her, and the image it brought to mind carried guilt, as well. "Oh, no. Not at all. I was just.. .just getting out of the tub."
His expression didn't waver—not obviously—but something inside Rachel did. Again, she tried to ignore the feeling, but it was difficult. She focused on the box in his hands. "That smells heavenly. What is it?"
"Pepperoni and sausage. Extra onions. Double cheese." He smiled slowly. "As many fattening things as I could think of."
She'd never seen him smile so openly. The expression transformed his face. Suddenly he was younger, much less intimidating. Much, much more handsome. She pulled the collar of her robe up to her throat.
"I should have called first but it was a spur of the moment idea." His eyes raked over her robe, and his smile slowly faded. "I didn't think about you going out. Do you have plans for the evening?"
The idea seemed ludicrous in light of everything, and Rachel shook her head slowly. "Oh, no, no. I can't...that is... I... uh... haven't gone out since..."
He accepted her answer with a smooth nod of his head, ignoring her stuttering and stammering. "Good. Then, let's eat."
She led him down the hall, then spoke as they entered the tiny kitchen. "It's a little different from the other house," she said apologetically, "but it's not too bad, really."
He glanced around the kitchen, then let his eyes return to her. "Does it bother you? Living here, I mean?"
She took two plates from the cabinet and considered his question. The kitchen in her former home had held a fireplace that she'd loved to have going while she cooked. Copper pots had shimmered in the lights, and the plants in the window always had blooms. It was as if it all belonged in a different time to a different person in a different life.
"I...I haven't been able to give it a lot of thought," she said finally. "I've had other things on my mind, I guess."
He took the plates from her hand, and she took his coat. Turning to drape it over one of the chairs at the end of the table, she had to resist the urge to bring the soft cashmere up to her face. She loved the feel of yarn, of wool—especially something this fine—and in her "other life" she'd knitted a lot. She hadn't had time for that pleasant occupation lately, either. Carefully she arranged his coat on the chair, then turned.
 He was standing still, watching her. "No word from Sylvia?"
"Not a one."
"Scared?"
"Spitless."
His dark eyes registered surprise, then amusement when she grinned first. "It's the truth," she said. "When we were in her office my mouth was so dry, I didn't even think I could talk."
"I thought you did great. You didn't look scared. Not at all."
She shook her head. "Well, I was, believe me. Hollis Sarif wasn't at all what I'd expected. She's so sophisticated, so cosmopolitan... I felt like a country bumpkin."
"Are you kidding?" Lines of disbelief worked their way across his forehead. "You're twice the woman she is. Hands down." „ "You... you really think so?"
"There's no question," he scoffed. "She obviously has a strong personality, but you've got class." His dark eyes captured Rachel's and held them. "Every man I know would take class any day of the week. Including me."
Unable to do anything else, she stared into his eyes. A moment passed before she realized what she was doing. Feeling awkward and schoolgirlish, she pointed to the table and said, "Shall we..."
They took their places, Rachel serving first Paul and then herself. The aroma of garlic and basil drifted up as she stared down into her plate. As nice as his compliments were, Paul couldn't change things. Hollis still held all the cards. At this point, what good was class?
After a few moments, Paul carefully placed the piece of pizza he'd been eating on his plate, wiped his mouth and sat back in the chair.
"What's wrong?" she said, looking up at him. "Doesn't it taste good?"
"It tastes great."
"Then, why'd you stop?"
"I don't like to eat by myself," he said quietly. "I want you to eat, too. That's one of the reasons I came by here tonight." He brought his elbows to the top of the table and rested them on the edge, leaning toward her. "You're not taking care of yourself."
"That...that's not true," Rachel sputtered, surprised but touched.
"When was the last time you ate a real meal?"
"I just took a casserole from the oven," she said. "My aunt left it."
"That brown thing I saw sitting on the counter over there that's all dried up?"
She grinned.
"And when was the last time you got a good night's rest? Slept for more than four hours?"
Her smile disappeared. She had been having trouble sleeping. Her doctor had wanted to give her something—right after William's death—but Rachel had refused. She didn't want to sleep through Elizabeth's cries.
He read her answer on her face. "You've got to take care of yourself, Rachel. There's no one else who's going to do it for you."
His voice was gentle but the words contained the harshest of realities. Despite what she'd told Hollis, she was alone. Her aunt and uncle could help the best they could, but they were both getting older. They couldn't keep driving back and forth from Boulder. All her cousins lived in places far off. The people she'd thought of as friends were all married couples, and now that she wasn't... they almost seemed scared of her.
 She was alone.
Again.
The feeling brought back nothing but bad memories. Even though she'd had Emma after her parents' deaths, Rachel had known what it was like to lose the people who loved you most. Since William's death, the child inside of her had experienced all those fears and anxieties all over again. It wasn't a good feeling.
As much to push her thoughts aside as anything, she said softly, "Why do you care so much, Paul? Why have you been so kind to me?"
His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed imperceptibly. She couldn't read the emotion behind the movement; she didn't know him well enough. It was there, though. She could see the change come over him as easily as she could sense Elizabeth's moods.
For a long time he didn't say a word, then finally he spoke, his voice a slash across the silence of the kitchen. "Do you want to know the truth or what sounds good?"
Her gaze wavered for just a second, and Paul wondered if she wished she hadn't asked. It was too late for her to back out, though, and besides, Rachel St. James wasn't the kind of woman who backed out of anything. He knew that now.
"I always want the truth," she said, her voice as calm and level as her gaze. "I don't like to deal with anything less."
He wanted to believe her—did believe her—but the truth was definitely not what she wanted this time. He didn't want it, either. In fact, he'd spent night after night after night trying to convince himself that the truth wasn't the truth—that he didn't love Rachel.
So he searched his mind for another reason, another logical reason why he was sitting in her kitchen at 9:00 p.m. wondering what she was wearing beneath the white chenille robe she clutched to her throat. It wasn't hard to think of another answer, he realized quickly enough, and it held some truth, as well.
"It's a long story," he warned.
She held out her hands. "I've got nothing but time."
Paul nodded, then pushed his plate away. He wasn't sure where to start, didn't, in fact, even know where the beginning was. Things had been so confused back then. "When William hired me five years ago, he took a real chance," he finally said. "I was a mess."
Rachel's expression was skeptical. "You? A mess? I remember meeting you that year at the Christmas party, and I wouldn't have described you that way. Not at all."
"Appearances can be deceiving."
"Maybe, but not by that much. You had a beautiful
woman with you, too. I can't remember her name	"
Paul met her eyes. "And neither can I. I was going through them pretty fast at that point. Unfortunately."
She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and stared at him with wide gray eyes. "Why?"
"Why unfortunately or just why?"
She grinned. "Just why."
It was hard to explain, but even harder to hear. He hadn't liked himself much during those years.
"I'm afraid I was going through one of those crisis things." The word was as painful now as it had been back then, but he forced himself to say it. "I'd just divorced."
"Divorced?" She dropped her hands into her lap and sat up straight. "I... I had no idea you'd been married before."
"Well, the truth is that was a very bad time for me, and I told very few people. William knew, of course, but no one else. I couldn't talk about it."
 A flash of surprise came into her expression, and he could see her wondering why William hadn't told her. Paul wondered, as well. He'd just assumed as close as they were, that William shared everything with Rachel. "It was painful?" she asked finally.
"The worst. If William hadn't hired me, hadn't had the faith in me that he did, I don't know what I would have done. I needed someone to tell me I was worth a damn again, and he did."
"Who had told you differently?"
His eyes went to the window over the sink. Upset by the winter wind, a branch tapped against the glass. The sound was cold and hard. He looked back at Rachel. "My wife. She said it so frequently and so vehemently that I'd almost begun to believe her. By the time the divorce was all over, she'd made it more than clear she thought I was a rotten husband.. .and an even worse father."
Rachel's lips parted in surprise. "Y-you have children, too?"
The question was so painful that Paul could hardly bring himself to answer... another reason he generally told no one about his past life. "One," he finally managed to get out. "I had—have—a daughter. Pammie. She's almost six. When we divorced, my wife took her and moved back to London. She—Belinda—is British, and she wanted to go home."
"How awful for you." Her hands went around her mug. "Do you ever get to see your daughter?"
He swallowed past the hard knot that had formed in his throat. "Very seldom. Belinda stuck her on a plane by herself a couple of times to come to the States, but she was so terrified I couldn't bear to put her through that again. After that I flew out to see her. I've been going at least once a year, but Belinda has managed to poison her against me totally. The last time I saw her, she started crying and got so upset I decided I was hurting her more than helping her. I left. And I haven't been back." He looked down at his hands and thought about how his story sounded. Cold. Cruel. Heartless.
Finally he looked up. "But I can't stay away from her completely. She's my daughter. I love her even if I can't be with her."
Belinda had remarried, and she had told him that Pammie loved her new "daddy." The news had sliced through Paul's heart like a well-honed knife, but at the same time, it had made him all the more determined not to completely lose touch with Pammie.
"I write her," he said. "I call her, too. Half the time Belinda says she's out, though—at her play group or taking a walk—and I don't even get to talk to her. It's... hard."
Rachel pushed away from the table as if she needed more room to understand what he was saying. Paul knew the feeling. He'd been shocked when Belinda had told him how miserable she was. How she hated living in the United States, how she longed for the green parks of London and the cold fog that kept you bound in white for weeks. As much as he hated to believe it, part of him wondered if she'd been right when she said he was a rotten husband. Wouldn't a better man have noticed his wife being miserable?
Finally Rachel spoke. "You must have been devastated."
Paul looked down at his hands. "I was. Devastated and a lot of other things, including angry and crazy for a while." He brought his gaze to her face. "I left the company where I'd worked for more than twenty years. I was trying to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life when I met William at an oil and gas conference. He offered me a job on the spot. I took it, and I've been grateful ever since."
She studied his face, her eyes going over his features one by one, almost as if she were trying to judge the truth of his words, to read, somehow, in his features if he were telling her what she wanted to hear or what was reality. Finally, she nodded her head. Slowly. Thoughtfully.
"So by helping me, you feel like you're repaying a debt?"
"In a way," he said evasively. "William was extremely good to me. He helped me, he stood by me, he gave me something to be interested in again."
"The company?"
He met her eyes. "Yes. The company."
"And so now you feel obligated to stand by me."
"Obligated isn't the word I would use," he said quietly.
"What is?"
He let the silence build, then finally he leaned closer to her. Closer than he should have because he could smell the clean scent of her soap and could see the barest hint of her breasts beneath the neckline of the robe. "I wouldn't want my worst enemy to go through the same thing I did. Losing a child is the most horrible thing that can happen to a parent. You feel like you've been cut wide open and your heart's been ripped out. If I could prevent you—prevent anyone—from going through that, I would want to. Anyone would want to."
The words soaked in slowly, and as they did, Rachel nodded her head once again. She understood. She accepted. She knew what he was trying to say. He felt his body relax and decided he was safe once more. His secret was still a secret... she had no idea he loved her.
"Would you like to see the baby before you go?"
Rachel watched Paul glance at his watch. It had been an extraordinary evening. After he'd told her about his divorce, there was nothing she could do but share a little of her own past. To relieve the tension, she'd tried to make light of her aunt's bluntness and joke about her uncle's sports analogies. Paul had seemed to appreciate it, but the somberness had never left his eyes. Now she understood the shadow she'd seen in his gaze before.
"Do you mind?" he asked. "It's not too late?"
She shook her head. "We're sleeping in tomorrow, and besides, she won't even wake up. She's been out for hours."
They tiptoed to the back of the little house, and Rachel carefully opened the door. Signaling with her finger for him to stay silent, she motioned him to the crib.
The moon was still full, and the light fell over the baby like a glaze of liquid silver. The angels danced slowly. Paul came forward and stood at the edge of the crib, staring inside at the sleeping child. He didn't move at all. Rachel watched his face. She loved to see what people thought when they looked at her daughter, and she could always read their minds when they took in the beautiful child. Paul was no exception, but the reaction was different. Very different.
He seemed to close in on himself, to pull his emotions and feelings into a tight little ball. Even the set of his shoulders, under his expensive starched shirt, turned tense and impermeable. It was as if he were hiding, protecting himself somehow.
No one had ever reacted to Elizabeth like that before, but as she considered it, Rachel began to understand. He was thinking of his own daughter's childhood, thinking and remembering. She understood something else now, too. How he'd held Elizabeth that first day. Why he'd held her.
Rachel leaned closer, the sleeve of her robe brushing the sleeve of his shirt. "You can touch her," she whispered to him. "She likes it if you brush her cheek with your finger."
He lifted his face to Rachel's. The angled planes and harsh lines of his expression were bathed in the same moonlight that shone on the child, and in that instant, that heartbeat, it seemed to Rachel as if the three of them were entangled in a mercurial web—a shimmering net of sterling light that was unescapable. Her breath caught, and again, she had the feeling that something deep inside of her was turning. She didn't understand the sensation—it was totally unexpected and completely unfamiliar—but she knew instinctively that it was a dangerous emotion for her to experience. Very dangerous.
In the silver light, Paul seemed to recognize the moment, as well. She could tell by the way his face shifted. His reaction was much different than hers, though. He seemed to accept the feeling as an old familiar friend, almost to embrace it. Without a word, he raised his hand to her face, his eyes locking on hers. Like a shadow moving in the dimness, he pulled the back of his finger over the side of her cheek and spoke, his voice a deep rasp in the heavy silence. "Like this?"
The touch arced down her cheek and went straight into the center of her body like a comet coming home to earth. Under its impact, Rachel felt herself start to tremble. "Yes," she whispered.
For one long second, Paul's dark, dark eyes never wavered, then, as if he had realized what they were doing, he took back his touch and her skin turned cold. Immediately, she wanted to cry out, Don't stop—not yet—I'm not ready to be alone again, but she couldn't, of course, and a second later, he dropped his gaze and shuttered himself from her, her silent plea going unheard.
Shocked by her feelings and the unexpected turn of events, Rachel watched Paul turn back toward the baby and reach out slowly across the crib. His finger barely connected with the child, then it was over.
He turned and left the room.
A week later, Rachel had still heard nothing from Hollis Sarif. And phone calls to Sylvia were almost pointless. The attorney insisted that Hollis was still thinking about the situation. On the one hand, Rachel didn't want to rock the boat. Every day Hollis deliberated meant one more day Rachel could bathe Elizabeth, watch her sleep, feed her the peas she loved so much. In one way, Rachel didn't want Hollis to decide.
On the other hand, Rachel was terrified she would decide.
By Saturday morning, Rachel was about to go mad. She was sure Hollis was going to take Elizabeth back and disappear into some foreign country, a million miles away. What had happened to Paul would happen to Rachel, only it would be even worse because Rachel would never ever hear from her daughter again. She thought of the shadow in Paul's eyes. Would it be in hers next? The idea was so painful Rachel couldn't stand to think about it.
She had to get out of town. After making a quick phone call to her aunt and uncle to alert them she was coming, Rachel bundled Elizabeth into her warmest coat, tucked her into her car seat and headed for Boulder. The change of scenery would do them good, she told herself, but as she drove north, Rachel's thoughts returned time and time again to Paul.
 He'd looked so sad. So very sad.
At least now she understood his reasons for helping her, and they made sense. Paul was an honorable man—he'd want to repay his debts to William, and if he could save her some pain, as well, Rachel was sure he'd want to do that, too. He lived by the book. William had told her that when he'd first hired him. On one of his first projects, there had been a question about a well and ownership. Instead of taking the easy way out and making a fast profit for the company, Paul had made sure the settlement to the owners and the investors had been fair. He could have taken advantage, but didn't. The idea that he wanted to help her because William had helped him made perfect sense. And she was grateful for it.
The drive passed quickly, and they arrived in Boulder shortly after noon, Abe and Emma obviously delighted to see them. By a tacit and joint agreement, the three adults ignored the black cloud hanging over them. They spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the baby in front of the fireplace and cooking a feast for dinner. Rachel told herself it wasn't their last family dinner together.
Sunday morning they all went to St. Martin's for the early service, leaving Elizabeth in the nursery squealing with delight over the other children. As she entered the sanctuary, Rachel thought about that day twelve years ago when she'd worn white and walked down the aisle on her uncle's arm. A stab of well-aimed grief swept over her and she suddenly missed William more than ever. For half the service, she dwelled on this sadness and then, midway through the sermon, she realized she hadn't heard a word. She hadn't prayed, either. At some point she'd started to stare at the woman sitting in the pew in front of her.
The woman and her daughter.
 The little girl couldn't have been more than two. Her ruffled dress was red velvet, and she had on black patent Mary Janes with bows on top. Her fascination with her shoes seemed endless, and when she wasn't polishing them with the hem of her skirt, she was dancing across the pew in them, cocking her head and listening with great delight to the clacking sound they produced. Her mother allowed this extravagant ballet once, then gently but firmly informed her it would not occur again.
Looking for other entertainment after that, she turned to the people behind her—Rachel, Emma and Abe. It was a wise decision. Abe flirted with her, Emma frowned at her, and Rachel—Rachel couldn't take her eyes off her.
In another year, maybe two, Elizabeth would be doing the very same thing.
Tears built up behind Rachel's eyes, and her throat closed against itself. Elizabeth would be just that happy, she thought, just that proud of something as insignificant as a pair of new shoes. She had that same kind of joyous attitude, the kind that you couldn't observe without smiling yourself.
The little girl batted her eyes shyly at Abe, then cut her glance over to Rachel. Fine, silky hair hung down around her face, escaping the confines of the golden barrette perched precariously on one side of her head. Reaching up with one chubby hand, she pushed the curls back out of her face so she could study Rachel even more closely.
Her heart twisted, and for the millionth time since Sylvia had come into her house and delivered her news, Rachel wondered what it would be like if her baby were taken from her arms. How would they know she liked to have her eggs scrambled with milk? Would they keep her too hot? She hated having a blanket wrapped around her. Rachel's chest tightened with the agony of what it would be like not knowing, with the torture of the situation.
Almost as if the child could sense Rachel's anxiety, she leaned over the pew and stared even more intently, her elbows resting on the back of her own pew, her eyes concerned and studious. She was completely ignoring Abe now and had never even looked at Emma more than once. At the front of the church, Father Tipton was going full strength, the choir backing him up all the way. The child never gave any of them a glance—her full concentration was on Rachel.
Rachel seemed helpless to do anything but stare back and fight the ache building up in her arms. It was a physical one—it actually hurt—and she wanted nothing so much as she wanted to run out of the church, grab her daughter and hold her as tight as she could. To kiss her and tell her that Mommy would take care of her. To tell her that everything would be all right. Rachel wouldn't have thought it possible, but the pang inside her actually grew, grew until she felt herself pushed forward in the pew by the sharpness.
It wasn't Rachel's intention, her conscious intention, anyway, to touch the child, but it just seemed to happen. They both reached out at the very same time, and their fingers met halfway between the two pews. It had happened and was over within seconds, but not before Rachel felt the tug of the child's finger on her hand and then in her heart.
Startled, Abe and Emma finally realized what was going on and they both looked at Rachel with questions in their eyes. At the same time, the child's mother softly scolded her. "Don't bother those people, honey. Come on, now. Turn around."
No one could stop the communication that had already taken place, though. Rachel and the child knew that, and as the little girl's mother put her hands on her velvet-covered shoulders and tenderly turned her to face the front once more, the little girl smiled sweetly at Rachel and blew her a kiss.
That's when Rachel made up her mind. At that very instant.
Nothing else mattered but keeping her daughter.
Nothing.
Like a ray of light under a magnifying glass, all Rachel's energy focused on that one single goal. There had to be a way she could manage it. There had to be.
A second later, she knew exactly what she was going to do. 
Chapter 5
When Paul's car crunched into the driveway, Rachel wondered if she'd lost her mind. What had she been thinking? From the window in the front door, she watched him step into the crackling cold winter night. In the silver light of the moon, the yard appeared frozen. Icicles hung from the small porch, and every bush shivered under a blanket of snow. A small cloud of it sifted out of a nearby pine when a lonely jay swooped in for a rest.
Before she could ask herself any more questions, Rachel flipped on the porch light, opened the door and stepped outside, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the cold. "Thanks for coming," she said as he approached the porch.
He entered the pool of light, one foot on the top step, one on the bottom. His black gloved hand rested on his thigh. He didn't bother with preliminaries. "Did you hear from Hollis?"
 He thought she'd gotten word, she realized, and that was why she'd called him. "No." She shook her head. "Not a thing."
He'd lifted his face to study her, the wind ruffling his dark hair down over his brow. Disappointment, then confusion, darkened his expression. "What's going on, then?"
"Why don't you come in," she said in way of an answer. "I.. .I've got something I'd like to talk over with you."
A second later they were in the living room, the warmth of the fireplace replacing the biting wind. The tiny room was full of the furniture she'd had to bring with her from the other house, but Rachel had tried to work with the situation. The candles she'd bought that morning glowed on the mantelpiece, and a vase of outrageously expensive tulips she'd purchased to give herself courage rested on the coffee table. Suddenly, to Rachel's eyes, the small touches looked silly and out of place. No matter what she did, she still couldn't hide the fact that the room was cramped and ugly. It would have driven William crazy. He'd always wanted everything perfect.
What would he think about what she was about to do? Guilt came down on her, but she pushed it away. Elizabeth was her priority now. Nothing else was important, and Rachel had to do what she had to do. Her gaze swept over the room once more, then landed on Paul.
If the crowded den bothered him, he ignored it, choosing instead to let his glance settle on the baby's playpen that filled one corner. Elizabeth was asleep in the center of it, her arms and legs so completely relaxed they made her look like a plump little doll instead of a real baby.
Tilting his head toward the playpen, he said, "Don't you wish you could sleep like that? Not a care in the world?"
 The baby was completely unaware of the black cloud hanging over her, and Rachel wished she was ignorant, too. All she could think about was one thing, though. How it would be if that corner were empty. What it would feel like if the playpen sheets were smooth and neat.
The thoughts made her almost nauseous with fear, and Rachel refocused immediately on the task at hand. Abruptly, she turned around and hung his coat in the small closet near the door. "I've made fresh coffee cake," she said. "Let's go into the back."
Shooting her a strange look, he said nothing but followed her down the hall. As they entered the kitchen, she tilted her head toward the table. A beautiful silver coffee service sat incongruently on its small round top. "I'll get the cake out of the oven, if you'd like to sit down."
She opened the oven door and pulled out a loaf of her favorite coffee cake—cinnamon. She liked to make it because it usually made the whole house smell good. This one was no exception. It was fragrant, all right—and the fragrance was burned. She hadn't been watching the clock, she realized as she grabbed the pan, and this was the result. Staring at the blackened crumbs on top, she cursed softly beneath her breath. A second later, the curse came out louder as she inadvertently touched the edge of the pan. Snatching her thumb back, she stuck it in her mouth and sucked.
Paul sprang from his chair and took the pan from her hand. "Here, let me do this," he said. "I'm afraid to see what would happen if you picked up a knife."
Her eyes shot to his in surprise. "I'm fine," she said.
"Sure you are," he answered. "You're perfectly fine. That's why you're cussing. That's why you just burned your thumb. And that's exactly why your sweater's buttoned two buttons off."
 Her eyes jerked down, and she felt her face flood with color. Without another word, she turned around, adjusted the buttons, then walked stiffly to the table and began to rearrange the cups and saucers. What a beginning! She was acting like such an idiot.
A few seconds later, he set a plate on the table, the slices of dark cake uneven and angled. He stood silently beside the chair until she looked up.
"What's going on?" he said softly. "You're more nervous than a cat."
Rachel felt her throat close up. She'd tried to plan everything so carefully, but somewhere along the way something had happened. Her nervousness had gotten the better of her. The cake was burned, the flowers looked stupid, and she hadn't even been able to dress herself properly. Now, to top it all off, she couldn't even talk.
"Rachel?"
She couldn't bring the words out of her mouth. Her tongue had turned dry and was sticking to the top of her mouth. God, she thought, what a botch I'm making of this. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Opening her mouth, she tried to speak, but couldn't.
His dark eyes held sympathy. Clearly he knew she'd reached the end of her rope, that she had finally lost it and was flipping out. One thought went through her head. When he heard what she wanted to say—if she could ever get it out—he'd know for sure she'd gone nuts.
She stared at him helplessly.
He put his hands on her shoulders. "What is it, Rachel?"
She blinked. Once. Then twice. He waited. Outside, the wind blew.
She opened her mouth and his name came out hoarsely. "Paul?"
 "Yes?"
"Would you marry me?"
He wasn't sure he'd heard her right. "What?" was all he could manage to say.
As if they'd turned to icicles like the ones frozen on the front porch, the words seemed to hang in the air of the tiny room. "Will...you...marry...me?" she stammered once again. "I...I need a husband. I...I think it's the only way I can keep Elizabeth."
Paul had heard the word speechless before, but he'd never quite understood it until this moment. Rachel's huge gray eyes were locked on his face.
"I know this is a shock to you," she said quickly, her words now coming in a rush, "but if you'll just let me explain, I think I can show you how this could benefit us both. If you aren't interested, I'll understand, but just let me tell you what I'm thinking first before you say no."
No was the last word he was thinking, but instead of saying so, he nodded his head.
She pulled out the nearest chair and sat down. He did the same. Gratefully. His legs wouldn't have supported him another minute.
"Hollis Sarif clearly thought that I was a good mother or she wouldn't have approved of William and me to begin with." Rachel pushed a full cup of coffee toward Paul, and he took it soundlessly. "The only reason she wants to remove Elizabeth is the fact that there's no man now in the house—no father. In fact, I even think Hollis may have been trying to tell me that the day we saw her. Remember what she said when I asked her what I should do?" Without waiting for his answer, Rachel rushed on. "She said, 'You'll figure it out.' I think she was talking about this— finding a husband."
 Paul sipped his coffee, then realized he'd forgotten to add sugar. Seeing his expression, Rachel handed a small antique silver bowl to him and placed a spoon beside his cup.
"It's the perfect solution." Her voice was nervous, but determined. "Everyone will get what they want. Hollis will be happy because Elizabeth will have a mother and a father. I'll be happy because I'll get to keep Elizabeth, and finally you'll be happy because I'll give you part of the business for doing this."
In the nick of time, Paul managed to keep from spewing hot coffee over Rachel's pressed linen tablecloth. "I... I'll get what?"
A furrow etched the area between her eyebrows. "I can't ask you to do this for nothing, Paul. Despite what you said about wanting to help me because of your own situation, I think both of us would agree that marriage would definitely be beyond the call of duty. I'm more than prepared to offer you part of St. James Development. We could get Stuart Thomas to work out the details. It'll be fair, I promise you. I'd be happy to give you a portion outright, or you can buy the majority of it through a long-term payment plan. I'm absolutely open on the settlement as long as you realize that Elizabeth will be mine completely. After all of this, I couldn't possibly agree to anything else in regards to her. I'm sure you understand that. It shouldn't stand in the way of the divorce, though."
"Di-divorce?"
"Of course." She sipped from her own cup of coffee, her eyes huge over the rim. "When the adoption is final, we can each go our separate ways. I... I wouldn't expect you to give me the rest of your life, Paul."
Why not? was all he could think. There's nothing I'd like to do more.
 Without waiting for him to speak, she hurried on. "I know this is unconventional, and believe me, I wouldn't be suggesting it if the situation weren't so drastic." She threw a look toward the living room, then faced him again. Her eyes were bright with the beginning of unshed tears. "I can't let them take her, Paul. I... I just can't do it. Elizabeth's my life. I waited twelve years for her. I'd almost given up any hope of having a child, and when I picked her up that first day, I. ..I can't tell you how it felt." She blinked rapidly, swiped a finger at one eye, then lifted her chin to stare at him. "I don't care how bad this sounds or what you think of me for suggesting it. I've got to have a husband, and I'm asking you to do this one last thing for me. When it's over, I swear to God I'll never bother you again. This... this is a business proposition—a matter of convenience—nothing more."
Slowly, he reached out and took one of the gold-rimmed plates she'd set on the table. Using a fork, he picked up a piece of coffee cake and put it on the plate. Finally, he looked at her and said a single word.
"Okay."
She stared at him blankly, a stunned and dazed expression on her face. "Okay?" she repeated. "Just like that? Okay?"
He nodded his head.
"Don't you have any questions?" she said. "Don't you want to know the details?"
"I assume you've worked all those out," he said. "You've obviously given this a great deal of thought."
The astonished expression refused to leave her face. "Well, I have," she sputtered, "but... but..."
He set the fork down beside his plate and stared at her. For just a second, a single second, he thought about telling her he loved her. That's why the "details," the "questions," weren't important to him. They didn't matter. If he could have Rachel as his wife—for any length of time—Paul would take her. Elizabeth, in his opinion, was an added bonus. The only part of the plan that sounded ridiculous to him was the business part. He'd sell his soul to be married to Rachel; she certainly didn't need to give him St. James Development to walk down the aisle.
He had to ask some questions, though, he realized belatedly. If he didn't, she'd get suspicious and start asking him some. He finally spoke, his voice as neutral as possible. "How long would you want to stay married?"
"Until the adoption is final." She reached over and crumbled a piece of the cake. "I'm not sure exactly how long that would take, since we might have to start the process all over."
"You know I've got to go to South America to live at some point."
This time she nodded. "I realize that, but it might work out perfectly. After the divorce, the business would be going well by then... the timing would be good."
"How soon would you want to do it?"
"As soon as possible. I don't want to give Hollis any more time than I already have."
"Don't you think people would talk?" He raised his eyes to hers. "They might say we were having an affair before William died."
A look of dismay crossed her face. For a few seconds, she struggled with the dilemma, then resolutely put it aside, her expression reflecting her determination. "I don't care," she said at length. "It's not the truth. You and I know that. Nothing else matters."
"Would you take my name?"
"If that's what you want, of course."
 Her answer pleased him inordinately, but all he did was nod.
"Where would we live?"
Her eyes widened, and she dropped her gaze to her coffee cup. This was the first question he'd shot her that she'd clearly not considered. "I don't know," she said, raising her face to his. "I certainly don't have any attachments to this house if you'd prefer somewhere else."
"I have a large place," he answered. "It's up off Canyon Road. There'd be plenty of room for everyone—for a nursery, you could fix up one of the bedrooms. There's one right off my bedroom."
The words hung between them in ten-foot-tall letters. My. Bedroom.
"Do you—"
"I don't—"
They both started at the same time. Paul inclined his head. "You first."
She licked her lips. "I... I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't think...that is..." She stopped and looked at a spot over his head as if she were looking for advice. Finally her gaze came back to him. "I would like separate bedrooms," she said softly. "I don't think I could handle anything else right now. Do you... understand?"
Understand he did. He was marrying a woman who'd only been a widow for four months. A woman who'd been happily married to one man for twelve years. A woman who was doing this for one reason and one reason only— to keep her child. If he had any other hopes, he'd be setting himself up for the biggest fall of all. Still—Paul was a man.
"You...don't...want to sleep with me?" he said slowly.
Her knuckles turned white as she clasped her hands together. "That's right."
"So we'd be married, but..."
"In name only." She glanced down at her fingers, loosened them, then looked up at him. "I know it's a sacrifice, Paul. I mean, after all, you're a healthy, adult male and... to do without sex for months is... well... tough, but at this point, I just don't think I could..." Her voice faltered and stumbled over the painful words, and he couldn't going on torturing her.
"I understand," he interrupted. "You don't have to explain any more."
"Good." She seemed to recover and looked him straight in the eye, her expression reminding him of how she'd looked in his office the day she'd told him her baby would not be taken from her. "Then do we have a deal?"
"One last question," he said.
She looked at him warily. "Yes?"
"Have you told anyone about this... arrangement?"
"No." A frown marred her forehead.
"Not even your aunt and uncle?"
"No. I'm not sure they'd understand."
Paul crossed his arms and leaned over the table. "They aren't the only ones that might fall into that category."
"It's not important what anyone else thinks. I've already said—"
He held up a hand and interrupted her. "My point is this—what if we marry and Hollis still doesn't buy it?"
Rachel shook her head as if to deny the question. "All she wants is a father for Elizabeth. That's what this arrangement gives her. If she still thinks there's a problem, I think a judge might see it differently. If nothing else, it would buy us time. You could get the company back on track and we'd have the money to fight her in court."
"I don't think—"
"What else could she want?" Rachel's voice rose slightly as she interrupted him, and he realized how close to the edge she really was. "My God, I can't think of another thing...."
"She wants a family for her baby," he said softly. "And that means a mother and father who love each other. Why do you think she selected you and William in the first place? Just a husband isn't going to be enough, Rachel. Not for Hollis."
He thought she might cry, but instead Rachel lifted her chin. "Then there's only one thing we need to do. We've got to convince her we're in love." She paused, her determination almost tangible in the confines of the tiny room. "I can do that. Can you?"
After Paul left, Rachel found herself in a state of shock that he'd so readily agreed to her plan. She'd expected at the least some reluctance, some hesitation.
The conversation played over and over in her mind as she got ready for bed. Why had he been so agreeable? Why had he raised no objections? He'd told her he would hate for anyone to go through what he had with his own daughter, but was that enough motivation? It must have been horrible, of course, but she was asking an awful lot of Paul Delaney. And he had agreed awfully fast.
Washing her face, Rachel closed her eyes and scrubbed. In the long run, it didn't really matter, did it? The only important issue was Elizabeth. Rachel reached for the towel, found it and dried her face, watching herself in the mirror. She looked positively haggard with dark bruises under her eyes and fear-etched wrinkles crossing her forehead.
But it didn't even matter. Nothing mattered but keeping her daughter.
 Flipping off the light, Rachel padded out of the tiny bathroom and down the hall to check on the baby one final time. On her stomach and out completely, Elizabeth had her right thumb tucked into her mouth and was sucking greedily. Rachel thought briefly of dislodging it, then smiled and gently pulled the door partly closed. What the heck—everyone needed a little extra consolation now and again.
Rachel climbed into her own bed across the hall, but half an hour later her eyes were still on the pattern of the streetlight as it danced across the ceiling. There was no going back—she wouldn't even if she could, but a tiny voice of doubt plagued her. Was she doing the right thing? Marriage should be something sacred, something special between two people who loved each other.
It was not a means to an end.
She turned over on her side and slipped her hand beneath her cheek. What else could she do? Hollis Sarif was not going to change her mind. She wanted a father for Elizabeth. This was the only way Rachel would think of providing one. A car crossed the street, sending a shaft of light wavering between the blinds.
Rachel turned over, fluffed up her pillow and faced the other wall. The plan had to work, that's all there was to it. It had to work. Yes, Paul had pointed out a few minor problems, but she was sure they could cope with them. They were minor, after all. Minor.
Like the bedroom thing.
She flopped to her back, her eyes tracing, once again, the patterns of light. In the yard next door, her neighbor's Chow began to bark. Their screen door squeaked and the street fell silent once more.
The bedroom thing.
Rachel closed her eyes and remembered the expression on Paul's face as he'd asked her about the sleeping arrangements. Dark hair, even darker eyes. Planes and straight lines. Three little furrows on his brow. A full upper lip that looked soft but hard at the same time.
The bedroom thing.
A minor problem, really.
She closed her eyes tighter.
"I'm sorry, Rachel, but we're doing what's best for the child. For the child. For the child." Sylvia Martin stood to one side and held out her hands. Behind her, Rachel could see the misty outline of Hollis Sarif. She wore a red caftan.
Rachel knew she was dreaming. She told herself to wake up, to escape the awful nightmare before it could completely unfold. Her mind refused to listen.
"You must give her up." Hollis stepped in front of Sylvia. "Hand her over."
Fear pumped up her heartbeat, and Rachel's arms tightened around Elizabeth. "No," she said fiercely. "I won't. You can't have her."
"You can't be her mother and her father both. She needs a father. Every child needs a father." Hollis's voice was deep and intimidating.
Suddenly, behind her, Rachel's aunt appeared. "She's right," Emma cried. "Look at you. You needed a father. My children needed a father. That's why I married Abe. I didn't love him and it worked out all right, didn't it?"
Rachel turned shocked eyes to her aunt. "You didn't love Abe? I thought—"
"That's not important." Hollis stepped between them and reached out to Rachel. "Give me the child," she demanded. "Right now."
The words tore through Rachel with the violence of a bullet. "No," she screamed. "You can't have her." She buried her face into Elizabeth's soft, sweet neck and put her hand on the back of her head as if protecting her. "You can't have her."
"It's for the best," Sylvia said.
"Every child needs a father," Emma added.
"Give her to me," Hollis demanded.
Rachel clutched the baby to her chest, her heart pounding so hard she knew it must be ringing in Elizabeth's little ear. "You can't do this," Rachel cried, her voice and her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. "You can't do this."
Hollis reached out and pried Elizabeth from Rachel's arms. The baby began to cry and wave her arms, fighting the woman who'd given birth to her. "No," Rachel screamed hysterically. "No, no, no."
A second later, drenched and shaking, Rachel jerked into awareness, her screams ricocheting against the bedroom walls like bullets. Slapping her hands against her ears, she bolted upright in the bed, her throat closing in on itself as her tears refused to quit. The dream played over and over, she couldn't stop it, and with her heart throbbing inside her chest, her pulse racing, Rachel knew the real thing, if it happened, would be even worse. She wouldn't be able to wake up, she wouldn't be able to forget it.
Finally, a distant sound penetrated her terror, and still sobbing, unable to stem her tears, Rachel dropped her hands from her ears. As if the same dream had traveled down the hall to the nursery, Elizabeth was sobbing, as well.
 The restaurant wasn't crowded. Rachel spotted Abe and Emma easily. She waved to them, then held Elizabeth's hand up as if she were waving, too. A second later they were standing beside the table.
"Hello, sweetheart." Abe smiled at Rachel, then his bright blue eyes went to Elizabeth's face. "How's my favorite little dribbler? Eh?"
She squealed and waved her hands toward him. Immediately Abe took her into his arms. Emma kissed Rachel's cheek, then the three of them sat down. There were questions in their eyes as Abe and Emma looked at Rachel. Before Rachel could answer, the waitress came. The list of specials took forever, then finally she was gone.
"Well?" Emma said without preamble. "What's all this about? I hope you've heard from that woman. You've had us worried to death ever since you called this morning and told us to meet you here. I don't see why you couldn't just tell us over the phone."
"We have been worried," Abe said. He looked down at the baby in his arms then back up at Rachel. "This, isn't some kind of going away lunch or anything, is it?"
Rachel shook her head. "No. It's not that at all, but I just couldn't explain everything over the phone. I...I had to see you. Thanks for meeting me here."
Emma stared at her from across the table. "Well, good grief, Rachel, just tell us. The suspense is driving us wild. Did you talk to that woman or not?"
How to tell them?
On Wednesday she and Paul were going to see Hollis.
On Thursday they were getting the license.
On Friday they were seeing the judge.
In less than seventy-two hours, they'd be man and wife.
Rachel licked her lips. "I'm going to Sylvia's office to see Hollis tomorrow, but as far as I know Hollis has not changed her mind. She's still insisting that Elizabeth go to another home. I... I don't think that's going to happen, though. I... have a plan."
Abe and Emma looked at each other, then on one accord they leaned forward and began to speak at the same time. Emma won out. "Rachel, don't do this," she said, her voice almost cracking with urgency. "It's not a good idea. Abe and I have talked about it and we were afraid you'd try to run. Please, please don't—"
"Run?" Rachel stared at her aunt in disbelief. "Run?" she said again. "What are you talking about?"
Abe spoke, his big hands spanning Elizabeth's little body as he rocked her against his shoulder. "Taking the baby away and hiding is not the answer, Rachel. Listen to us."
Totally amazed, she leaned back in her chair and shook her head. "That's not what I'm planning on doing. Not at all. What on earth gave you that idea?"
They looked at each other again. "We saw this show on TV," Emma said. "About a woman who ran off.. .we just thought..."
"No." Rachel made her voice as firm as she could. "Hiding is the last thing on my mind." Their faces began to clear until she spoke again. "Of course what I am planning you might not like, either."
"Run the play by us," Abe said solemnly. "We'll decide if we like it or not."
Rachel crossed her arms and leaned forward on the table. There was no way to break it gently. She took a deep breath. "I'm getting married. To Paul Delaney. On Friday."
 On the other side of the restaurant, the sound of clinking dishes escaped from behind the kitchen door. A burst of laughter erupted at a nearby table. Abe and Emma stared at Rachel.
"I'm getting Elizabeth a father," she said. "That's what Hollis Sarif wants. As soon as the adoption is final, is legal, then we'll divorce. I'm giving Paul part ownership of the company in return."
The waitress appeared with their salads. She chattered cheerfully until she realized the three of them were sitting in total silence, then she quickly deposited their plates and fled the tension-filled table.
Abe finally broke the silence. "Well that's a helluva reverse. Can't say the other team's gonna be expecting that one, that's for sure."
Rachel looked at her aunt and waited for the explosion. Instead of disbelief, a measured expression filled her hazel eyes. "Marriage, eh? Whose idea was that?"
Rachel met Emma's stare and thought about the advice she'd given Rachel the last time they'd been together. "We're not in love," she said firmly, "and it was my idea. I asked Paul on Sunday, and he agreed." She let her gaze fall to her salad. Her stomach was clenched so tight she had absolutely no appetite whatsoever. She raised her face and stared at her daughter before facing her aunt and uncle once more. "I know it's a drastic measure, but I can't let them take Elizabeth from me. I can't let that happen."
Abe reached across the table and put his hand on hers. His touch was so reassuring, her eyes filled up with tears. As usual. "We'll support you, Rachel. No matter what you do. If you think this will work, then by all means, go for it."
Her aunt asked the same question Paul had. "How do you know it'll work? Hollis might not buy it. How do you know she'd allow you to keep Elizabeth even if you marry?"
Rachel swallowed, then spoke. "I don't know for sure. That's why we're meeting with her tomorrow at Sylvia's office." She paused to glance once more at the baby before answering. When she spoke, her voice didn't quiver. "There's only one thing I know for sure. I'm not going to let them take my daughter from me." 
Chapter 6
"Are you positive you want to go through with this?" Paul pulled his car into the parking space outside Sylvia Martin's office, switched off the engine, then turned to look at Rachel.
"I think it's a good idea." Rachel clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. "We have to judge Hollis's reaction—one way or the other."
"All right." His gaze went over the dark green dress she'd picked out to wear, lingering for a second on the pearls around her neck. "But," he said, his eyes coming back to her face, "it may not be easy."
"I know." Rachel hadn't thought it possible, but she was even more nervous today than she had been when she'd asked Paul to marry her. Remembering, her eyes jerked down to the buttons on her dress and back up. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down. "Nothing has been easy lately," she said quietly. "It hasn't stopped me, though."
 He nodded, then as she waited for him to come around and open her own door, Rachel found herself wondering about her words. She wasn't sure how much she could handle. Even a simple thing like a car ride had gotten complicated. Sitting beside Paul, in the intimacy of front seats, she'd felt out of place and uneasy, just in the short time between her house and Sylvia Martin's office. His presence seemed to take up more room than William's had, and Rachel found it hard to breathe. She didn't understand why or how this had happened. The last time they'd been together she hadn't felt this way.
They entered the offices a few seconds later, and when Sylvia's secretary showed them into her suite, Rachel had a dreadful flash of deja vu. At the last minute, she unintentionally grabbed Paul's arm for support. They sat down in the two chairs situated close together in front of the attorney's desk. The third chair sat empty. A feeling of horrified panic swept over Rachel.
"Where's Hollis?" she said immediately, her heart leaping into her throat. "Why isn't she here?"
Sylvia pulled off her glasses and stared at them before she spoke. Her pained expression didn't give Rachel any reassurance, and her words confirmed the feeling. "I spoke with Hollis this morning, Rachel, and she felt a meeting was pointless. She hasn't made up her mind, but she didn't want to talk to you again. Nothing has changed, that's what she said."
She hadn't made up her mind. That was the important thing, Rachel told herself. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. "That's not entirely true, Sylvia," she said, her voice as steely as her spine. "Something has changed."
Sylvia rubbed a hand over her face. "Rachel, at this point, I'm afraid there's nothing you can—"
"Maybe you should let us finish first." Paul's tone of voice was mild, even pleasant, but the tension under his manner was clear.
The attorney's gaze went to his face, her expression thoughtful and not unkind. "Mr. Delaney, excuse me for being so personal, but are you here as a representative of Mr. St. James's estate?" She glanced over at Rachel, then back at him. "You've been with Rachel every time we've talked. I'd like to know your exact role in this situation."
Holding her breath, Rachel leaned forward and started to speak, but Paul reached out and put his hand on her arm. "Let me answer, sweetheart," she heard him say. "I think she deserves the truth."
Sweetheart!
It had begun. Her breath caught in her chest, but she nodded weakly and sat back in the chair. They couldn't stop now. That one word— sweetheart—had done it all.
Sylvia hadn't missed the word, either. She'd been twisting her glasses in her fingers, but suddenly they went still. Carefully, slowly, she laid the bifocals on the desk.
"Mrs. St. James and I are getting married, Ms. Martin," Paul said bluntly. "That is my role in this situation." He turned his face to Rachel's and gave her a look that would have melted her—or any woman for that matter—in different circumstances. "We're in love and we're getting married. As soon as possible."
Rachel risked a quick glance at Sylvia's face. The lawyer was struggling to keep her expression neutral. Someone else might not have realized it, but Rachel had known her for almost two years now. Sylvia was surprised, but trying not to look it.
"We weren't planning on revealing our plans this way," Paul continued. "Mrs. St. James feels, as do I, that it would have been better had we been able to wait at least a year. Under the circumstances, that's obviously no longer possible."
Sylvia's gaze went to Rachel's face, then back to Paul's. She obviously didn't know what to say, so she finally settled on the standard reply. "Well. I guess congratulations are in order."
Rachel didn't move. She was almost afraid to breathe.
"Thank you," Paul said simply.
Rachel forced herself to stay calm, to unclench her hands and speak in a rational, matter-of-fact voice. "This obviously changes everything and we felt like we needed to tell you. And Hollis."
"Of course. She would need to know, that's true."
Anxiously, Rachel leaned forward in her chair. "I think she needs to know immediately, Sylvia. The papers have to be refiled with Paul's name on them, and the adoption hearing rescheduled. I... I'm tired of waiting and I want this thing over with. As soon as possible." She licked her lips. "It's been so disruptive, so—"
Paul reached over and put his arm around Rachel, his broad fingers squeezing her shoulder gently as he interrupted her flow of words. As soon as he touched her, Rachel realized she was sounding anxious and worried. That was the last thing she wanted to do, and she shot him a grateful smile. Her next thought was of how heavy his arm felt across her back.
"We know you weren't expecting this turn of events, and frankly, we were surprised by our feelings ourselves." He looked down at Rachel and smiled again. "But we can't ignore them. They're too strong."
The older woman leaned back in her chair and blinked. Rachel felt like doing the same.
"The fact is, there's only one thing missing in our lives right now, and that's knowing we're going to be a real family—all three of us. Elizabeth is very much a part of that picture, and we can't rest easy until we know it's going to stay that way." He looked down at his lap and paused for just a second. When he faced the woman behind the desk again, his features had sharpened, angled, somehow. Instinctively, Rachel knew what he was thinking, and she found her heart aching for him and the child he'd lost already. "There's been a tragic interruption in Elizabeth's life with William's death," he said, giving no hint of what lay beyond his shadows. "Let's not compound it."
"None of us wants to do that, Mr. Delaney," Sylvia said. "Hollis least of all. That's what she's been trying to do all along—keep Elizabeth's life stable and secure."
"And that's exactly what we want, as well," Paul interjected, his voice warm and convincing again. "We just didn't feel like we could reveal our plans to you any earlier. Rachel didn't want you—" he stopped and looked at her apologetically "—well, to think less of her because she was considering remarriage. I'm sure you understand that."
For the first time, Sylvia Martin sent a glance full of sympathy toward Rachel. She let her gaze fall to her lap. Rachel knew Sylvia would assume she was being demure, but in fact, she was in shock. Shock that Paul was charming the woman so thoroughly. Shock that Sylvia was buying their relationship. Shock that for one fleeting moment, Rachel was wondering what it would feel like to have Paul really feel that protective, that loving, toward her.
Sylvia slipped her glasses back on her nose. "I understand what you're saying, Mr. Delaney, and I appreciate your frankness." She paused and lined up the papers on her desk. Rachel held her breath as she waited for her to continue. "I can't speak for Hollis, though, and I'm sure you can understand that, can't you? I'll have to contact her. I know she'll be returning to Europe soon. Maybe I can talk to her before she leaves and—"
Rachel opened her mouth to protest. There couldn't be a maybe about this. It had to be settled. If Hollis made up her mind and left, Rachel would have no other recourse. She'd have to relinquish Elizabeth. The prospect stretched before Rachel like some kind of bottomless black hole. If she stepped into it, she'd never climb back out.
Before she could say a word, Paul stopped her. With a single look of his dark eyes. Their black depths were so expressive she could almost hear him telling her to calm down.
"We do understand, Sylvia. You're a careful, cautious woman and that's what you're paid to be. We wouldn't want it any other way." He leaned closer to her desk, and Rachel chanced a look at the older woman. Sylvia Martin had leaned forward in response to him. "Can we have your word, though, that you'll do it as soon as possible? We have the wedding set for Friday." He reached over and took one of Rachel's hands between his. Placing it against his thigh, he covered it with his own fingers and squeezed. "We'd like to walk down the aisle knowing everything's all right."
Sylvia Martin's hazel eyes blinked from behind her glasses, and Rachel felt as if her world were teetering on its axis. The only thing keeping her on track was the feel of Paul's leg under her fingers. The steady, rock-hard warmth felt strange, but she clutched it as if her life depended upon it.
"I can make you no promises, Mr. Delaney," the attorney finally said. "As far as I know—right now—the situation has not changed. Hollis Sarif still wants a father for Elizabeth. A father whom she approves of and feels is going to be there for the baby as she grows up. But I'll tell her—immediately—of your plans. That's the best I can do."
As soon as they stepped outside the office building, Paul blew out a deep breath of air. He was glad the meeting was over, even if they had gotten a less than totally enthusiastic reaction from Sylvia. He glanced down at Rachel.
Angry tears were glistening in the corners of her eyes, and she was struggling to maintain her composure. She opened her handbag and hastily pulled out an oversized pair of black sunglasses. "Why couldn't she have been there? Been there and said yes?" she said in a low but trembling voice as she slipped the glasses on. "What else does the woman want from me? My God—I can't bring William back from the dead. If I could—" She broke off abruptly and covered her mouth with her hand. Turning away from Paul, she looked out at the snow-covered mountains in the distance.
A shot of jealousy careered through him, and Paul couldn't help but finish her sentence in his mind. If I could, don't you know I would? He put the words aside and tried to comfort her. "I know, I know," he said, taking her elbow and leading her down the steps to the parking lot. "You wanted her to say the magic words, and make everything better. I wanted the same thing, but just because she wasn't there doesn't mean that Hollis won't agree when she hears."
"But I wanted to see her face," Rachel said. "I wanted to see her reaction for myself."
They crossed the parking lot and stood beside his car. In contrast to their meeting, the weather had turned out perfect—one of those Colorado mountain days with the air so crisp and clean you could taste it. Rachel pulled her sunglasses off and looked up at him. A slight breeze ruffled the silky strands of her hair as she spoke. She reached up to grab them. "I have to get this settled. It's driving me crazy. Every day I wake up and think, Is this the day? Is this when my heart's going to be ripped out of my chest? Is this the day I'm not going to be a mother anymore?"
Paul wanted to wrap his arms around her, to comfort her, to make her feel better. All he could do was talk, though. Every time he'd touched her in Sylvia's office, she'd jerked with tension. "I know it must be frustrating. But we have to concentrate on the positive. Sylvia seemed to buy it. She didn't throw us out of the office. She didn't scream or pass out. She didn't call us liars—isn't all that good news?"
Rachel's smile started off tentative, then she laughed lightly, and he realized it was the first time he'd seen her do that in months. The sound reminded him of the aspen trees in the fall—a faint, golden rustling.
"You are right about that. I guess she could have done any of those things."
Glancing up over Rachel's shoulder at the attorney's office, he answered. "Yes, she could have, but she didn't." A movement at the second level caught his eye and he realized instantly that they were being watched. Someone, and he had no doubt who, was standing in the window of Sylvia Martin's office and looking down at them.
He looked down at Rachel and spoke without preamble. "Kiss me. Right now." She opened her mouth as if to ask whether or not he'd lost his mind, but all he did was gather her in his arms and lower his mouth to hers. Just before their lips touched, he tried to explain. "Someone in Sylvia's office is looking out the window. It may be her," he said urgently. "Wrap your arms around me. Kiss me like you mean it." 
 For just a second, her startled eyes met his, then he lowered his head and their lips met.
For years, Paul had thought about this moment, had fantasized about it. What would it be like, he'd wondered, to wrap Rachel up, to kiss her, to let his hands feel the warmth of her shoulders and his body feel the curves of hers?
Whatever the answer had been, he thought now, it had come nowhere near the reality.
Nothing could.
Her soft lips moved under his, and he tightened his arms around her. In response—to his touch or his words, he didn't know and didn't care—her hands fluttered up to rest on his chest. Underneath the pale pink tips of her fingers, his heart battered his ribs almost painfully.
The rest of his body was responding, as well, and there seemed to be nothing Paul could do about it. The dark green dress she wore wasn't helping, either. The conservative cut and demure lines hid nothing from his eager hands. Underneath the wool, Rachel's body cried out to his.
A trembling echoed through her body as his hands sought her curves and he pulled her even closer. Her arms went up to his neck, and he thought he would die from the pleasure of her touch.
Another part of his brain was registering something else, though. Their first kiss, it was whispering, and it's happening on a busy sidewalk, in front of an office building, so a woman on the second floor would see it and think they were in love. How unromantic could you get?
He knew the answer, but for once, the truth didn't matter, and his heart didn't listen, anyway. He let his lips linger on hers as he pretended. Pretended that she loved him as much as he loved her. Pretended that they would have a wonderful life together. Pretended that her reason for marrying him was love and nothing more.
Finally, reluctantly, he broke the contact of their lips, but kept his arms around her. With a sweet dazed look about her, she raised her face to his. This, he thought suddenly, is what she would look like in bed, after they'd made love.
This thought hurt even more than the one before. Making love with Rachel would remain a fantasy. It would never happen. No one would be looking in their bedroom.
A moment later, Rachel seemed to gather her wits about her as she blinked and pulled away from him. "Is...is she still looking?'' she managed to say.
Without moving his head, Paul shot his gaze upward and back as fast as he could. The shades trembled then stilled. "She saw us," he said. "She just moved back from the window."
In a gesture of nervous self-consciousness, Rachel smoothed her dress down over the curves his hands had warmed an instant before. "G-good," she said, her voice vibrating against the cold air around them. "Did she look convinced? Impressed?"
"Impressed?" he said softly. "I couldn't see her well enough to tell if she was impressed or not." His eyes roamed hungrily over Rachel's face, his arms suddenly more empty than they'd ever been before he'd let her fill them a moment ago. "But I know one thing. I certainly was."
"I had no idea you were there. You should have said something."
"Why?" The woman standing beside the window flipped her long black hair away from her face, then pulled her shawl closer. She stared intently at the man and woman in the parking lot. Their arms were wrapped around each other in a tight embrace, and from where Hollis stood, she could see the expression on the face of the man. She tore her eyes away from the lovers and shot a glance over her shoulder at the attorney standing next to her. "Don't you approve of eavesdropping?"
"No," the older woman said stiffly. "I do not. You should have said something, and I can't believe Maria didn't tell me, either."
"I sent your secretary to lunch," Hollis Sarif said, her gaze returning to the couple downstairs, "and what does it matter, anyway? You told them yourself you were going to call me and tell me everything they said."
"It's not the same— "
"Look at them," Hollis said softly, completely ignoring the attorney at her side. "I didn't believe a word they were saying, but who could ignore that?" Envy deepened her voice. "What I wouldn't give to have a man kiss me like that. ..again." 
Chapter 7
They'd agreed to meet at 4:00 p.m. at the office. From there Rachel and Paul were going to drive to the courthouse and pick up their license. Rachel was walking out the door of her house when the phone rang. Inside her chest, her heart lurched.
"I've spoken with Hollis." Without a hint of the outcome, Sylvia's voice was clipped and professional as always.
Rachel wished she felt as calm as the attorney sounded, but instead her stomach took a roller-coaster nosedive. "And?"
"She authorized me to run a background check on Mr. Delaney and begin the preliminary paperwork. I'm going to start this afternoon."
Suddenly weak, Rachel closed her eyes and leaned against the wall beside the phone. Relief washed over her in an enormous wave. "Then... it's okay?"
 "This isn't a final decision by any means," Sylvia responded. "On the other hand, it isn't an outright rejection, either. We'll just have to play it by ear. I'll call you as soon as I know more."
"Thank you, Sylvia. I appreciate you calling and letting me know," Rachel managed to say.
"Of course," she said. A pause on the phone. Rachel's
mouth went dry. "I hate to say this, Rachel, but you do
realize that all this is contingent on your marriage, don't
you? If something should happen there, God forbid	"
"We're going to the courthouse tomorrow."
Rachel had avoided the office as much as she could since William's death. She'd gone in several times for meetings, but for the most part, Paul was running the company for her. Her presence wasn't necessary in the offices themselves.
Today she couldn't avoid it, though. He'd asked her to meet him here because the courthouse was just around the corner. To refuse had seemed foolish. As she opened the heavy glass door and stepped inside the reception area, Rachel wished she'd been foolish. Everywhere she looked, she saw things that reminded her of William. The print over the sofa he'd asked her to select. The ficus trees he was so particular about. The curved reception desk he'd ordered especially. She blinked and put the remembrances aside—today of all days she didn't need to be reminded of William.
"Hello, Mrs. St. James. How nice to see you." The receptionist, a young girl named Anna, rose and smiled as Rachel approached the desk, her rounded eyes going over Rachel's suit from head to toe. "What a gorgeous outfit—so pretty."
 With Elizabeth perched on her hip, Rachel smiled her thanks and smoothed her free hand down the blue silk. Just like the office, she'd avoided bright colors in the past few months. But wearing a black dress to pick up a marriage license seemed even more inappropriate to Rachel, so she'd pulled the suit from the back of the closet and slipped it on. Afterward, when she'd added a string of pearls and sapphire earrings, she'd felt even more guilty. She was still in mourning; she shouldn't care how she looked. She hadn't changed, though.
"And look at you!" Anna reached over and let Elizabeth take her finger. "Aren't you pretty, too?"
They talked for a moment about the baby, then Rachel said, "I'm here to see Mr. Delaney. Is he in his office?"
"I'm not sure. I saw him about half an hour ago. He was going to the gym next door." Anna shook her head. "But I don't think he came back yet. Just a minute and I'll buzz his secretary and see."
A second later she put down the phone. "No one answered. I guess she's left for the day." She tilted her head toward the center atrium of the office. "I bet he's still working out. It's called Mike's Gym. You want me to call them?"
"Oh, no, that's not necessary. I'll just step over there and tell him I'm waiting."
"Okay—but can I keep the baby for you?" Anna paused and smiled. "I love babies. I want lots of my own."
Rachel found herself smiling again. She'd felt that way when she was young and hopeful. "Well, of course, you can watch her, then. You'll need the practice." She handed Elizabeth to the younger woman. "I'll just be a minute." Instantly the baby was captivated by the girl's long, sparkly earrings, and Rachel slipped out the door unnoticed.
One of the reasons William had selected this particular office site was because he'd seen the gym next door and had wanted to work out at lunchtime. He'd never had the time, of course. A sweep of sadness came over Rachel for all the things he'd never had time for—working out, playing with Elizabeth, loving life. He'd always been too busy... to live.
The door to the gym waited at her left, and seeing it, Rachel started forward. She stopped, however, when she spotted the large weight room through one of the atrium's windows. People in the gym could watch the office workers pass by, and they, in turn, could see what they were missing as they hurried from one meeting to another.
The room was crowded with after-work exercisers, but she saw Paul instantly.
Standing in a well of light in one of the corners, he stood with his back to the window. A tank top stretched across his shoulders, the loose straps barely covering the wide, slick muscles that gleamed and shifted as he strained to lift the barbells in his hands. A pair of black spandex shorts molded his lower body into hard curves, and his hands were covered by black leather gloves.
He was in fantastic shape, and Rachel realized immediately that she had never noticed before because he always wore suits. In fact, she'd never seen him in anything else. He must work out a lot, she thought to herself, and as if to confirm her opinion, Rachel saw three other women in the gym who were staring at him, as well. Each time he lifted the weights, their eyes followed his movements.
Of its own volition, her mind returned to the sidewalk outside Sylvia Martin's office. When Paul had kissed her, she'd had one thing on her mind—Elizabeth. She hadn't expected to feel anything—anything at all—but that hadn't been the case. His lips had touched hers, and her body had betrayed her. A rippling awareness had started at the top of her head and gone straight down.
As she watched him lift the weights that sensation returned.
Rachel wasn't naive. She knew the feeling had a name, and she knew what it was. Too many nights she'd lain in bed and wished William had not been working late, wished he was beside her, loving her, touching her. Sometimes even when he'd come home and they had made love—after which he'd thanked her politely—that desire had still been there. No, too many nights she'd felt it to pretend now that she didn't know what desire was.
But this wasn't the time or place.
And it never would be. Her marriage to Paul was a matter of convenience, nothing more. They'd made a deal. A father for Elizabeth, a business for him. Nothing more was expected and nothing more would develop.
Nothing.
She'd better remember that.
When Paul looked up, the first thing he saw was Rachel's reflection. For a moment, he wondered if he had conjured it, then she moved into the gym and he knew he wasn't dreaming—for a change.
Rachel and marriage. Marriage and Rachel. It was all he could think about, and the images accompanying those two words had forced him into the gym every day this week. Over the next months, he was going to get into perfect shape—it was the only way to deal with the frustration building inside of him.
"I... I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said, "but I was across the hall and Anna told me you were in here, and..." She glanced down at her watch. "It's almost five. The courthouse closes at six."
He realized he was still holding the weights and quickly set them down on the rack beside him. Stripping off his gloves, he came toward her. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was that late. Can you give me fifteen minutes? I'll take a quick shower and we can be on our way."
Her eyes flicked over his sweat-slicked body, a faint blush of apricot tinting her pale cheeks. "Umm, yes," she finally said. "That's fine."
She looked gorgeous as always, a dark blue suit emphasizing the azure of her eyes and hugging her slim body. Something was different, though, almost inappreciably but definitely different. A kind of barely suppressed tension hovered over her, a force that seemed to disturb the air and whisper around her.
"What is it?" he asked. "What's going on?"
Startled surprise crossed her face. "How did you know?" she said.
Dropping his arms, he ignored her question and moved closer to her. "Tell me," he demanded.
"Sylvia called. She said Hollis had agreed to begin the preliminary paperwork."
"Are you kidding? Oh, my God, that's terrific!" Forgetting everything but the good news, Paul reached out and started to grab Rachel. "This is wonderful!" he said, then she was in his arms and he was looking down at her with genuine delight.
For a moment, she looked as happy as he felt, then she seemed to realize what was happening. The expression in her gray eyes shifted, and her hands flattened on his chest.
The message was clear. Paul knew he should drop his hands from her shoulders, but he couldn't. Not yet. He pretended as if it were nothing more than a casual hug of congratulations. "I'm so happy for you," he said, tightening his grip just a bit as it to emphasize his point. "This is exactly what you wanted, isn't it?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes, I think so. Sylvia said it wasn't a done deal, but at least Hollis agreed to start the ball rolling." Rachel dropped her gaze, and Paul felt compelled to release her, even though he didn't want to. She stepped back slowly. "It's contingent on the wedding, of course. That's what Sylvia said."
"I'll shower," he said once again. "Then we'll go to the courthouse."
By the time they finished at the courthouse, Elizabeth and Rachel were both cranky, out of sorts, and ready to go home. Elizabeth was that way because she'd missed her nap. Rachel was that way because... well... because she was scared. What had been an idea, a concept, was turning into reality, and the piece of paper sticking out of Paul's breast pocket made the whole thing very official.
They stepped outside the doors of the license office, and Elizabeth's cross murmurs turned into howls of discontent. Rachel wanted to join her, especially when she saw a group of suited attorneys across the hall frowning at them both. Rachel tried to shush the baby, but that only made her more angry.
"Here," Paul said, holding out his arms, "let me take her."
Rachel lifted her eyebrows. "Are you sure? She can be—"
A fresh howl stopped Rachel's protest, and over the disapproving stare of a uniformed policeman passing them in the hall, Rachel gratefully handed the baby to Paul. He took her somewhat awkwardly, but managed to turn her around and rest her on his broad shoulder and pat her reassuringly. To Rachel's complete and utter surprise, Elizabeth immediately became quiet.
Paul shrugged his shoulders disarmingly, but beamed all the same. "Guess I've got the touch."
Rachel smiled back. "Well, that's fine with me, but let's get out of here before your touch fades. I don't think they approve of babies around here."
As they made their way through the maze of offices and toward the lobby level, Rachel realized more and more people were staring at them. Women especially were nudging each other and nodding toward Paul as he strode down the hall with the baby in his arms. Rachel's eyes went to the pair in front of her, and she had to admit there was something extremely compelling about the sight. It could have been the contrast—Paul looked so terribly tall and powerful that he made the baby seem even more tiny and helpless. Or it could have been the similarities, Rachel realized. Each of them had on their Sunday best. Paul wore a perfectly turned-out navy blue suit with a sparkling red tie, and Elizabeth was done up in her favorite dress, a tiny dotted cotton with little pink bows on either arm.
Whatever it was, they made an awfully cute pair. Rachel trailed along behind and enjoyed seeing the reactions. By the time they reached the front door, she'd almost regained her good humor.
Paul stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "What do you say we go get something to eat? That way you won't have to cook when you get home."
Rachel looked at the angelic baby in his arms. She was quiet for the moment, but chaos was only a scream away, especially at this time of the day. "Take her to a restaurant? Right now? I don't think so. As soon as we sit down, she'll start crying. She needs dinner and bed."
He looked down at the baby, then back at Rachel. "Then come out to the house," he said quietly. "I've got some steaks we can throw on the grill, and I stocked up on some baby food last week." His dark eyes turned perplexed. "Although to be honest I'm not too sure I got the right kind. I never knew there were so many types."
Rachel was touched. "Oh, Paul, you didn't have to do that."
"It was no trouble at all," he said. "But I would like you to come out. You need to tell me which room to have painted for the nursery. The painter's coming tomorrow."
Part of her didn't want to go. Her awareness of Paul was turning into something she needed to examine, needed to study, so she would know how to handle it. But another part of her knew it would be rude to turn him down. He was doing so much. If he'd already arranged the painter, the least she could do was tell him which room to paint.
"Well..."
He shifted the baby to his other arm, then opened the door. "Come on," he said, "I'm not that bad a cook."
As they turned down Paul's street, the sun slipped behind the range of mountains to the west, ringing the neighborhood in an amethyst haze. Here and there lights flickered on behind curtained windows, but the homes they lit were hard to see. They were all hidden from view behind rises in the road or yards filled with swaying trees. The impression Rachel did manage to get told her the houses were all well-cared for and well-maintained. The car glided up an especially high incline, and she spied one that looked as if it were clinging to the side of the mountain.
William would have hated it. He'd selected their house, their neighborhood, because he'd liked things orderly—his lawns manicured, his houses in plain sight, his suburb neat. This haphazardness would have driven him crazy.
She loved it.
Before she could say anything, Paul turned into a paved driveway that curved and descended straight down. With a start, she realized they were going to the house that had looked like it was barely hanging on. "Oh, Paul—this is wonderful," she said, twisting and turning in the front seat so she could see it all at once. "And so different."
He stopped the car and switched it off. In the moment of silence, she heard the wind whistling through the aspens. "It's pretty remote," he said, "but I loved it the moment I saw it. I've lived here almost ten years."
Her eyes went to his face. In the dim light, she could barely see his expression. "Then you were here when you were married?"
"That's right." He turned to look at her. "Does that bother you?"
"Bother me?" Another gust of wind came through, and from the tree branches over the car, a shower of snow drifted down over the windows and hood. Rachel felt curiously isolated. She looked down at her hands, her thin gold wedding band glowing with a ghostly reminder. She'd have to take that off. She raised her eyes to Paul. "I don't have the right to be bothered by anything," she said simply. "You are the one who's helping me out, Paul. Complaining about your house would be the last thing I'd want to do."
She felt his gaze in the darkness. In her car seat, in the back, Elizabeth sighed in her sleep. "I don't want you to be unhappy, though," he said quietly. "You've had enough of that already."
His words touched her deeply, and once again, she realized what kind of man Paul really was. Her next thought was of the woman who'd shared the house hanging on the mountain beside them. How in the world could she have told him he was a rotten husband and horrible father? It just didn't seem possible to Rachel.
She turned and looked at her daughter in the back seat, then her eyes went to Paul. "If she's happy, then I'm happy."
He nodded. "Then let's go inside and make sure she likes the food I got."
Elizabeth didn't even wake up as Paul lifted her out of the car seat and took her inside the house. Rachel briefly considered waking her and feeding her, then she changed her mind. Missing one meal wasn't going to do her in, and they settled her down on the floor, a quilt beneath her, pillows protecting her on all four sides. Rusty, Paul's retriever, stood to one side and eyed the baby curiously.
"Hope you don't mind him," Paul said, rearranging one of the last pillows and tilting his head toward the waiting pet. "He's quiet and very well behaved."
"I love dogs. I always wanted one, but William didn't like animals in the house." Rachel walked over to the pet and let her hand drift to his head. Fondling his soft ears, she smiled at Paul. "Quiet and well behaved, huh? That's better praise than I could give Elizabeth sometimes."
Paul rose, a mock frown on his face. "That's no way to talk about your daughter."
Rachel's eyebrows went up. "Wait till you've seen her throw a fit."
"I can't believe she'd act bad. Look at her." Both of them turned their gazes to the sleeping baby. "She looks like an angel."
"For the moment."
 Paul glanced down at Rachel and smiled. "Let's go start those steaks."
They made their way toward the kitchen, and Rachel tried not to stare as they passed through the rooms. Finally she gave up and let herself look. Although small, each and every one was beautifully done from the oriental rugs to the wall hangings. It wasn't an expensive house, but it wore the mark of a professional decorator. She said this as they entered the kitchen.
Paul loosened his tie and reached for a white apron hanging near the oven. "My ex-wife was a designer," he said as he slipped the apron over his head. "Actually, still is as far as I know." He nodded toward the refrigerator. "Why don't you get whatever you want out of there and throw together a salad?"
Rachel opened the appliance and began to remove lettuce and carrots, peppers and mushrooms. She closed the door. "She did a wonderful job. It's not stuffy or overdone like some professional jobs are."
His hand stilled over the bottle of wine he was opening. "I'll take credit for that," he said. "Every third objet d'art she brought home, I sent back. I can't stand a bunch of stuff sitting around."
Rachel found herself laughing. "Spoken like a true man."
"Well, what do you expect?" He held his hands out. "I may be wearing an apron, but I assure you, I am a man."
She didn't need to be reminded, she thought suddenly. The sight of him in the gym had done that quite well, thank you very much.
Rachel began to chop the peppers into tiny strips, and Paul finished opening the wine. He poured them two glasses, then walked to one side of the kitchen to swing back what looked like a cabinet door, but which opened to reveal a built-in grill. "How wonderful," she said, stopping to look at the rack. "A barbecue inside the kitchen."
"It's called a parrilla," he said, lighting the waiting charcoal. "Every home in South America has them. They're quite convenient."
Rachel looked up at him. "Have you traveled there a lot?"
Placing the steaks to one side of the grill, then turning to face her, Paul spoke after a slight hesitation. "I grew up there, Rachel. In Buenos Aires, as a matter of fact."
Shocked, Rachel stared back. "You're from Buenos Aires?"
He threw his head back and laughed, his strong throat rippling with the movement. "You say that as if I'm from Mars."
She instantly felt foolish. "I...I didn't mean it like that. It's just that..."
"What?" His dark eyes were filled with amusement. "Don't tell me I don't look Latin. I'm darker than most Argentineans." He smiled again. "One of the reasons William hired me was that he needed someone who spoke Spanish. He knew he was going to expand into South America even back then."
Shaken and surprised, Rachel turned around and reached for the wineglass he'd poured them a moment before. Taking a sip, she tried to organize her thoughts, but failed miserably. Her mind was spinning and twirling.
It hadn't hit her until now, but she really was about to marry a stranger. A man she knew nothing about. His toothbrush would be next to hers, his shampoo in the same shower, but she didn't know the simplest things about him. Like where he'd grown up. If he'd been rich or poor. What kind of music he liked.
 At length, she turned and faced him. "I... I guess I'm thinking there's a lot we don't know about each other. We're about to marry, and I don't even know your mother's first name. Isn't that something you ought to know about the man you're marrying? His mother's name?"
In the silence, the grill crackled behind them. The smoky smell of the fire grew. He stared at her for just a moment, then he spoke quietly. "It's Gracilia," he said. "She was from Bariloche, a small town west of Buenos Aires. My father was an American student there on holiday when they met."
Feeling foolish but interested nonetheless, Rachel looked up at him. "Where do they live now?"
"In Miami. On a golf course with all their cronies. They're both golf nuts."
"Sounds wonderful. Do you see them often?"
"About once a year we have a family reunion."
"Brothers and sisters?"
"Nope, none. My parents were always pitied in their family. All their brothers and sisters had at least six children. For Sunday lunch, my grandparent's house in Buenos Aires could barely hold us all."
"Sounds familiar," she said slowly.
"Which part?" Paul's voice brought her back. "The small house part?" he prodded. "The six children part?" He stopped and put his hand on his chest in mock surprise. "Oh, my gosh, don't tell me you're a Porteno, too!"
She startled. "God, I hope not. What's apro...port..."
He grinned over his shoulder. "Portenos—that's what Argentines call people from Buenos Aires. It means 'a resident of the port.'"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not from Argentina ... but I was the one pitied in my family," she said flatly. "We had family photos made a few years ago. I have seven cousins and each one of them has at least two kids. We did individual portraits, then family portraits. William and I were the only ones in our picture." She swallowed as she remembered how empty it had looked. "I...I didn't like it."
Paul moved toward her and refilled her wineglass from the bottle on the counter. "And that's when you decided to adopt?"
"Oh, no." She shook her head. "I'd wanted to for years. But William had been reluctant. He... he thought I'd get pregnant, but—" she took a quick sip of her drink and looked at him "—it just never happened."
"I'm sorry."
She looked up into Paul's dark eyes. At the time, when she'd been going through the horrible, futile exercise of trying to have a child, not one single person had said those simple words to her. Not even William. He'd never understood what having a child meant to her. "Thank you," she said softly.
Paul was standing beside her. Close beside her. Outside the snow had started again, the flakes silent and cold as they began to cover the ground. She didn't want to talk about those years, the failures, but he had a right, she thought. She'd wanted to know his mother's name—he wanted to know about this. Information seemed like a small price to pay considering what he was doing for her. "It was tough," she said finally. "For a while, I even felt like the infertility was my fault... something I was doing, something I wasn't doing. It was... bad."
He raised a hand and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Oddly enough, the intimate gesture seemed perfectly reasonable to Rachel. "Surely you didn't really believe that, did you? That it was your fault? That it was something you could control?"
 "Oh, yes." She raised her eyes to his. "I did think the situation was my fault. I even told William it was. He.. .he said I was acting silly."
"Well that's something I'd agree with him on."
His emphasis surprised her. "I thought you two agreed on everything."
"Hardly," he answered. "But that's business, and I don't want to talk business tonight." He paused, and Rachel heard the wind whispering against the windows again. You're trading secrets, it seemed to say, and that's dangerous. Very dangerous.
Paul spoke once more. "I'd rather hear more about you. After all," he smiled, "we're getting married tomorrow, and I don't even know your mother's name."
His gentle teasing brought her smile back. "Amelia," Rachel answered. "And my father's name was Joe."
Paul stepped away from her and flipped the steaks. The spot where he'd been standing seemed a lot emptier than it had before. "How old were you when they died?"
"Five."
"It must have tough for you. Losing a parent is terrible at any age, but at five... well, I can't imagine."
She stared at the flames. "I hardly remember them." But the hole was always there.
"So you always got along with Abe?" he said.
"Oh, absolutely." Rachel picked up the knife and started on the salad once more. "He's a great guy. He and Emma had been married about six months when I started seeing monsters under my bed. I guess it was a delayed reaction or something."
Paul turned, the tongs in his hand. "To your parent's death?"
 She shrugged. "I suppose. My whole life had been pretty traumatic up to that point, but who knows what really brought it on."
"What happened?"
She looked at him. "To what?"
"The monsters, of course."
Grinning, she paused, her knife held over the carrots. "Abe got a can of 'monster spray.' Every night he'd come into my room and mist under the bed. I went to sleep with the smell of Lysol in the air until I was almost nine and his homemade label fell off the can."
"Sounds like he knew what he was doing. I should have thought of that when Pammie was having her monsters...." His face shifted, and he grimaced. "Unfortunately, her monsters were in the living room—verbally duking it out. I always hated to fight when I knew she could hear us, but Belinda had a voice like a siren on a fire truck. She didn't want to wait, either. When she was angry, she would explode. It didn't matter where we were or what we were doing, she'd go into a rage and everyone would know it." He gripped the tongs in his hand. "I should have made her behave, but I was reaching the end of my rope, as well."
"How long were you married?"
"Seven very long years," he answered. "As much as I
hate to admit it, by the end, I'm afraid I matched her description. I wasn't a good husband or a good father. I'd
disappear when she came in the door because I wanted to
avoid her unhappiness. She always had a death grip on
Pammie, too, so I would leave them both." He shook his
head. "I wish I could redo that one	"
Rachel found herself moving toward him. She put a hand on his arm. "It wasn't all your fault," she said. "These things never are."
 His eyes filled with something she couldn't recognize. "I'd like to think it wasn't," he answered, "but..." A second later, he seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. "Let's eat," he said.
They sat down at the breakfast table, a glass-topped Chinese fishbowl that looked out over the back yard. An hour later, they were still there. Rachel was laughing at something Paul had said, and he was smiling at her. All of a sudden she realized what a good time she was having. And all of a sudden she felt guilty. William hadn't been gone six months and here she was, laughing and drinking and acting as if she didn't have a care in the world.
"It's really getting late," she said slowly. "I.. .I think I'd better go."
"Tomorrow is a big day," he said. "Abe and Emma still coming?"
"Yes. I tried to get them not to, but Abe insisted." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "He can be pretty adamant when he wants to."
Paul leaned his elbows on the table. "Why didn't you want them to come?"
Rachel toyed with the spoon beside her plate. How could she describe her feelings? "It's not like this is a real wedding," she said finally. "I just didn't think it was appropriate, I guess."
"Not appropriate?" His voice made her look up. "Nothing we're doing is appropriate. Why should you care if they come or not?"
She laughed. "Good point."
"The more the merrier, I say." He pushed back from the table, but instead of rising, looked at her. "I just wish you'd let me take you somewhere afterward. I think you need a vacation."
 She shook her head quickly. He'd suggested a long weekend somewhere quiet, but the idea had been more than she could handle at the moment, and she'd immediately vetoed it without stopping to examine why. "I...I don't think it's the right thing...."
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "You don't have to explain. I understand."
She blinked and looked out the window at the blanketed yard. He thought she was reluctant to go off with him—to share the intimacy of a honeymoon—but he was wrong. Dead wrong. The real reason she didn't want to leave was just the opposite. She wanted to be with him, wanted to know more about this man who was saving her life.. .and that's exactly why she'd insisted they stay home. 
Chapter 8
When the doorbell rang, Rachel's heart went into double time and she froze, a mascara wand in one hand, a mirror in the other. Her eyes shot to the clock. She had three hours to go. Emma and Abe were much too early! Her breath catching in her throat, Rachel jumped from the vanity stool where she'd been putting on her makeup and prayed that she could settle down before she had to walk into the judge's chambers. Someone who didn't know her better would think she was nervous.
She hurried down the hallway, then threw open the front door. Abe stood to one side, holding a plastic dress bag up so it wouldn't touch the porch. Under her best navy coat, Emma, dressed in her best navy suit, waited beside him.
"Well... hello," Rachel said, mystified that they were there so early. "You're ear—"
"Early, I know," Emma announced as she moved into the tiny living room, "but I had something I wanted to give you, and I didn't want to wait until the very last minute."
She shot a glance over her shoulder. "Take that into the bedroom, Abe, and lay it down flat. I don't want it wrinkled."
He winked at Rachel, then saluted his wife. "Yes, ma'am. Right away." His heavy shoes thumped down the hallway to her bedroom. A few seconds later, they started again, then stopped. He was looking into the nursery, Rachel realized, and checking up on Elizabeth. The soft sound of her giggles told Rachel she was awake and had spied her great-uncle.
Rachel looked at her aunt. "What's in the bag?"
"A dress," she announced, dropping her handbag and coat onto the nearby couch. "A dress for you to wear today."
More mystified than ever, Rachel stared at Emma. "I have a dress to wear today. Remember, I told you? You asked me last week, and I said I was going to wear my yellow suit." Rachel definitely remembered her aunt asking, not only because the question had seemed so unusual, but because she hadn't given any thought until that moment of what she would wear. It hadn't seemed important.
"I'm not that old yet," Emma said testily, heading down the hall. "I remember perfectly well what you told me, but I decided that I had something better. Just come with me," she said. "I'll show you."
They passed by the baby's nursery where Abe was leaning over the crib and making Elizabeth smile. "Change of uniforms," he called out. "Last-minute substitution."
Rachel shook her head and followed her aunt. The dress bag was on the bed. "Open it," Emma said.
Rachel's fingers went to the zipper on the bag, and a second later, she had it open. Slipping off the heavy plastic, she picked up the dress hanger and pulled the garment out. Shock ran over her as she realized what she held. She'd seen photos of it, but never held it in her hands.
Her mother's wedding outfit.
The jacket had a high back collar that started with a circle of ivory silk. Beneath this, the simple curves went down into a sweetheart neckline. The sleeves were long with inset panels of delicate lace, and the skirt of the suit, made from heavy silk brocade, hung with perfect precision. The creamy shade of ivory reminded Rachel of homemade vanilla ice cream—almost pale yellow but not quite.
"It's old," Emma said softly. "But I think it's still beautiful." She paused and looked at Rachel. "Would you like to wear it?"
Rachel reached out with her right hand, her fingers feathering over the exquisite fabric until she lifted one fold of the panel. The dress seemed to have a sensual life all of its own. The longer she held the smooth, heavy material, the warmer the fabric became. It was a dress made for a wedding, a special occasion... not a business arrangement.
She lifted her stricken eyes. "I...I can't wear this, Emma."
Emma put her hands on her hips. "I'd like to know exactly why not. There's not a thing wrong with that dress."
"No," Rachel said. "There's nothing wrong with it. But..."
"But?"
She turned around and looked out the window. In obvious defiance of the day before, the sun was shining and bright against the glistening snowbanks. She took a deep breath and looked back at her aunt. "This marriage isn't for real, Emma. We're doing it for Elizabeth. Paul and I... we don't love each other."
 Her aunt's hazel eyes zeroed in on Rachel's. "That's what I thought when I married Abe, too." She paused. "And look at us now—almost forty years, it is."
With shock, Rachel remembered her dream. In that nightmare, her aunt had said she didn't love Abe when they married. "You... didn't love him?"
"No. Oh, I was fond of him, of course, but I didn't feel an overpowering sense of love and attraction to the man." She picked up a corner of the dress on the bed, her fingers absentmindedly caressing the fabric. "That came much later."
Rachel sat down on the bed. Emma looked at her.
"That's what I was trying to tell you the other day, Rachel. I... I waited too late to love Abe like he deserved. He's a good man. A very good man. I wasted a lot of good years, and I... I don't want you making the same mistake I made. We could have been enjoying ourselves, but I was too busy feeling—" She stopped abruptly.
Filled with surprise, Rachel was having a hard time understanding Emma's words, but she wanted to hear it all. "Feeling what?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know." Uncharacteristically, Emma turned around and faced the window, her hands going to the ledge as if she needed to hold on to something. "Anger at my first husband for leaving me? Pity because I had so much to do? Guilt because I knew I loved Abe but felt it was too late?" Under her suit, she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know what you'd call it. I'm sure some fancy psychologist would have the right word. I don't." She turned back and faced Rachel. "Whatever it was, I don't want you feeling the same way. I want you to start your wedding with the kind of feeling your mother had when she married your father. That it would be forever. That it would be wonderful. That it would be for love."
"But this isn't—"
Emma held up her hand and stopped Rachel's words. "Try the dress on. For me. For her." It was a perfect fit.
Paul reached inside his pocket one more time. The tiny black velvet box was still there.
His anxious fingers turned it over and over, the soft fabric brushing his palm and reminding him of Rachel's skin. He hoped she would like the ring. It had been a last-minute decision. He'd rushed down to the bank and pulled it out of the safety deposit box on Thursday, his heart in his throat as he'd stared at it and realized what was really happening.
He was getting married.
To Rachel.
From across the judge's chambers, Abe Hoke caught Paul's eye and smiled encouragingly, tilting his head toward the hallway. "Women! What is it they do for so long in the bathroom?"
"I have no idea," Paul answered, his mouth like cotton, "but I sure wish they'd do it faster."
The barrel-chested man turned away from the bookcase where he'd been studying the judge's collection and came toward Paul. His expression was hard for Paul to read, then as he spoke, Paul understood why.
"I don't exactly know how to say this," Abe started awkwardly, "but... well... I just want you to know that I think this is a helluva thing you're doing, son. I really appreciate it." He looked down at his size twelve shoes, then back up. "For Rachel and that baby, there were two outs, and it was the bottom of the ninth."
Paul smiled. They'd only met moments before, but Paul was impressed; any man that could kill monsters with Lysol had to be all right.
"It's not the sacrifice you think it is, Mr. Hoke," Paul found himself saying quietly. "It's...much different than that, at least for me, anyway."
Abe's blue eyes, so honest and open, went swiftly to Paul's face. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, son?"
Paul wanted to lie, but he couldn't. Not to someone like Abe Hoke. "Yes, sir," he said finally, reluctantly. "I guess I am."
Abe didn't look surprised. "But she doesn't know."
"No." Paul paused. "And I don't want her to. She's been through enough already. More emotional upheaval is the last thing she needs in her life." The music swelled, and he put his hand on the doorknob. "As far as Rachel knows, I'm doing her a favor. I'd appreciate it if you let it stay that way."
"The truth would be better."
"I disagree," Paul said. "She'll never love me like she loved William, and I don't intend to compete with a ghost."
Paul stared at Abe until the older man finally nodded, then the door opened and Rachel stepped in.
He wore a dark blue suit and a snowy white shirt. His eyes were somber and shadowed as usual, but a slow smile lifted his lips as her eyes finally came to his. Even though she knew it was meant to reassure her, to make her calm down and not be nervous, his expression had just the opposite effect. Her heart flipped over, and a ribbon of agitation curled all the way down to her toes.
They were actually doing it. They were getting married. In a matter of minutes, she was going to be Mrs. Paul Delaney.
Rachel's mouth went dry, and suddenly she was grateful that the judge was starting off with a few quick words about the "state of holy matrimony." At this particular moment, she didn't think it would be possible for her to even say "I do."
As if he knew she needed the time, the robed man droned on for a few more minutes. Paul looked down at her and smiled again, his gaze then going over her dress and lingering a second too long on the sweetheart neckline. She couldn't help but remember her aunt's words.
"Ahem?"
Rachel realized the judge was looking at her, waiting for her to say something. Her face flushed as Paul leaned over and spoke from the corner of his mouth. "Say 'I will.'"
She shot him a grateful look and said the required words. A second later, Emma was taking her rose from her trembling fingers and Paul had her hand in his. Before she knew what was happening, he'd pulled something from his pocket, then he was slipping it over her finger. When she looked down and saw what it was, shock rippled in waves from her left hand up to her heart.
A diamond! And not just any kind of diamond, but a very large, very beautiful, very perfect diamond. In the soft morning light coming through the windows around the room, the stone sparkled and danced. I'm flawless, it seemed to say. Without blemish and exquisitely fine. Your marriage may not be for real, but boy, I am!
She couldn't help it. Anxious, exhausted, questioning her sanity, Rachel felt her eyes fill with tears.
The rest of the ceremony went by in a haze, Rachel's only sensation the weighty feel of the expensive wedding band on her finger. The gold grew warmer by the moment, the diamond heavier. Finally, the justice was beaming and saying those five fateful words. "You may kiss the bride."
In slow motion, it seemed, Paul turned to her, and Rachel braced herself as his hands fell on her shoulders. She knew how she'd feel when his lips came down on hers, and she didn't want it. She'd felt that way once already, and the guilt was still with her.
He read the reluctance in her eyes. She knew that he understood—she could see the comprehension in his shadowed gaze. For a heartbeat, she was sure he'd stop, even if she didn't really want him to and even if he didn't really understand her expression.
But he didn't.
He put one hand on the back of her head and another on the side of her jaw. Tilting her backward, his fingers spread over her skin, he kissed her. Thoroughly. Passionately. Intimately.
Any consideration that her reaction to the kiss in the parking lot had been a fluke fled Rachel's mind as she stood there in the musty chambers of the judge with her aunt and Abe watching behind them. With Paul's lips tormenting her own, his fingers caressing her face, the feelings repeated themselves tenfold. She responded to him from a place that she could no more control than she could control the sun. Her world tilted and tipped until it was standing on its head.
A few seconds later, seconds that seemed to be timeless but fleeting as well, Paul tore his mouth from hers with an obvious reluctance. "The kiss on the sidewalk was for Sylvia." He raised his head a fraction, then paused and looked straight into her eyes, his voice so low and deep it rippled over her, smooth and silky as the dress upon her back. "This one," he said slowly, "was for me."
He held her gaze a moment longer, as if he wanted her to fully understand what he was saying, then slowly, almost unwillingly, his fingers left her face.
Dazed and trembling, Rachel felt him put her hand on his arm, then they were turning around.
She was now Mrs. Paul Delaney.
"Mrs. Delaney? Mrs. Delaney?"
Rachel felt the tug on her sleeve, then the name registered. She was Mrs. Delaney.
"Would you like to come cut the cake now? It's ready and your husband is waiting." Barbara Kay, the woman who owned the bed-and-breakfast, was smiling at Rachel and nodding toward the back of the room.
My husband? Rachel started to ask. My husband? That's not possible, my husband is dea—
Horrified at what she'd been about to say, Rachel automatically put her hand over her mouth.
Totally misinterpreting, Barbara Kay laughed. "You new brides!" she said, putting her hand on Rachel's back and turning her to her left. "You all react the very same way—like you can't quite believe you have a husband." She leaned closer as she pushed Rachel ahead of her. "You do, though, sweetie, and he's just about the most handsome thing I've seen in more years than I can think of. You're one lucky lady."
In a daze, Rachel allowed the woman to steer her to the back of the room where Paul was standing beside a beautiful cream-colored cake. Decorated with pale yellow roses and lavender violets, the confection was stunning, but Rachel felt her nervous stomach turn over as its sweet aroma reached her nose. She hadn't wanted to have a reception, but Paul had pointed out how strange it would look if they didn't. Not only to the community—that meant Sylvia—but to the investors of St. James Development, as well. They needed to think it was a love match, too. The company had to appear stable, and only a true match would make the conservative money men believe.
"Here's the knife—" Barbara handed the utensil to Paul "—and the plates are right over there. You just slice the first piece, then we'll do the rest."
Paul's fingers wrapped around the wooden handle, but his eyes were on Rachel. "Are you okay?" he said, his low voice full of concern.
"I.. .I'm fine," she said. "Just a little nervous, I guess."
He smiled, drawing her eyes to his full lips and making her remember how they'd felt on her mouth. "It won't be much longer," he promised, "then we'll be out of here and you can relax for a while."
Before they could talk further, people started calling out to him to cut the cake. He turned, held the knife over the bottom layer and looked at her expectantly. Putting her hand out, she covered his fingers with her own, the big diamond catching light from the chandelier overhead.
They sliced into the cake, and Paul put the crumbling piece onto a plate. He started to put it to one side, then Amanda, his secretary, called out from the back of the room. "You can't stop there, boss," she cried out. "We're not going to let you off that easy."
Smiling easily as the rest of the guests joined in, he looked down at Rachel and spoke, his respectful voice a contrast to the expression on his face. "Do you mind? They expect it."
"Of... of course not," she sputtered. "Go ahead."
He took a small piece and lifted it toward her. She opened her mouth to accept it, and the cameras began to click. It could have been made of sawdust, because the only thing she tasted was his touch upon her mouth. She swallowed, then he used the pad of his thumb to gently wipe an errant crumb from the edge of her bottom lip. The contact took only a second, but it burned into her consciousness with a fierceness she couldn't ignore.
As quickly as she could, she cut a small piece and held it to his mouth.
A moment later, Barbara Kay was handing her a napkin and a glass of champagne. "Okay, now—cake for everyone," she called out gaily.
Rachel and Paul stepped aside as their guests lined up for their pieces of the beautiful cake. Rachel, clasping her glass of champagne, managed to accept their congratulations and best wishes, but the whole time nothing was registering. She was numb. Now that they'd actually done it, now that they were married, she felt like she'd just jumped out an airplane without a parachute. Only the sight of Elizabeth held firmly in Abe's arms was able to ground Rachel back in reality.
Eventually, one of the faces came sharply into focus. "Congratulations," Sylvia Martin said, her eyes sweeping over Rachel and Paul. "This must be quite a day for both of you. And your dress—it's absolutely exquisite, Rachel. Where in the world did you find it?"
Using all her power to appear calm and relaxed, Rachel smiled and explained. "And it fit perfectly," she added, lifting her hands up and feeling like the fraud she knew she was.
"Well, it's simply magnificent," Sylvia replied. "And a crowning touch to your wonderful day." Behind her glasses, Sylvia Martin's hazel eyes turned warm. "I wouldn't have missed it. I truly do wish you both the very best."
 There was only one thing that would make the day perfect, Rachel thought, as she watched Sylvia move on down the line. The attorney couldn't say the words, though, and Rachel felt her shoulders slump. Only when those papers were final would she be able to relax.
Beside her, Paul sensed her disappointment. He looked down at her and spoke. "I know. I know," he said, "but look at it like this—I've made it past the first round. They're investigating me—that's good—and she obviously thinks there's a chance for us or she wouldn't have come to the wedding." He raised his eyes and smiled at someone across the room. "She's thinking about it, and she's got Hollis thinking about it," he said quietly but with conviction. "In fact, Hollis is the one who probably told Sylvia to come today. She's checking us out for her." He turned thoughtful eyes toward her and smiled. "It's out of our hands now. We've done everything we could do, so let's let it go for a little while. Let's enjoy the party, enjoy our dinner, then when we get back—"
"Dinner?" Rachel's mind caught on the word. "What dinner? I thought we were going back to the house—"
"My wife!" he said in an quietly amused voice that was loud enough for the people standing around them to hear and understand. "Did you think I was going to drag you back home and force you to cook me dinner, sweetheart?" They laughed appreciatively. "Of course we're going out." He sent her a mock frown. "Since we're not taking our honeymoon right now, the least I can do is take you out to eat."
Over Paul's shoulder, Rachel saw that Sylvia had gotten her piece of cake and was standing nearby. She was obviously listening to every word.
Rachel drained her champagne glass, then looked at him over the rim. The crowd around them had grown still, and they were all listening, too. She had to play along. "That...that sounds wonderful. Where are you taking me?"
"Well, if I tell you that now, it won't be a surprise when we get there," he said smoothly.
"I don't like surprises," she said.
"All right." His lips lifted in amusement, but his eyes were still dark. Dark and so serious she knew he wasn't kidding. "We're going to The Mountain House. Emma and Abe are keeping Elizabeth, and we're going to have a nice, leisurely dinner. Just the two of us."
The Mountain House. Everyone murmured enthusiastically at the name of Denver's most romantic restaurant, but Rachel couldn't say a word. Not with Paul's gaze on her face.
He'd given her his name.
He'd given her a diamond.
Now, he was about to give her dinner at the most wonderful spot for lovers in at least four states.
How much worse could it get? 
Chapter 9
Everyone knew first-hand how wonderful The Mountain House was—everyone but Rachel. She'd never been inside the restaurant. When she and Paul pulled up to the porte cochere and the valet opened her door, she remembered what William had said when she'd suggested they go. "I'd love to, sweetheart. Maybe next week."
But next week had never come. And now she was walking inside the exclusive restaurant with her new husband.
Husband. It seemed so strange to apply the word to Paul. She stole a glance at him as they crossed the elegant dining room to the table he'd obviously reserved beside the window. His broad shoulders filled his suit coat with an impressive width, and his long legs took strides she had to hurry to stay up with. From the back, she could see he had a fresh haircut, and for one quick second, she was inordinately pleased by that simple effort on his part.
Before they could even settle into the plush chairs, an ornate wine cooler appeared at Paul's elbow with a bottle of chilled champagne glistening in its silver depths. He nodded to the wine steward, and a moment later Rachel had a crystal flute in her hand.
"Here's to success," Paul said, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light that surrounded them.
"Success," she echoed softly. It was the perfect toast for the situation, but somehow she found herself wishing for something else... something more romantic. Then she reminded herself that they were each getting what they wanted, what they needed out of the situation, and romance hadn't been one of the requirements.
Their eyes met over the upraised glasses. "And to the most beautiful bride I've ever seen in my life," he added slowly. "You look stunning, Rachel. Absolutely stunning."
The words reached across the table and took away her breath. His eyes added to the sensation. They studied her with serious consideration, and she thought once more about the kiss in the judge's chambers. Paul's lips had been as warm as his eyes, but the feeling they'd produced went beyond warm and into something else, something... hotter. When she was fourteen, the boy next door had grabbed her during a Halloween party and pulled her behind a black drape his mother had hung in the yard. His kiss had been her first, and she still remembered the thrilling shot of guilty excitement it had produced.
Paul's kiss had done the very same thing.
From across the table, she stared at him, her pulse ringing in her ears, her palms damp with anxiety. Something had happened to her and she didn't understand it. The moment she'd said, "I will," her feelings toward Paul had shifted. He'd gone from being a stranger to being the man she was married to, the man she was living with, and now everything was different This realization made conversation impossible. Her eyes went to the diamond on her hand.
"You shouldn't have done this," she said, her head nodding to the beautiful stone. "I know it must have cost a fortune."
The waiter appeared and placed a pair of salads in front of them. With a start, Rachel realized Paul must have ordered the meal for them when he made the reservations. After the monumental decisions she'd had facing her in the past few months, it seemed like heaven for someone else to take care of this small detail.
"It didn't cost a dime," he said, picking up his fork and appearing to concentrate on his salad.
"I find that hard to believe," she said. "A diamond this size and this quality—for free? Where do you shop?"
He looked up at her, hesitated, then spoke. "The ring was my mother's."
Dumbfounded, Rachel placed her fork down beside her plate and stared at Paul. "This ring... this diamond... it belongs to your mother?"
He nodded and speared a piece of radicchio.
"Paul?" Rachel leaned across the table and waited for him to look at her. When he finally did, she studied his face. "Why on earth did you give me your mother's ring? I mean, we're married, but it's not as if—" She stopped abruptly, then restarted, her mouth as dry as dust. "I guess I would have thought Belinda would want it. It's so beautiful."
"She didn't." He looked down at Rachel's hand, then back up to her, his dark eyes full of something she didn't understand. ..or didn't want to understand. "And now I'm glad. When I called and told my mother I was marrying again, she reminded me I still had the stone. I wanted to give it to you."
 He refilled her glass. Rachel didn't remember drinking the champagne, but she tended to drink more when she was nervous.
Despite the alcohol, her emotions seemed to tighten, to sharpen, as if she needed them all, and all of them at once.
"You shouldn't have done that...this ring should go to someone special. Not... not to me."
"You don't think you're special?"
"You... you know what I mean.''
He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. "Rachel, let's get something straight."
She took a big sip.
"I wanted to give you that ring. I knew it would look wonderful on your hand, and I wanted to see it there. It doesn't change a thing." He stopped and studied her, his gaze going over her face with an almost physical touch. Her mouth went even dryer. "We made a deal, and if there's one thing I can't abide it's a person who changes the rules in the middle of the game. I won't do that to you, I promise." He paused, then spoke again. "And I certainly don't expect you to do that, either."
She reached for her champagne once again, and this time her fingers were trembling. "We made a deal," she said. "I'll stick by it."
"We both will," he said evenly. "And that's all I'm trying to tell you. The ring doesn't mean anything has changed. Our original agreement still stands."
She blinked, her heart in her throat, then she looked down at the diamond. Its beauty seemed to mock her. "But I'll give it back to you when we divorce," she said softly. "I insist. You might want it later for Pammie."
The ugly word—divorce—hung over the table, and there was silence until finally, he nodded. "All right, but not a minute before."
The waiter cleared the table for the next course and refilled their glasses. Over the quiet clink of tableware and the murmured instructions of the server to the busboy, Rachel swallowed. Now that they'd resolved the issue of the ring, she didn't know what else to talk about.
"I thought the reception went quite well," she finally managed to say. "Did you notice Mr. Stanley? He came over to me and said how much he was looking forward to hearing about the well in Argentina."
Paul nodded. "I saw him. He's one of our biggest investors, you know. His opinion can sway the rest of them."
More silence. "He seemed to think that well's going to be a good one."
Paul studied her from across the table, the flickering candlelight making his dark features even more handsome than usual. "Let's hope he's right. If he is, St. James Development—and you—will be set for life."
"And you, as well," she added. "By the time we know if the well's a good one or not, you'll be the majority owner of the company."
The waiter materialized by the table with the second course. The gold-rimmed plates he set down held generous slices of delicate pink salmon sliced so thin they seemed almost translucent. With the edge of her knife, Rachel lifted one of the slices and placed it on a piece of equally thin toast. She was really too nervous to eat, but Paul had gone to so much trouble, she had to make an effort. As she brought the toast to her mouth, her eyes caught a sudden movement by the front door.
A large party had entered the restaurant, and even though their laughter was restrained, it was clear they were celebrating. The crowd parted, and in the middle a man and woman stood with their arms wrapped around each other's waists. They were the center of attention, but they seemed almost oblivious to the others in the party. She wore a beautiful pink dress and he had on a suit. In her hands, she held a bridal bouquet.
Slowly Rachel put down her toast.
The partygoers milled about while their table was being prepared, talking to one another, laughing, glancing around the elegant restaurant. Rachel saw only the newlyweds as they turned and looked at each other. Even from across the room, she could see the love in their eyes. The man raised his hands and cradled the woman's face. A second later, he kissed her. The group around them laughed and teased until the couple reluctantly parted a few seconds later.
Rachel's throat turned tight with an emotion that felt suspiciously like envy. That was how a wedding should be celebrated, and suddenly she remembered her first wedding, hers and William's. She'd been so full of hope, so excited, and uncharacteristically, William had been the same. On their honeymoon, they'd spent hours dancing with each other and accepting congratulations, all the while sending each other special looks.
What a contrast. At the table where she and Paul sat, there was nothing but awkward silence and talk of business. She reached for her champagne flute, and as she did, Paul's eyes caught hers from across the table. They were heavy and dark, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of something that almost looked like sadness.
After that, she gave up trying to make small talk. By the time they finally rose and left the restaurant, Rachel's relief was enormous.
But on the drive home, her tension returned.
When the car pulled into Paul's driveway, Rachel was at the breaking point, her head spinning with the thoughts shooting through it. She had Paul's name and his mother's diamond. They were about to walk inside the home they were going to share. He was her husband, but... not really. What was she supposed to do now?
Paul waited by the door while Rachel told Emma and Abe good-night. They'd wanted to take Elizabeth with them to visit some friends and had insisted on watching her while Paul and Rachel had gone out to dinner. Fifteen minutes after they'd come home, the older couple had rung the doorbell. Rachel had jumped up from her spot on the couch as if she'd gotten a last-minute pardon from the governor.
It had made Paul feel awful.
Even worse, he had to admit, than he'd felt in the restaurant every time her eyes had gone to the party in the corner of the dining room. She was already regretting what she'd done, he thought, watching her wave goodbye to her aunt and uncle. She was already thinking she'd made a drastic mistake. The look in her clear gray eyes, when she'd watched the other couple kiss, told him this in no uncertain terms.
She came up the sidewalk, rubbing her arms. He held the door open for her and they went inside. Standing in the middle of the entry, she stared out the side window and watched her aunt and uncle leave. Finally, turning to him, she spoke. "I think it's gotten colder," she said. "Don't you?"
Dark circles etched shadows in the delicate skin beneath her eyes. On another woman, the signs of exhaustion would have brought out her bad side. They only made Rachel look more beautiful. "Would you like me to build a fire?" he said slowly. "We could have some hot rum, warm up, maybe relax a little. It's been a pretty rough day."
Panic flashed in her gaze, and he realized she wanted escape—nothing more. "Oh, no, no. That's okay. It's much too late, and I...I better make sure Elizabeth's okay in her new room. I... I think I'll check on her, then..."
Three steps up the stairs, she stopped and looked at him. "Paul?"
He tilted his face. "Yes?"
"I..." She stopped, tension drawing a line across her forehead.
He waited patiently for her to speak. The strain between them ever since the restaurant had been almost palpable, and part of him fully expected her to turn to him and say that she wanted out. Right now. This moment. Immediately. She'd think of another, less drastic way to keep Elizabeth and they'd both be on their way, thank you very much, sorry for the inconvenience.
The idea of losing her—so soon—tore at him, then he realized how very silly that was. How could he lose what he'd never had to begin with?
She cleared her throat and spoke. "I... I wanted to say thank you for everything. You saved my life, you know. If I'd lost Elizabeth, I don't know what I would have done."
"You don't have to thank me," he said gruffly, searching for a way to make it sound as if he hadn't wanted her since the moment he'd first seen her. "We made a deal."
Her expression shifted, then she nodded once and disappeared up the stairs.
He stayed downstairs for a very long time, sitting before the fire she hadn't wanted, drinking the drink she had refused. This was going to be a helluva lot harder than he'd ever thought it could be. The kiss in the judge's chambers should have told him that. He knew he shouldn't have done it, but something inside of himself hadn't listened, and he'd had to seize the opportunity.
Draining his glass, Paul finally stood. He had to go upstairs. He couldn't delay it any longer. He was sure Rachel was in bed, anyway. The rooms upstairs had been silent for quite some time.
Slowly he made his way up the stairs, and as he reached the top, he gave in to the temptation to look toward her bedroom door. It was closed, but a thin line of light escaped underneath the bottom. She was still awake. As soon as he saw the light, it went out, and the breath he'd been holding went out of his body, as well. He replaced it with a deep draw of air, then instantly regretted his action. Rachel's perfume, lingering in the hallway like a restless spirit, filled his senses.
Lifting his hands, he scrubbed his face with his fingers, trying but failing to erase the image the fragrance brought to mind. Rachel in the bed. Wearing a silky nightgown. Warm. Soft. Sweet. When he dropped his hands, she was standing in front of the opened door like some kind of mirage.
"I'm sorry for the bother, but I just realized something." She wore the same white robe she'd had on when he'd surprised her at her house sometime back. Her fingers held it to her throat just as tightly now as they had then. "I have to meet the real estate agent at the rental house fairly early, and I forgot my alarm clock. Do you have a spare?"
"Of course," he said. "I have one in my bedroom. Let me get it for you."
His feet took him down the hall, but his mind stayed behind. When she'd opened the bedroom door, he'd automatically glanced into the room. She'd already turned back the covers, already crumpled the sheets. He groaned as he reached into the dresser drawer where he kept his second alarm clock. How in the hell was he going to do this?
A moment later, he handed it to her.
"Thanks," she said softly. "I'll try not to wake you in the morning." She paused for a second, then smiled. "Well... good night."
He stared at her, then found himself stepping forward and putting a hand against her cheek. Startled, she looked at him. Beneath his fingers, her skin was as warm and as soft and as sweet as he'd known it would be. "Good night," he answered quietly. "Sleep tight."
Without another word, he turned and went into his bedroom. But sleep never came.
Right on schedule, at 3:00 a.m., Elizabeth began to fuss and Rachel heard her immediately on the baby monitor she'd set on the nightstand. She'd wanted to put Elizabeth in the bedroom with her, but at the last minute, she'd put her daughter in the nursery where she belonged. Sooner or later they were each going to have to get used to their new home. Tonight was as good a start as any.
Throwing on her robe, Rachel hurried across the hall and stepped into the cheerfully decorated room opposite her own bedroom.
"I'm here, sweetie. I'm here." She rushed to the crib, picked up the baby and checked her diaper automatically. Sure enough, it was wet. A few minutes later, she had Elizabeth dry, diapered and happy once more with the bottle in her mouth. The baby sucked noisily for quite a while, then her head began to nod and sleep reclaimed her. Instead of returning her to the crib, Rachel hugged the sleepy infant closer to her breast and stared out the window that looked out over the mountains. Their stark, snow-covered tops glowed coldly in the silver moonlight, and Rachel found herself shivering despite the warmth of the room. She didn't hear Paul enter the room until he was standing beside her.
"Is everything okay?" he said. "I heard her crying and..."
"A wet diaper and hunger pangs," Rachel explained. "I'm sorry she woke you."
"It's nothing. I wasn't asleep, anyway."
She didn't have to ask why. One look in his dark eyes and she knew the reason. He was wondering what in the world he'd gotten himself into and why he'd ever made the mistake of saying yes to her crazy scheme. In her arms, the sleeping baby sniffed.
Paul looked down at Elizabeth. "Pammie was a fussy baby, and once she woke up, she'd be awake for hours. I must have walked a thousand miles with her in my arms. When that didn't work, I'd rock her like crazy."
The image of Paul sitting in a nursery rocker, his hair tousled like it was right now, his pajama top hanging open, his eyes half closed, burned into Rachel's mind. Even through the fog of feeling that image brought, however, it registered with Rachel that Paul was the one who'd gotten up.. .not Belinda. "Your wife didn't get up with her...with you?" she asked quietly.
A flash of pain came then fled, his eyes revealing what his words wouldn't. He reached out and took Elizabeth's fingers in his own. "I didn't mind," he said softly.
It wasn't the truth, and she could see it in his touch. Something so intimate, so wonderful, so close, as watching their child go to sleep was something she'd wanted to share with a husband for years. Paul obviously felt the same way, but Belinda hadn't. And neither had William. 
Rachel watched as Paul's expression shifted into one of hunger, his thumb caressing the baby's hand. "You miss your daughter," Rachel whispered. It was a statement, not a question.
"Like I would my right arm." He started to say more, then stopped himself as if it were all too painful to even discuss. "You get used to it," he said instead, and she immediately thought, another lie. He hadn't gotten used to losing his daughter any more than Rachel would had she lost Elizabeth. Everything Paul did with the baby just reinforced his own loss. She could see that even if he wouldn't acknowledge it. He lifted his eyes to Rachel's face. "Can I put her down for you?"
Surprised, but touched, Rachel answered immediately. "Of course."
He reached for the baby, and as he did so, his fingers brushed the side of Rachel's breast. Her robe was so thick, she was sure he didn't even notice, but she did.
She definitely did.
From the point of contact outward, a tingle of electricity shot through her. She tried to act as if it were nothing, but the insistent response of her body was impossible to ignore. The guilt that came with it was even harder to disregard.
What did she think she was doing? The man was basically a stranger to her. He was helping her out of a terrible fix, and she was imagining the two of them doing things that strangers shouldn't be doing together. She closed her eyes and held on to the crib while he gently placed the baby down and pulled her little blanket up over her.
Rachel opened her eyes. "I...I think I'll go back to bed now." Her voice sounded shaky and weak, and she prayed he didn't notice. 
Standing beside the crib, he lifted his hands and threaded them through his hair, his robe falling open. He didn't seem to notice, but Rachel's gaze was drawn to his broad, muscular chest. She was grateful for the night lamp she'd put on Elizabeth's chest of drawers. If the overhead light had been on, he would have seen how crazy she was acting.
"Are you comfortable in there?" he asked, inclining his head toward her bedroom. "Do you need anything else?"
Just you. The crazy thought shot through her head unexpectedly.
"If it's too cold, I can turn up the heat. The room faces the north so—"
Cold? Cold was the last word she would have used to describe herself right now. "I...I'm fine." She started backing out of the room, her eyes on him. "It's very comfortable."
"Well, if you need anything..."
Behind her, she fumbled for the back of the doorjamb with her fingers. "I won't," she said abruptly. "I've got everything I need." Without another word, she turned and fled the room.
Chapter 10
Over the next few weeks, the three of them began to settle into a routine, but there were a few things in that routine that surprised Rachel. Like the way Paul looked when she saw him first thing in the morning. Like the way the baby always seemed to respond to him. Like the way Rachel's own heart hammered when he walked into the room. She hadn't bargained on any of those things happening. Every time she experienced one she told herself to ignore it. But she didn't always follow her own advice.
Rachel was cleaning house and thinking about this situation when the phone sounded.
"This is Sylvia, Rachel. I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Can you talk?"
Rachel's rubber legs gave out and she sat down heavily at the desk she'd been dusting in Paul's study. "Of.. .of course I can talk, Sylvia. How are you?"
"I'm just great," the attorney said, "but you're the one who's about to jump to cloud nine. I just heard from Hollis, and she's okayed everything. I'm filing the papers this afternoon... with Paul's name on them."
Her eyes filling with a sudden flood of hot tears, Rachel let out the breath she'd been holding and slumped against the back of the chair. It had happened. It had finally happened. Elizabeth wasn't hers completely, but at least they were back in the game, a major hurdle overcome. Dashing her fingers across her cheeks, Rachel issued a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
Sylvia's voice broke into silence. "Are you there, Rachel? Did you hear me?"
Rachel opened her eyes and swallowed. "Yes...yes, I'm here, Sylvia, and I definitely heard you. I...I'm overwhelmed."
"It is fantastic, isn't it?" The lawyer's usual cool tones warmed with excitement. "I'm so happy for you, Rachel. I know how tough this has been and I know how much you love Elizabeth. Surely now everything will start to turn around for you...a new husband...your own baby...your life is finally going to be what you always wanted."
Not exactly. The words popped into Rachel's mind, but at that particular moment, she didn't care. Nothing could have dampened her happiness.
"Well, I'm not going to keep you," the older woman said. "I know you'll want to tell the good news to that handsome husband of yours. I'll keep you posted on all the paperwork, and as soon as everything's final, I'll call you to wrap up the details."
Paul knew something had happened the minute he stepped in the house. A big crackling fire filled the fireplace and one of his favorite CDs played softly on the stereo. To top it all off, an exquisite aroma floated out from the kitchen, and a table for two had been set before the fireplace, complete with a silver wine bucket holding a bottle of wine. Paul arched his eyebrows in surprise. This was definitely not what he'd been expecting. In fact, all day, he'd thought he'd come home to an empty house. Emma and Abe had insisted on taking Elizabeth this morning for a night at their place. Emma's Bible study group was coming for dinner and Emma had wanted to show off her grand-niece. Rachel had been unable to say no to her aunt, but Paul had almost been sure that, unable to stand being away from her daughter, Rachel would go up to Boulder before the day was out. Obviously, he'd been wrong.
He stepped into the living room just as Rachel came around the corner. In her hands she held a half-full glass of wine.
Glancing over his shoulder in mock confusion, he asked, "Am I in the right place? I thought this would be the house of gloom and doom. I may have to send poor Elizabeth out to visit Abe and Emma more often."
Rachel glowed as she moved into the room toward the table, and Paul realized at once there was only one piece of news that would make her look like this. His heart sang, but he kept the sudden understanding to himself. He didn't want to spoil her delight in her surprise.
With a goofy grin, she refilled her own glass and then poured wine into the other one, as well. Paul had never seen her like this—she looked like a ten-year-old who'd just won a shopping spree at a toy store. Even the way she moved was looser, almost unfettered, somehow, as if she'd been holding herself tightly for months and was now suddenly free.
It was very, very sexy.
Turning, she offered him a glass. "Would you like a drink?" she said with an even wider smile.
"I think I would." Dropping his coat and briefcase on the couch, he came toward her and took the proffered drink.
Holding up her glass, she looked him straight in the eye. "To you," she said. "The man who made my dreams come true."
With a sudden lump in his throat, Paul lightly touched the edge of his glass with hers. "I'm honored," he said with a smile that hid his feelings. "I had no idea I would charm you so quickly."
She blinked rapidly, then a second later, she laughed with open delight. "Charming, you are," she confessed with a smile, "but in this case, I'm afraid it wasn't me you charmed as much as someone else. Can you guess who?"
He frowned and sipped his drink. "Emma?"
She shook her head.
"Abe?"
She laughed and said no.
"The lady down at the liquor store who sold you this very expensive bottle of wine?"
Rachel grinned and shook her head once more. "Hollis Sarif. Sylvia called today. The adoption's proceeding!"
Paul yelped as if he hadn't guessed, then he dumped his glass on the table and reached for Rachel. She screamed as he picked her up and howled as he twirled her around the room. "This is great," he shouted. "This is wonderful. I can't believe it!"
For a few more seconds, he spun her through the living room, their giddy laughter and combined shouts filling the space with joy. Finally, when they were both out of breath, he stopped before the fireplace.
"This is really fantastic news," he said. "I'm so happy for you, Rachel."
 She smoothed a hand over her hair, her eyes lighting up with excitement she couldn't contain. "It is great, but we can't forget it's not completely over," she warned. "A lot could still happen between now and the final hearing. .. anything could go wrong."
"I understand," he said, reaching for her wineglass and handing it to her before grabbing his own again, "but half the battle's been won. You've fought it...and won." They drank, then replaced the glasses on the table.
" We've fought it," she said. "Both of us, not just me. Without your help..." Her gray eyes suddenly shimmered with bright, unshed tears. "I.. .I can't imagine what would have happened, Paul. In a million years, I... I'll never be able to repay you."
His eyes locked on hers, and at that moment, Paul knew what he was going to do. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But somehow he didn't care.
"I can think of one way," he said, his eyes burning into hers. Without waiting for anything more, he moved toward her and took her into his arms.
Her gray eyes widened a fraction, then darkened in the flickers of the fireplace. A second later, his mouth closed over hers.
Her lips tasted faintly of the wine and more importantly of herself. If someone had asked him to explain exactly what that taste was, Paul knew he wouldn't be able to, but it was there all the same. Fifty years from now, blindfolded or deaf, he knew he'd still be able to recognize it.
For only a second she resisted, her body tense in his arms, her murmur a halfhearted protest. Then, as if she had recognized her own need in his, she gave in and pressed against him hungrily. Paul didn't hesitate to take advantage. He pulled her even closer, his hands going over her back and down her hips.
Under his touch, she murmured, and the kiss deepened. Paul's tongue licked her lips then met her own tongue and teased it back and forth. She nipped at his mouth with her teeth, then gently took his bottom lip between her own and sucked it.
He'd wanted only a kiss, but suddenly Paul knew—as he knew when he'd first thought of it—that he wouldn't be satisfied with that and nothing more. Rachel was a grown woman, he rationalized. If she wanted him to stop, she'd tell him. And he would. But for now...
He lifted his mouth from hers, but barely, kissing instead the soft, sweet edges of her lips, her chin, and then her earlobe. Taking it between his teeth, he pulled gently, then abandoned it for the curve of her neck. The tendrils of her hair tickled his nose, and as he lifted his hands to thread his fingers through the seductive smoothness, the clasp at the back of her head clicked open and clattered to the floor. The suddenly freed strands felt like warmed silk beneath his touch.
Rachel moaned and pressed herself closer, her fingers slipping inside the collar of his shirt to caress his bare skin. He wondered at her touch—how could something so light, so feathery, steal his breath and leave him without air? It didn't seem possible, but even as he felt it, Paul knew there was nothing more real than what was happening between them.
He'd known this was inevitable. Having her under his roof, waiting for him every night—what man in his right mind would be able to withstand that kind of torture? He'd told her he'd understood when she'd proposed, but he'd lied. He'd understood one thing and one thing only—he loved her.
His hand slipped down from her hair until it brushed the outline of her breast. He hesitated, then let his fingers complete the caress, the heavy weight swelling in its warmth. She groaned into his mouth, an echo of his own frustration. A moment later, he slid his hands beneath her sweater.
Her skin blazed beneath his touch, so hot it startled him. What was there about this woman? How could she entice him so, appear so cool, and yet be just the opposite? He circled her rib cage with his hands, smoothing his fingers over her feverish skin, then he couldn't stand it another minute. He had to feast his eyes as well as his touch.
He pulled the silky wool sweater over her head. With an almost painful murmur, she arched against him, the lacy cups of her bra tantalizingly obscure. In another second, it was gone as well, and her bare, smooth breasts were filling his gaze... and his hands... and finally his mouth.
She reached down for him and began to unbutton his shirt. In another minute it joined the pile her sweater made beside the fire. Without breaking their embrace, he helped her out of what Was left of her clothing.
Paul didn't stop to think about what was happening. He didn't want to think. All he wanted to do was feel. He kept waiting for her to protest, to tell him to stop, but she didn't, and a heartbeat later, they were stretched out on the sofa, the red flickering light coming from the fire and warming their desire even more.
His mouth followed his hands, both trailing over her body and discovering the curves and secrets her clothing had kept from him. She moaned beneath his touch, then reached out for him, her own fingers feverishly reaching for his shoulders, his chest, then lower and lower still. When she grasped him in her hands, he groaned and buried his face in the sweet spot between her shoulder and neck.
He took the pleasure as long as he could, then Paul raised his head and looked into her eyes. They were half lidded and heavy with desire, their soft gray depths darkened to charcoal shadows. In the back of his mind, he realized this was how he'd always imagined her to look when this moment would be realized.
What he hadn't imagined was how he'd feel.
He knew he'd always loved her, but until this very moment, he hadn't realized how much. Now he did... and it scared him.
"Take me," she whispered. "Take me now before I think about it any more and know I shouldn't do this."
His hand tightened on her breast, his fingers teasing the curve until her nipples peaked. "No," he said slowly, distinctly. "I won't make love to you like that, Rachel. I want this to be something we both want."
Bringing her hands to his where they rested on her breasts, she closed her eyes and groaned. "I do want it," she said. "I want you. Please, Paul."
He wanted to be noble, to make sure she wouldn't have regrets later, but suddenly, Paul knew he was past that. He lowered his weight toward her and she guided him inside her.
The slick moistness of her body seemed to encompass all of him, to take him all in and wrap him in a world he'd only heard distant rumors of before. She was mother, she was lover, she was everything he'd always wanted—just like he knew she would be. And he loved her. With all of his heart. No matter what happened between them in the future, no matter how the world would end, he'd always love Rachel. That was a truth he knew he'd never be able to deny, never be able to put aside.
She wrapped her legs around him and cried, her sounds mocking his movements, growing stronger and more urgent with each push of his own body. They reached a fever pitch—both her cries and his thrusts—then suddenly both climaxed in a whirl of emotion, desire and disbelief that something so extraordinary could become even more incredible.
Paul collapsed against her and she wrapped her arms around him.
Two hours later, Rachel woke up to see Paul's broad back hunched over the fire. He'd just added another log, and sparks from its addition swirled up and disappeared into the blackness of the chimney. The disappearing lights echoed how she felt. Disembodied. Immaterial. Ethereal. She wished the feeling would stay, but she knew it wouldn't. Guilt and disbelief were waiting in the corners, waiting to come out and pull her down with their heavy weight.
He turned and looked at her. "You're awake."
He'd thrown a blanket over her. She nodded and pulled its comforting warmth around her.
He refilled the glasses they'd left beside the table, then came to where she lay, handing her one and sitting on the edge of the sofa. He was totally comfortable in his nakedness, and as she let her eyes hungrily roam over his body, she asked herself, why not? He was in perfect shape.
He put his wineglass on the cocktail table and bent over her, his hands clamping the arm of the couch above her head. Gently, he kissed her, his lips going along her hairline, down her cheek, over her nose, and ending finally on her lips. When he pulled back to stare at her, his dark eyes were already full of something she couldn't—wouldn't— define.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger across her lips and stopped her. "Don't say it," he whispered. "Don't say anything. Not now. When the morning comes, then we'll discuss it."
"But—"
He rubbed his thumb against her bottom lip and shook his head. "Don't." The word reached out and brushed her skin with a tormenting pull. "Don't."
Her eyes locked on his, then there was nothing else she could do, but watch as he pushed the blanket aside and bent his head to her bare breast. His lips and then his tongue found her nipple. His mouth was cold from the wine he'd already drunk. She moaned... and it started all over.
When she woke the next morning, Rachel heard voices downstairs. Emma and Abe. Startled, Rachel reached out for her robe, then realized it was nowhere nearby. She was in her own bed, and vaguely she recalled how she'd gotten there—a sensation of Paul's arms around her, his bare chest against her own, stopping once on the stairs to lean against the wall and kiss hungrily, not able to wait a moment longer. Her breath caught as the sensations came back in a rush, then she heard the voices rise in laughter and she sprung from the bed, pulling the sheet with her.
The voices floated upward to the landing.
"She was exhausted," Paul was explaining, "so I thought I'd let her sleep late. You understand, don't you?"
"Absolutely," Abe boomed. "Smart play on your part. If we'd known, though, we would have kept the little slugger longer. Figured Rachel would be climbing the walls by now."
Paul's deep laugh wafted up, and Rachel shivered. It reminded her of his touch. "Normally, she would have been, but we had great news last night. 'Fraid we celebrated a little too much."
Understatement of the year.
The murmur of voices died down, but Rachel could tell Paul was explaining Sylvia's call to Abe and Emma. Rachel turned around and went slowly back into her bedroom. She should get dressed and go downstairs, but her legs gave out and she sat down on the bed.
Dropping her head into her hands, she closed her eyes and moaned.
Last night should never have happened. Never. Never.
They had a business agreement, for God's sake.
They weren't supposed to be lovers.
But she'd wanted him. She'd wanted a man's arms around her, to hear sweet words, and to feel his heart on top of hers, his hands on her body to celebrate the joy she was feeling inside.
She'd wanted Paul.
Not anyone else.
Threading her fingers through her hair, Rachel groaned and let the wash of guilt come over her. William had been gone less than a year—and here she was, making love with another man...and enjoying it. For Rachel, it didn't matter that the man was her husband. Inside her heart— where her feelings really counted—she felt a deep sense of disloyalty. The logical side of her argued against the feeling—she had to get on with her life at some point—but the emotional side of her whispered that it was much, much too soon.
She lifted her head and stared at the mirror across the room. Despite the argument going on inside her head, the reflection revealed a woman who'd been thoroughly loved. Then loved some more. And she was a stranger. Rachel didn't really look like that—swollen lips, mussed hair, storm-gray eyes. She'd never looked like that even in the twelve years of marriage that had gone on before.
But she wouldn't be looking like that again. Her guilt aside, the arrangement she and Paul had did not include sex. He didn't love her, and even though they were married, they wouldn't be for long. If this continued, when they divorced, the pain would be unbearable. They were adults—they should be able to control themselves better.
And in the future, they would.
The minute Abe and Emma left, Rachel came down the stairs. It was more than obvious she'd been waiting for them to depart.
She wouldn't even look into Paul's eyes, and he almost heard his heart as it hit and shattered on the cold tile floor beneath his feet. There were a thousand things he could say, but he didn't even try. They'd do no good. She'd made up her mind.
"Hello, sweetie," she said, holding her arms out to her daughter. Elizabeth gurgled and smiled and waved her hands in the air. Rachel took the child from Paul and buried her face against her.
After a long minute, Rachel looked up at Paul. He held his breath, then let it out slowly. It didn't help. His pulse rang painfully as she began to speak.
"Last night... shouldn't have happened." She captured the baby's fingers with her own and stared at him. "I... I'm sorry."
Paul stared at her. "I'm not."
For a moment, she looked like she wanted to believe him, then she shuttered her eyes and cut her glance toward her daughter. "It won't happen again," she said quietly. "It can't."
The new high chair, with Elizabeth's name stenciled on the back, was waiting in the kitchen a month later when Rachel came downstairs. As she cleaned up the remains of the baby's breakfast from the tray, Rachel marveled that a man could be so thoughtful. And so generous. And so very, very sexy.
Night after night, she listened as Paul came up the stairs after she went to bed, and night after night, through the walls, she followed his progress in her mind. The water running for his shower, the linen closet opening and closing as he pulled out a towel, the hair dryer, then finally the clean scent of his soap as he opened the door and disappeared into his bedroom.
They'd never said another word about their night of lovemaking. She'd made it more than obvious she didn't want to talk about it, and, honorable as always, Paul had respected her wishes.
But the images never left her mind. And neither did the guilt. How could it? She'd made love with a man who didn't love her. Not only that, she'd done so with her first husband less than a year in his grave.
As if her cleaning could wipe away the thoughts, Rachel scrubbed until the sponge began to squeak. A second later, Paul came into the kitchen.
"You're up early," he said, surprise in his voice as he glanced as his watch.
She gave him a cheerful smile and prayed he couldn't read her mind. "I would have loved to sleep in, but somebody else had different plans." She nodded toward the playpen in the den. Elizabeth sat in the center of it, her adoring blue eyes focused totally on Rusty, who was sitting just out of reach, his tail thumping happily. "Her friend was waiting."
 Grinning, Paul glanced toward the baby and dog. "They seem to be getting along quite well, don't they?"
"Why shouldn't they? Rusty gets two breakfasts now— his and hers." Rachel rested her hand on the high chair. "And by the way, thank you for the chair, Paul. It's really beautiful."
His eyes lit up. "Do you like it? I ordered it just before the wedding and it only came in yesterday."
"Well, it's gorgeous.. .and she christened it with strained peaches this morning."
"Great." He grinned toward the baby, then looked at Rachel again. "Guess I'll have some breakfast of my own if those two left any."
"How about waffles? I made fresh ones this morning. There's batter left."
"Sounds great. The only kind this house has seen in years are the frozen ones. I can't remember the last time I had real waffles."
He pulled out a chair, and a second later she heard the rattle of the newspaper. She poured the batter, and it sizzled as it hit the hot waffle iron. While the waffle cooked, its wonderful aroma filling the kitchen with the scent of domesticity, she stared at the man at the table. In the den, Elizabeth babbled to Rusty.
This was everything Rachel had ever wanted: a scene of perfect intimacy and warm tranquillity. A baby, a dog, and a husband waiting for his breakfast.
But it wasn't what it seemed. It was a mirage, an illusion—nothing more. And their love-making haunted her night and day to remind her in case she forgot. Painfully aware of her thoughts, she closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, the hard edge biting into her stomach.
 A moment later, behind her, the paper crinkled, then Paul was standing beside her. "I like 'em brown," he said, looking down at the cabinet, "but not quite that brown."
Rachel's eyes flew open, and she gasped as smoke wafted up from the edges of the waffle iron. She'd done it again. "Oh, my God." She grabbed the handle and lifted it. With dismay, she watched the blackened mess bubble and run over to puddle on the countertop.
Paul reached around her and picked up the appliance, dumping its contents into the nearby sink.
Feeling like a fool, she grabbed the bowl of batter and a spoon. "I'll start over," she said, reaching for the still-smoking iron. "It won't take but a minute. I can cook, I swear."
He put his hand on hers and stilled her movements. Even though the contact was casual it was the first time he'd touched her since they'd made love. Her mouth went dry. "I know that but you don't have to do it this morning. I'll just have some cereal."
"But I want to do it," she said. "I want to."
"Are you sure?"
The question lingered in the air.
Her eyes locked on his, and her pulse took a leap that made no sense at all. "I...I'd like to cook your breakfast," she said slowly. "And I'll try to do a better job than this."
"Any job you do will be fine with me. But I'm running
out of time now—" he glanced down at his watch "—and
I'd better say goodbye	"
Abruptly, she turned toward the refrigerator and yanked the door open. "Then tell me what you'd like for dinner," she said nervously, her head stuck inside. "I've got chicken or steaks or—"
"Oh, no. Uh-uh. You're not cooking tonight, Rachel. I don't think I can handle the fire department twice in one day."
She jerked her head around and met his look. His eyes crinkled at the corners and a fan of fine lines crisscrossed as he smiled.
"Very funny," she said, fighting a smile herself despite her pounding heart.
"What do you say we go out, instead?" Reaching around her, he gently closed the refrigerator door. They were standing close together. Too close. "I think you need to relax. To take it easy for a change."
If he was trying to calm her, he'd better find a different way, she thought. Her anxiety took another jump and so did her heart.
"I... I don't think I want to go out" was all she could think of to say.
"Then we'll do takeout," he said, his voice a low and sweet caress. "I'll bring home Chinese food. We can eat early... then go to bed."
She knew he didn't really mean it like it sounded, but the image his words brought to her mind electrified her. A crumpled bed. Two naked bodies. Slick skin. Long kisses.
The air between them compressed, became hot. A curl of something smooth and wet began to unravel within her. He leaned down closer, then closer still. In the past two weeks, she'd made a concentrated effort to avoid being this close to Paul. And now she knew why. She could see flecks of brown in his eyes that she'd never noticed before. She could feel the tension rising off his body. She could hear her own heart thundering inside her chest.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn't unexpected, it wasn't a surprise, but when his lips met hers, she was totally unprepared. Her legs actually trembled and turned weak, the sensations flooding her, the memories assaulting her, of everything they'd shared and done and said they wouldn't do again.
He held on to her shoulders almost as if he needed the support as much as she. Could the kiss be bombarding him the very same way? She moaned, a deep, low sound that started in the back of her throat and escaped before she could contain it.
His hands slipped from her shoulders and slid downward. They covered her back and pressed her even harder into him, and she could no longer ignore how fully aroused he'd become. He gave her no time to think about the hardness pressing between them, however, as he opened her lips with his tongue.
She couldn't have resisted him if she'd wanted to, and Rachel parted her mouth to accept him, her tongue meeting his and teasing it back and forth as if they'd played this out a hundred times before. He groaned now, too, and let his hands go lower and lower still until they were cupping her buttocks. She clung to him, her arms wrapped around his neck.
She was a mature woman, a woman who'd kissed more than one man, but only Paul had ever managed to make her knees feel like a rag doll's. She would have fallen down had she not been clutching him so tightly. All she could think about was the big wide bed waiting upstairs. She wanted to head for it. Right now. Immediately.
On second thought... the kitchen table was closer—
He raised his head slightly and looked at her through half-open lids. The desire she saw in his eyes reflected her own, and that instant of realization, that moment of understanding, brought her into the present as abruptly as a glass of cold water in her face.
They couldn't do this. Not again.
 Heart pounding, guilt-flushed, Rachel wrenched herself from Paul's arms and fled upstairs.
As the winter days passed, Rachel managed to put her physical attraction to Paul into a proper perspective. She told herself she didn't feel nearly as nervous, nearly as anxious, as she had, plumping up the pillows on the sofa in the den one day. Things would be fine eventually, she said, as she straightened up the magazines. Things would be just fine. Sooner or later, she would stop hearing every little sound coming out of his bedroom at night, and sooner or later, she wouldn't listen for his footsteps when she knew he was in the house. Things would be just fine. With the adoption progressing on schedule, she and Elizabeth would be out of Paul's hair in no time and all this would be behind them.
The tension that etched her every movement would be gone, and her life would return to normal.
And anyway, she had other things to worry about. Like the baby.
Elizabeth had done nothing but fuss all day. Rachel had put the crying down to new teeth, but by late that afternoon, she was beginning to wonder if it was something else, and she began to get worried. Sensing her agitation, Rusty's soulful eyes scrutinized Rachel's every move. He even followed her into the nursery as she tried ineffectively to calm Elizabeth by rocking her. Finally, as the sun slipped over the mountains outside the nursery window, Elizabeth fell into a restless sleep.
And the phone rang.
Rachel made a mad dash into her bedroom and jerked up the receiver. "Hello," she whispered.
"You sound out of breath," Emma said, her voice suspicious. "What's going on?"
 "Elizabeth's been cranky all day and I just now got her down." Rachel held her breath and listened. Nothing came from the nursery but silence. She sat down heavily on the bed. "I guess she's teething again."
"Is she drooling?"
"Like crazy." Ruefully, Rachel looked down at her once-clean blouse, then frowned. "But I'm not sure that's all it is. She has a bit of a fever. I hope it's nothing serious, but..."
"Probably her teeth, then," Emma agreed. "And maybe she needs some more time to adjust. I remember how it was when I moved into Abe's house. You were too small to recall it, but believe me, things were topsy-turvy for quite a while."
Wearily, Rachel slumped against her pillows. "They were?"
"Oh, my God, yes, especially that first week. Jack stole your baby doll and hid it, Mary Beth wouldn't let you in the room you two were supposed to share, and Jeff put salt into the sugar canister. The cake I made for your birthday was so bad I thought I would die when I tasted it! By that point, I hardly cared, though."
Rachel had to laugh. Jeff and Jack, Abe's oldest sons, had always been full of tricks, and Mary Beth, his youngest daughter, still didn't like to share. The twins, Daniel and Debbie, had been babies at that point.
"I guess it isn't easy merging two households... regardless of how it's done."
"No, it isn't." Emma paused, her voice revealing a hesitation that Rachel recognized. For all her faults, her aunt did not believe in "prying," as she always put it. "That's why Abe and I thought it might be nice if we could keep Elizabeth for a few days, like we did a few months ago when you first moved in. Maybe even next weekend? You and Paul could go somewhere alone and get to know each other better."
Be alone with Paul? Again? No way. "Oh, I don't think so," Rachel managed to say. "Paul's really busy at work, and I've got a lot to do—"
Right on cue, the baby began to wail. An hour ago, Rachel would have reached up and pulled out a clump of hair at the sound, but at this instant, gratefulness swept over her. "Oh, Emma," she said instantly, "I'm sorry, but I've just got to go—"
"All right, but you call me later and let me know. All right?"
"Yes, yes. I promise. Gotta run."
An hour later, Elizabeth's wails had grown so loud that Rachel barely heard Paul's steps as he climbed the stairs. She felt like crying herself and knew in another few minutes, she probably would be. With a smile on his face, he poked his head into the nursery. Slowly, his expression changed as he took in Rachel's air of distress. "What's wrong?"
"The baby's sick. I think she's teething, but I've called the doctor just to make sure."
Paul knelt in front of the rocker, his finger brushing over Elizabeth's cheek. "She does feel a little warm," he said. "Have you taken her temperature?"
"Yes. It's up, but just barely. She's coughing every once in a while, too." Pushing a stray curl away from her eyes, Rachel glanced at her watch and tried to stay calm. Except for a few minor colds, Elizabeth was always healthy and happy, so much so that this sudden change chilled Rachel. She'd lost so much already... she stopped the thought instantly and told herself she was acting crazy. "I called about half an hour ago, and the doctor hasn't called back. You'd think they'd understand	"
"I'm sure they'll call as soon as they can. It may just be a bug. Nothing serious at all." Paul's voice was low and steady. It matched his expression of calm reassurance.
He looked so confident, so in control, that having him there seemed to bring things back into perspective. For the first time all day, the tension unexpectedly eased in Rachel's shoulders.
He stood. "Let me take her."
Despite herself, Rachel still hesitated.
"Come on, Rachel," he said. "Have you even eaten today? Have you rested at all?"
"No, but—"
"Then, don't be ridiculous. You don't need any more stress and strain." His eyes studied her face, and she realized she hadn't even combed her hair or freshened her makeup since that morning. "Let me have her," he said gently. "You go down to the kitchen, have a cup of tea, put your feet up and wait for the doctor to call. I'm sure she'll tell you that everything will be fine."
"All—all right," she said. A cup of tea did sound like heaven. "But call me if—"
"We'll be fine." He took the fussing baby and moved toward the rocker. "You just go relax."
He settled into the chair and adjusted the baby into his arms. The sight caught at her, her throat tightening with emotion. William had never held Elizabeth like this—and deep in her heart Rachel knew he never would have. He hadn't been that kind of man.
But Paul was.
She stared at him a little longer, then she turned and went to her bedroom. Cleaning up and changing into a sweater, she instantly felt better, and a second later she headed down the stairs. By the time she reached the kitchen, the phone was ringing.
"This is Nurse Kellerman with Dr. Kornfeld's office. Is this Mrs. Delaney?"
As usual, the name startled her. "Yes?"
"I spoke with the doctor and told her all of little Elizabeth's symptoms just as you described them earlier." She seemed to be reading from her notes. "Very low-grade temp. Fussy. Drooling. Occasional cough. The doctor says it doesn't sound like anything to worry about right now, but to keep an eye on her and make sure she takes her bottle. You can give her some baby Tylenol. About one half a teaspoon. There's a bit of a virus going around, but it really sounds like she's just teething. Of course, if her temp goes up more, say over a hundred and one, you'll need to bring her in."
Rachel honed in on one word. "A virus? I think I'd better bring her in right now—"
"I'm afraid that's impossible, Mrs. Delaney. The doctor has left for a conference in New York." A significant pause hovered over the phone line. "Elizabeth's your first, isn't she?"
Rachel knew what the woman was implying, and her pulse took an angry leap. Just as quickly, though, she realized the nurse might be right. Was right. If things weren't so crazy in her life right now she would see this for what it was—a simple childhood upset.
"Yes, she is my first baby," she confessed. "I could be getting kinda crazy about it."
"Well, try not to get too worried. Little ones get sick, but they get well just as quickly, too. I'm sure by morning, she'll be just fine." The woman's voice warmed. "When you're a new mother everything seems traumatic, but believe me, it'll be old hat after a while."
"Are you sure?"
The nurse laughed. "Yes, I'm sure. Just keep an eye on her, like I said, and if she starts getting too warm, give her some Tylenol. If things get worse, then call us again. The service will let us know and the doctor's stand-in can meet you at the hospital."
"Okay," Rachel said, her anxiety easing with the woman's calm manner. She was obviously not too worried, and Rachel had described Elizabeth's symptoms in detail the first time she'd called. "And thanks for calling me back."
"No problem."
"What did they say?"
Rachel lifted her head as Paul came into the kitchen. She smiled, but nothing could hide the air of exhaustion about her. Quickly, she explained the conversation, and Paul nodded his head, his own worry easing as she repeated the nurse's reassurances. "I'm sure they're probably right," he said. "Let's not get too crazy about it."
"Is she asleep now?"
"Like a baby," he said with a grin.
Rachel shook her head. "I sat with her all day and..."
He came closer to her and leaned against the kitchen counter. "She likes me, what can I say?"
Despite her obvious fatigue, Rachel chuckled and brushed a strand of white-gold hair from her brow. "Well, I'm glad she likes someone around here, because I certainly wasn't on the Top Ten list today." Turning to face the window over the sink, she shook her head again and stared out at the inky black night.
He studied her profile. Worry had etched light lines around her mouth, and dark shadows bruised the delicate skin under her eyes. She cared so much his heart ached for her. For a moment, he hesitated. There had been more tension between them since they'd made love than there ever had been before. Kissing her the other day hadn't eased that tension, either. He couldn't let her suffer like this, though. The stress wasn't good for her.
He moved closer to her and stood behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Under the soft silk sweater she wore, stress had solidified the muscles into rocks of tension. At his touch, she tensed, but he ignored it, and working slowly and steadily, he massaged her upper back, his thumbs traveling in circular motions over the sweet valleys and hills.
He wished it were his lips instead of his hands.
She sighed and seemed to sink a bit, then slowly, gradually, the knots began to loosen. For a few more minutes, he worked his thumbs against her, then, spreading the rest of his fingers over the top of her shoulders, he stopped. In the warm quiet of the kitchen, she lowered her head as if she were too tired to even hold it up anymore.
He looked down. She'd put her hair in a French twist; tendrils of hair swirled down around her face and neck. A warm expanse of skin was still exposed, and it called up to him.
Without thinking further, he lowered his lips to brush the tempting sweet spot. Her fragrance rose to meet him and brought with it the memories he'd been trying to suppress for weeks. She arched against him, angling her head, and his fingers left her shoulders to rest against her throat. She swallowed and he felt the movement.
Now was the time to tell her, he thought. A few simple words and she would know how much he loved her. All he had to do was open his mouth and speak. She might still love William, but in time, she could come to love Paul, too.
Couldn't she?
The words formed themselves in Paul's mouth, but before they could reach his lips, the baby's cries filled the kitchen through the baby monitor. Beneath his hands, Rachel tensed, her whole body an instant rod of stress and worry. Twisting in his arms, she shot him a guilty look that tore open his heart, then she ran out of the room. 
Chapter 11
The baby continued to cry.
Rachel walked with her, talked to her, even sang the lullabies that usually did the trick, but nothing worked. Elizabeth's little nose began to run, and then she began to cough. By 3:00 a.m., she grew quiet—finally—and fell into a deep sleep.
And that's when Rachel got even more nervous.
Because she realized at that point the baby's breathing had changed. Pulling in deep, rasping breaths, she seemed to struggle to find enough air. Rachel stood by the crib and listened for only a second as Elizabeth's tiny chest rose and fell with each heavy wheeze. A moment later, Rachel ran down the hall toward Paul's bedroom.
Earlier, he'd come into the nursery and offered to help with the baby, but Rachel had declined his offer. She needed more room, more time, to really absorb what was happening between them.
 But now, she had to have his help. She no longer had a choice. He could dress the baby and get the car ready while she called the hospital and threw on some clothes.
She knocked once, then opened his bedroom door.
He was stretched out in the bed, the sheets crumpled to his waist, his hair ruffled, his chest bare. In his hands, he held a heavy book. His dark eyes gave away nothing, so she had no idea if he'd been awake all this time.
"I... I need your help," she managed to say. "Elizabeth's worse and—"
He jumped from the bed, a pair of dark-colored boxer shorts riding low on slim hips. "Call the doctor," he said instantly, "then get dressed. I'll get the car warmed up." There was no indecision, no hesitation, in his voice.
For a heartbeat, she stood mutely in the dim light wondering how this man knew her thoughts so well, knew her so well, that he could speak what she'd only decided on a few moments before.
"Right" was all she said, then turning, she fled to her own room and grabbed the telephone. Too late she remembered the nurse's words. Dr. Kornfeld, Elizabeth's own pediatrician, was gone. Rachel cursed and dialed the number, knowing she'd get a substitute and hating it. Dr. Kornfeld always seemed more sympathetic, more understanding, than the average physician. Rachel suspected that was because the doctor was a mother herself.
The service answered and Rachel told them what was happening. "Dr. Edward's on call at the hospital. Do you want him to call you back?" the bored operator asked.
"No," Rachel said tersely. "Just call him and tell him we're on our way."
She hung up the phone without waiting for an answer, then ran to her closet, grabbing the first thing she found, a ratty blue warm-up that had seen better days. Snatching her purse, she barreled out of the room and into the nursery.
Paul already had Elizabeth bundled up. "The car's warming," he said. "Do we need anything else?"
Rachel shook her head just as Elizabeth took a deep, jerky breath. The sound filled Rachel with panic and dread, and she shot a look at Paul. His face showed nothing but calm determination. "She does sound awful," he said, looking into Rachel's eyes, "but let's get her to the hospital before we completely panic."
His words reassured Rachel, but at the same time, she noticed he ran down the stairs even faster than she did. Elizabeth, bouncing in his arms, barely opened her eyes at the commotion.
They buckled the baby into her car seat, and her head fell listlessly to one side. Fear grabbed Rachel's gut and gave it a twist as she slid into the car beside her. She reached out and ran her fingers over the side of Elizabeth's warm cheek, but the only response the baby gave was to struggle and draw another breath. The crying had been terrible, but this lethargy was even worse. And the sounds as she tried to breathe.. .Rachel closed her eyes and issued a silent, desperate prayer.
The Mercedes squealed a protest going out of the drive, then spun down the street. Paul handled the big car without hesitation, his glance dashing in the rearview mirror from the street to Rachel's face every few seconds. Vaguely she realized he was dodging pockets of black ice and white drifts. The storm, later than usual and worse than normal, had come in from the mountains, and she'd been so worried about Elizabeth, Rachel hadn't even noticed until now.
Even with Paul's expert driving, the ten-minute drive stretched to twenty, then thirty minutes. The roads were too bad for him to go any faster.
By the time they screeched into the emergency room, Rachel's chest was rising and falling as painfully as the baby's. To lose her now—after everything—would be too much, Rachel thought as her fingers frantically pulled on the straps of the car seat. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it.
Rachel didn't know if it was her call or Paul's commanding presence, but the minute they ran inside with Elizabeth's tiny body in their arms, a bevy of nurses surrounded them. Dressed in bright pink, one woman started shooting questions at Paul while another took Elizabeth from him and started down the hall. Rachel ran to catch up with her as she disappeared into a curtained cubicle.
Half an hour later, Paul balanced a coffee cup in each hand and headed back toward the waiting room. He hadn't wanted to leave Rachel in case the doctor came out, but they both needed something in them besides despair.
He could see her as he made his way down the half-empty hall. She'd stayed in the cubicle with Elizabeth for half an hour, thanking God she'd remembered to bring the medical release forms Hollis had signed and handed over. Now, as they finished up, Rachel had come out into the waiting room. She sat in an orange plastic chair, her feet firmly on the floor, her eyes staring straight ahead. She looked as if she thought she could control the outcome of the situation if she just sat still enough and straight enough. She hadn't spoken a word since she'd left the cubicle.
He stopped in front of her. "Here," he said, holding out one of the white foam cups.
She took the cup automatically and brought it to her lips. He sipped his own and grimaced. "God, what do they put in this stuff? It certainly doesn't taste like coffee."
His words seemed to break her trance and she spoke. "When I came here—" she looked down the hall as if she could see herself walking around "—after William died... everyone brought me coffee." Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she stared down into the cup. "It was the only thing they could do for me, I guess. I kept drinking it. By the time I finally got home, I could hardly stand, my knees were shaking so much."
Paul cursed to himself and turned away. He hadn't even considered where they were or what kind of memories Rachel must have about the antiseptic blue-and-white room where she now sat. After he'd told her about William, she'd insisted Paul bring her here. It had almost been as if she hadn't believed him and had to see for herself.
"It was such a hopeless feeling," she continued. "I sat here and thought about being alone, thought about Elizabeth growing up without a father, thought about never seeing William again. I knew there was nothing I could do about it, and I felt angry. I was actually mad that William had died and left us, as if he had anything to do about it."
Paul turned slowly and looked at her. She sipped again from the coffee cup. "It didn't seem possible to me that he could just leave the house and go to work.. .and not come back. There were things I wanted to say to him... things we needed to talk about."
Paul could only imagine what those things were.
"Before I had time to really understand what'd happened, the whole mess started with Elizabeth, and I knew there was something worse than dying." She looked up at Paul, her luminous gray eyes shimmering huge in her pale face. "Do you know what it is?"
 Paul shook his head, his heart squeezing painfully.
"It's being the last one," she whispered. "It's being the one who's left when everyone else has gone." She blinked rapidly, and he saw the cup flex as her fingers gripped its flimsy sides. "It happened to me when I was five and I lost my parents. Then it happened to me again when I lost William." She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in tears. "What am I going to do if it happens again, Paul? What in the hell am I going to do?"
As her words began to register, everything seemed to crystallize for Paul. He carefully put down his coffee cup, then took the seat beside her. Reaching for her hand, he began to speak. "You are not going to lose Elizabeth, Rachel. The doctors are doing everything that they can, and I'm sure she's going to be fine."
"But she couldn't breathe—"
"And we brought her here. She's going to be all right." He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. "But if I'm wrong, and something were to happen, you wouldn't be alone. Not by a long shot. You have your aunt, your uncle, your friends... and you've got me, Rachel. I am your husband."
Her fingers were intertwined with his so closely that he couldn't tell where hers began and his stopped. She gripped them even harder. "You don't have a real obligation to me, Paul." Her eyes flickered down, then back to his face. "Despite...what happened between us, you don't owe me anything. I know that and I accept—"
Before he could contradict her, her eyes grew huge and she jumped up from the chair, brushing past him and heading straight toward the door behind them. "How is she?" Rachel cried at the white-garbed man coming from the room. "Tell me what's happening."
The tall, dark-haired man took Rachel's arm and steered her back to Paul's side.
"How is she? What's happening?" Rachel repeated.
"She's going to be fine, Mrs. Delaney." When he spoke, his voice was quiet and reassuring. "I'm Dr. Edward," he said, putting his hand out to Paul's. "You're Mr. Delaney, I take it?"
His demeanor had the desired effect, and Paul could see Rachel responding more calmly. "I...I'm sorry," she said. "This—" she turned to Paul "—is my... husband, Paul. Paul, this is Dr. Edward."
The doctor shook Paul's hand, and they all sat down in the orange plastic chairs. Before Rachel could ask again, he spoke. "Elizabeth has the croup. It's a childhood disease that is common, but it can be very serious. In fact, it can lead to pneumonia if it isn't caught in time."
Unconsciously, Rachel reached out and gripped Paul's hand again. "Does Elizabeth have pneumonia?"
"No, but she is dehydrated. Normally, we'd just advise a humidifier and lots of fluids, but since Elizabeth has a fever and can't seem to keep anything down, I'd like to keep an eye on her, and that means staying here for a while. I want to make sure she doesn't develop any infections, as well. We'll start her on a drug to open up her breathing passages and get some fluids in her, then we'll put her in a croup tent." He smiled encouragingly. "It sounds worse than it is—kinda like a big Baggie we put over the cradle. It keeps the air moist while the IV rehydrates her body."
"But... but she's going to be okay?"
"Yes." He said the word without hesitation. "I have every confidence that we got her in plenty of time and she'll have nothing but a quick recovery ahead of her."
 Rachel's fingers relaxed and she leaned against Paul's shoulder like an inflatable doll whose air was seeping out.
"How long will you keep her?"
The doctor looked at Paul. "Hopefully, a day, maybe two, then we send her home with you and the fun part starts. The medicine for this smells like bubble gum, and believe me, you never get it out of your shirts." He grinned. "It stimulates them, too. Kinda like a caffeine jump. It's great stuff."
Paul smiled back, and thanked God for this man. He had just the right touch of authority and levity, and he knew how to use them both. The doctor rose.
"Let's get Elizabeth checked in and settled down. We'll make sure there's a bed in the room for you, as well." He pulled a card from his pocket. "Here's my numbers. I'll be on the floor for the next week. If you need anything, I'll be here." He put a hand on Paul's shoulder, then Rachel's.
"Don't worry, Mom and Dad. She'll be fine."
Rachel let Paul handle the remaining paperwork. She carried Elizabeth out of the cubicle and into the elevator. A nurse walked beside her, the tube of the IV connecting them like some kind of high-tech umbilical cord.
All the way to the room, Rachel had to keep repeating Dr. Edward's words in her head. When he'd explained everything to them, she'd been completely reassured, but seeing her baby like this—with all these tubes—made all the fears come back. What if he were wrong? What if something worse was going on? Doctors did make mistakes.
She shook her head and smoothed a hand over Elizabeth's warm brow. Thinking like that would get them nowhere, she told herself. In an hour they had the baby settled into the cradle and the tent over her upper body. She looked like a little rag doll. Her body barely made a bump under the sheets, and her face matched the white blanket, except for two bright spots on her cheeks. Tufts of hair stood straight up all across her head.
A nurse in a bright blue cotton uniform swung open the door. "Here you go, Daddy. They're both in here."
Paul came in behind her. In his arms he had an enormous teddy bear and in his hand a vase of fresh flowers. On his face was a sheepish look. "I bribed a fellow downstairs to open up the gift shop," he said by way of explanation.
Rachel felt her eyes fill up with tears, and silently they slipped out and down her cheeks. The nurse closed the door and Paul came into the room. A moment later, he was standing beside her. A moment after that, she was in his arms. It happened so easily, so naturally, that Rachel didn't even fight it.
"It's all right," he murmured. "She's going to be okay."
"I...I know," Rachel said, sniffing, "but I was so
scared, so afraid	"
"I know," he answered, "I know." His arms tightened around her and he looked at the cradle. "I was scared, too. But she's going to be fine." He lifted Rachel's chin with his fingers and looked into her eyes. "Just fine."
"You look like you just pitched nine innings in a pouring rain. You all right, boy?"
Paul shook Abe's hand and grinned. "I'm okay now, sir, but I don't mind telling you I was pretty worried there for a while."
"She's going to be okay, though, isn't she?"
 Paul met Emma's worried eyes and nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Elizabeth's going to be just fine." He hesitated and she immediately spoke.
"But?"
They were standing in the hallway outside the baby's hospital room. Reflecting off the snow piled high outside, sunlight flooded the corridor to wash Emma's face with brightness. Every wrinkle, every line, stood up in sharp relief, and Paul prayed that he would be around to see the same beautiful character develop on Rachel's fair skin.
"But?" she repeated impatiently.
He shot a look over his shoulder to the door of the baby's room. "Well, to be frank with you, it's Rachel I'm worried about now. We brought Elizabeth into the hospital in the middle of the night last night, and Rachel hasn't left her side at all. Not even to eat. I tried to get her to come home and rest while I stayed with the baby, but Rachel refused. She didn't want to leave Elizabeth." He ran a hand through his hair. "I understand why she wouldn't want to leave, but frankly if she doesn't get some rest, we're going to have to check her in here, I'm afraid."
"Well, we'll just take care of that little situation," Emma said sharply, pulling her gloves off and slapping them one against the other. "Where is she?"
"Now, Emma—" Abe put his hand on his wife's shoulder. "Rachel's a grown woman. If she wants to stay with her baby, surely you can understand that. I remember a few times you wouldn't leave a bedside yourself."
"Baloney." She sniffed indignantly. "We shared the responsibilities of all the children—all of them—so don't you go telling me I was the only one who did that."
"And I'm willing to do that, too, but Rachel wouldn't leave." Paul stepped a little closer to Emma and put his own hand on her shoulder. "Do you think you could help me, Mrs. Hoke? I think she'd listen to you."
Emma's hazel eyes softened for just a second, and Paul knew he'd guessed right. She was the kind of woman who wanted to help. "Where is she?" she said.
Paul held out a hand and they started down the hall, Emma marching purposefully in the front of the procession. Behind her, Abe leaned over and quietly spoke in Paul's ear. "That was the smoothest quarterback sneak I've seen in quite some time, my boy. Quite some time."
Paul grinned.
Rachel looked up as the trio entered the room. When she saw who it was, her exhausted eyes filled with tears.
"You didn't have to come," Rachel said after she exchanged quick hugs with both Abe and Emma. "She's going to be just fine. In fact, they may release her in another twenty-four hours."
"And in another twenty-four hours, you'll be sick yourself." Standing beside the baby's bed, Emma straightened the covers until the edges lined up. "You've got to go home and rest."
Rachel shot a look at Paul. Her eyes were two gray pools, ringed by shadows and darkened by distress. He'd never seen her look so drained—or so determined. "Have you been talking to them?"
He opened his eyes wide and held out his hands in a gesture of innocence, but she missed the expression. She'd already turned to argue her case. "I'm fine, Emma," she insisted. "And I'm not going to leave her. It'll just be for a little while longer, then we can all go home. I couldn't possibly rest, anyway, while she's here."
Abe's big beefy hand covered her entire shoulder. "Rachel," he said slowly, "you're exhausted and you look like hell. Go home for just a little while. We'll stay with the baby."
She moved closer to the bed and put one trembling hand against the headboard. It was a gesture of protectiveness that made Paul think about her own childhood. He wondered if Emma had held her when she'd explained her parents weren't coming home.
"I can't go home, Abe. I can't leave her," Rachel said. "Something might happen, and we wouldn't be able to get here fast enough." Her voice began to tremble, as well. "I can't leave her. You don't understand—"
Before she could finish, the door opened. Three nurses, two medical students and two physicians walked in, one of them, Dr. Edward. He shook Paul's hand. "You're still here?"
"Yes. And so are you," Paul replied.
The doctor grinned. "Yeah, but they pay me to do this." He glanced in Rachel's direction and his expression slowly changed. "Mrs. Delaney, you need to get some rest." His voice was calm and reassuring, but Paul could sense the worry beneath it. "Please go home. Elizabeth's going to be just fine."
Rachel nodded once. "I know that," she said. "And as soon as we can, we'll all go home." She swayed and licked her lips. "I can't leave her right now, though. I just can't leave her." She gave Paul a beseeching look. "You understand why, don't you?" she started. "You... do... unders—"
He caught her just before she hit the floor.
Her eyes blinked open to blinding bright sunshine. The storm had done its best, and tall drifts of white blanketed the whole world, reflecting the sun that glared overhead. Dispersed among the banks, the tall pines in Paul's front yard stood perfectly still, sentinels for the sleeping layers of white that rested heavily on their boughs.
All this registered through a haze of heavy exhaustion, a leaden feeling weighing down her arms and legs that made it impossible to move. With her head leaning against the back of the seat, Rachel turned to look at Paul. "I've never fainted in my entire life," she said. "It was a really strange feeling."
A dark stubble covered his face, and his hair looked as though he'd done nothing but run his fingers through it over and over. Which he had. Her eyes went to his feet. One blue sock, one black.
"Yeah, well, I've never made such a great catch, either," he answered. "Your uncle said they could use me if the Broncos ever get rid of their star receiver."
She laughed weakly. "That sounds like Abe. Are you sure it'll be okay to leave them there? What if—"
He reached across the seat and took her hand. "They'll be fine, Rachel. I gave them every phone number I have, and they'll call us. But they won't need to. In another twenty-four hours, Elizabeth will be grabbing at Rusty through the playpen, you'll see."
Rachel smiled automatically, but even as her mouth tilted up, her eyelids went down. The next thing she knew Paul was opening her car door and gently helping her from the car. Together they held on to each other and struggled through the snow to get to the front door.
The warmth of the entryway enveloped her as she stepped inside, and for the very first time, Paul's house felt like home. She closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, Paul's arms wrapped around her and lifted her up. She was asleep before he laid her on the bed.
The first few days home from the hospital were rough, but eventually things smoothed out. By the end of the next week, Elizabeth was sleeping soundly again. By the end of the second week, she could have never been ill.
And Paul couldn't put it off anymore. He had to go to South America. Senor Sabatini had called twice, and twice Paul had put him off. The man was trying a third time when Rachel stopped at the door of Paul's study one night.
"Si, Senor. Si. Si. She is feeling much better, but I'd like to give it another week before I come out. I just don't— want to—"
He nodded his head and motioned for Rachel to come in. She was ready for bed, her soft white robe wrapped around her figure with a closeness Paul envied. She took the chair in front of his desk and waited for him to finish.
"Yo comprendo, Senor, pero—"
A rapid burst of Spanish on the other end of the line stopped Paul's explanation. With a resigned "Adios," he hung up the phone.
"Mr. Sabatini?" Rachel asked.
"I'm afraid so," Paul answered. "He's not leaving me a choice anymore, Rachel. I have to go to Buenos Aires. As soon as possible."
"Of course. But why didn't you tell me he'd called before?" she asked, her voice full of curiosity.
"I didn't want to bother you. Elizabeth has kept you busy, and I knew I was going to put him off as long as I could. It wasn't important." Paul frowned and looked down at the papers on his desk. "I can't ignore him any longer, though. He's threatening to pull the project." He lifted his head and stared at Rachel. "You know I can't let that happen."
 The only light in the study was a small desk lamp. The glow seemed to hold the two of them in a circle.
"I can't believe you didn't go when he called the first time." Her eyes were wide and shadowed, and unconsciously she played with the diamond on her finger.
"Why not?" Paul said in surprise. "Did you think I'd leave with Elizabeth sick?"
"William would have." She brought her fingers up to her mouth as if to stop the words, but it was too late. They'd already escaped.
Paul rose and moved around the desk to stand before her. "I'm not William."
"I'm well aware of that," she said softly. "In more ways than you know."
The words cut deeply, but there was nothing Paul could do. He turned and gathered his papers. "I'll be leaving in the morning before you get up."
His curtness seemed to jolt her, and he heard her rise from her chair. She put her hand on his arm and stopped his nervous collection. "I'm sorry, Paul. I didn't meant that the way it sounded. What I meant was that William would never have turned down a client's request. I... I think that says a lot about you, and in fact, that's why I came in here tonight. I wanted to tell you how much your help means to me. These past few weeks have just been awful, and you've stood by me all the way. I... I really do appreciate it." A half smile on her face, she dropped her hand from his arm and clutched the open neck of her robe. "You're going to make some lucky woman a terrific husband."
Her appreciation was nice, but he didn't want it. Gratefulness was something you gave a stranger. He wanted her love. He stared at her, trying to memorize each and every feature of her face so he could recall it when he was halfway around the world, then he spoke quietly. "I already am a husband."
Rachel climbed the stairs slowly. With each and every step, she mentally shook her head. In a million years, she could never imagine William even thinking about telling a client no. Paul had not only said it, he meant it.
And unexpectedly, that made everything even more painful. He really was a caring, loving person. If she'd had any doubts before Elizabeth had turned ill, Rachel had none now. Everything Paul had done for the sick baby had made his true nature more and more obvious. When he fell in love with someone, really fell in love, that woman would be blessed.
But that woman wouldn't be Rachel.
A lump blocked off part of her throat as she reached the nursery door. What had she been thinking about when she'd let him make love to her? It had made everything so complicated, so nerve-racking. She knew she was rehashing things, thinking too much about a situation she couldn't change now, but if they'd just left things as they'd been—a business arrangement and nothing more—then she wouldn't even be thinking the thoughts she was having now. The need to feel comforted, the need to have a set of caring arms around her, had overwhelmed her better judgment, and now... now she was filled with emotions she'd never thought she'd have. Emotions for him. Like respect. Like admiration. Like love.
All the things she knew he didn't feel for her.
And never would.
She crossed the darkened room to stand beside the baby's bed. Moving restlessly, Elizabeth murmured softly, then began to snuffle, a sure prelude to waking unless Rachel did something to prevent it. Grateful for the excuse to pick the baby up, Rachel leaned over the railing and scooped her into her arms. She loosened her robe, then nestled into the rocking chair, the baby's warm body cuddled against her breasts, Rachel's bedroom slippers touching then leaving the carpeted floor.
She didn't know who was being comforted more—her or Elizabeth.
One thing was for sure. Rachel could not let herself fall in love with Paul. They had an agreement, and to think now that there could be more between them was foolish. She had no trouble at all remembering his words the night of their wedding when he'd given her his mother's diamond.
If there's one thing I can't abide it's a person who changes the rules in the middle of the game. I won't do that to you... and I certainly don't expect you to do that, either.
Did she really think he'd understand if she not only changed the rules, but wanted to change the whole game?
She let her eyes go to the window of the nursery. In the inky distance of the winter night, the tops of the snowcapped mountains seemed to hover magically, as if there was nothing beneath them to hold them up. They appeared suspended. Just like her. Caught between her emotions and her logic.
He'd done so much for her. Marriage almost seemed to be the least of it now, although if anyone had told her that months ago, she would have said they were nuts. That was before they'd shared everything they had, though. The great things, like knowing the adoption was going through, and the bad things, like Elizabeth's illness and the relief of knowing she'd be all right.. .and the small things as well— like Rachel's ability to burn everything in the kitchen and the little tiff they'd had over the morning newspaper. And then finally.. .what could you say about that night, the single night, they'd made love for hours?
It seemed like it had never happened.
But she couldn't get it out of her mind.
A sound caught her attention, and she jerked her gaze from the window to the door. Silhouetted by the dim light from the hall, Paul stood in the doorway.
On silent feet he crossed the room until he stood before her. For what seemed like a very long time, he looked down at her—at her and the baby—then slowly, he knelt down in front of the rocker.
Elizabeth brought a fist up to her eyes and rubbed them once, then she reached out and grasped a handful of Rachel's silken nightgown. Pulling it toward her face, the baby revealed the tops of Rachel's breasts.
Rachel glanced down, then back up at Paul. His face was shadowed, but she didn't need to see it to know his expression. She'd seen it before—once before—when they'd made love.
With the tips of his fingers, he reached out and touched Rachel's chest. His hand spanned her width and five points of heat radiated out.
By the time he leaned over to kiss her, she was ready.
She was ready with her argument. She was ready to stop him.
She was ready to explain why this wasn't something they should do.
Then his lips met hers and she forgot everything else.
His mouth was warm and tender, but at the same time possessive and strong. The kiss deepened, then she felt his strength as his hands gripped her shoulders. The lotion she always rubbed into her skin after bathing made his fingers glide against her skin. Her body responded strangely to his touch. It was as if she'd known and felt his hands upon her for a thousand years, but at the same time, the excitement brought by a stranger's touch tensed within her.
He lifted his lips from hers for a second, then kissed her again, as if he couldn't bear to tear his lips from hers. Finally, he did—and his eyes were hot as they stared into hers.
"I want you," he said softly, quietly. "I want you, Rachel, and I don't think I can last much longer without doing something about it. Put the baby in her crib, then come to bed with me."
We can't, she wanted to say. Not again. It's too damned hard knowing what I'll be giving up, what I can't have.
"I know you feel the same way," he said, not waiting for her answer. "I know you do." In the dim reflection of the light from the hall, she could see the darker spokes within his eyes widen until there was nothing but blackness. Blackness filled with passion and untouched by reason. His grip tightened on her shoulders, almost painfully so. "Tell me you feel the same way," he whispered urgently.
She stared at him, her heart fighting a battle against the darker sensations running through her body. As if feeling her indecision, he lifted her up from the chair, the child between them. He kissed her again. Even deeper this time, his tongue flicking over hers as his hands left her shoulders to encircle her waist.
Her entire body felt electrified, and she could have sworn that somehow, with his hands, he'd managed to create, then control, a current that had now entered her and taken over.
Without saying a word, her mouth answered his question, and when he raised his face and looked at her once more, he realized what that answer was. Without another word, he took the baby from her and gently put her down in the crib. The next thing Rachel knew, he'd picked her up and swung her into his arms. They headed for his bedroom. 
Chapter 12
There was no light outside—it was pitch black—but Paul made his way unerringly toward his bed, Rachel cradled in his arms. She had her hands locked behind his neck and her eyes locked on his face. At the side of the bed, he stopped, then gently laid her down.
"I'm going to make love to you," he said softly. "I'm going to kiss you, to touch you, to make you think about nothing else... but us."
"And when it's over?" she asked. "What am I going to think about then?"
"We'll worry about that then," he said, his voice a husky whisper. He bent his head to hers and kissed her once again.
Her mouth parted and Paul let himself get lost in the promise the touch delivered. He thought he might have imagined the way her lips had felt against his, but he hadn't, and once again he realized what a choice his heart had made when his mind had not been watching.
With his mouth still on hers, Paul ran his hands up to her shoulders. He slipped her gown from them to reveal skin so soft he could barely believe it. There was no question, however, that the woman was more than real. She murmured and turned, her lips moving under his.
He lifted his head to stare at the length of her, and slowly, with just one finger, he trailed his touch down her shoulder, along the side of her breast, then over the curve of her hip. "You're so beautiful," he murmured. "So perfect."
In the darkness, he could see her expression shift, but he couldn't read it. Had William never told her? An image flitted through Paul's mind, but he banished it instantly. He didn't want three people in his bed.
Lowering his mouth to Rachel's neck, he began a slow, sensual exploration. He wanted to make the moment last, to go as slow as he needed to go. Her hands dropped to his chest as if she agreed with him, and ever so gently they began to drift over his skin. He held his breath as she ran her fingers over his nipples, then suddenly he let it out and followed her lead, his own hands reaching for her breasts and their dark centers. For a moment, he felt their pebbled texture in his fingers, then he gave in to temptation and replaced his hands with his mouth.
Rachel moaned, and he could feel the sound as well as hear it. The vibration set something off within him, something deep and primitive that he couldn't control, and before he knew it, Paul felt his desire rising.
Rachel sensed the change, as well. She moved beneath him, her hands turning quick and light as they fluttered lower, then lower still until she was holding him in her grip. Raising his head from her breast, he echoed her earlier sound and grasped her waist with his hands. Her hands worked on him, fast and faster still. With a cry, he reached down and stopped her motion.
As if he'd done nothing, she murmured and pulled him closer. Her fingers dancing over his legs, his chest, his entire body, she followed her touch with kisses, kisses so light and soft he couldn't tell which was which—her hands or her lips.
Only one thing was for sure. He couldn't take much more.
Taking her shoulders in his hands, Paul brought Rachel closer to him. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder and nipped at the skin. He found her delicate ear and outlined it with his tongue.
Her moans became deeper, deeper and faster, and with a cry, Paul rolled beside her and brought her with him until she rested on top of him. She gazed down at him, her hair hanging around them like a silver curtain, blocking out what little light there was. The isolation was complete. Nothing existed in the world except the two of them.
And when he entered her, even that disappeared. They were no longer separate people; they became, instead, a single entity, a single reality, that meshed and merged until only one existed.
With one accord, they moved. In unison. Together. Simultaneously.
And for the rest of his days, Paul knew he would remember the moment for what it was—the beginning of his life.
For countless heartbeats, they rocked together, both hearing the ageless rhythm and responding to it. His hands on her breasts, Paul closed his eyes and moaned. Rachel echoed the sound, arching against the touch until both of them knew they couldn't last any longer. Together they opened their eyes and stared.
And a second later, Rachel collapsed against his chest, spent. Paul wrapped his arms around her, and with a guilty heart he shamelessly thanked God for making Rachel his wife—if only for a little while.
He was gone when she woke up. A note beside the bed said it all.
Dearest Rachel,
I couldn't leave without letting you know how much last night meant to me. I'm well aware that you asked me not to do this again, but somehow we both lost that knowledge in the heat of the moment. I can't say I regret it. I don't. But I can promise you I won't let it happen again. By the time I return, this complication will be over and you will be able to move on with your life.
The next two weeks passed like a bad dream for Rachel. Parts of it took forever, hours that crawled by and minutes that felt like years. At other times, she panicked with the speed of the days.
Thank God Elizabeth demanded a great deal of time. The baby kept Rachel from thinking about the things she didn't want to think about but couldn't seem to keep from her mind.
The weather turned unexpectedly warm, and Emma and Abe came to visit. From across the park where she and Emma now sat, Rachel watched Abe put the baby on a hobbyhorse and bounce her gently on its hard plastic back.
"She's recovered nicely," Emma said, her knitting needles clicking in the still-crisp air. "Looks like she was never even sick."
Closing her eyes, Rachel nodded absently. After weeks of snow, the bright sun felt good. "They say kids heal quickly. I guess that's true."
The distant hum of a car's engine rumbled down the street behind them, and in the air, a whiff from a burning fireplace seemed to linger. The leaves in the tree above them whispered.
"Have you heard from Paul?"
Emma's question hung with the other sounds, suspended in time and place. Slowly Rachel opened her eyes, but she didn't look at her aunt. "Yes. He called a few days ago."
The needles ticked, one against the other. "How is he?"
"He's fine," Rachel said quietly. She was staring across the park, but instead of trees and a playground, she saw dark eyes and a sharp-planed face. "He said the work was going well. He'll probably be home in another week or so."
"Then he'll be here for the party."
Emma's tone was casual, but Rachel knew how much the coming event meant to her. The ladies in her church had insisted on giving her and Abe a party when they'd found out their fortieth anniversary was coming up. Despite Emma's gruff words of protest when told about the event, Rachel knew the older woman had been thrilled.
"Yes. He'll be there," Rachel said. "Forty years—that's an anniversary that's definitely worth celebrating." As she spoke, Rachel's diamond caught the sun and sparkled points of light into her eyes. In forty years, where would it be? On some other woman's finger? A woman Paul really loved? And where would Rachel be? Alone, most likely, Elizabeth grown up and with a family of her own to keep her busy. Rachel crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest.
Emma pulled against the ball of ivory wool that rested beside her on the park bench. "I told the restaurant to expect fifty people, so I just wanted to make sure."
"Emma?" Rachel's voice was hesitant.
"Hmm?"
"Uh... how did you know... uh..."
Emma continued to knit. "I counted the RSVPs that have come in so far and then I—"
Rachel laughed nervously. "No," she said, "that's not what I mean." She played with the diamond ring on her left hand, turning it over and over. "What I was going to ask was how did you know you loved Abe? I mean, was it like a bolt of lightning or did it sneak up on you gradually? How did you know?"
The clicking slowed to a different rhythm, then stopped altogether. Emma looked up and focused on the man in the red jacket across the park. He raised one arm and waved to them both. "I didn't know," she said. "I just woke up one day and realized I couldn't live without him." She turned her head and looked at Rachel, a curious glint in her hazel gaze. "Are you falling in love with Paul?" she asked bluntly.
Rachel's back straightened. She recrossed her arms and opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but no sound came out.
"You are, aren't you? You have that look," the older woman said without a trace of self-doubt in her voice. "That look in your eye that I kept hoping to see when you were married to William... but never did."
"I loved William." And she had. Just last week Rachel had pulled out some old photos and stared at them to make sure. But she was so confused now. "I loved him," she repeated.
"I know you did." Silence. "But not like you're loving Paul." More silence. "And it scares you."
Rachel thought about lying, but only for a second. Her eyes filled with tears and gave her emotions away. Loving William had been like taking a walk—long, slow, steady. Loving Paul was like riding a roller coaster—faster and much more dangerous to her heart. Dashing a finger under her lashes, she looked across the park. "I... I didn't expect it to happen," she said, her voice choking on the words. "I feel guilty and tangled up about it all. It doesn't seem right to fall in love so quickly after William.... I just didn't think..."
Her hands fell loosely into her lap, and Emma covered them with one of her own, the older woman's skin dry and paper-thin. "That's your problem, Rachel. You're thinking too much. Just let it happen."
"Even if more time had passed, there're other problems. I can't love him, Emma." Rachel's voice trembled. "When the adoption is final, we're going to divorce."
"Why? If you love the man, why divorce him?"
"Because he doesn't love me," Rachel said, her throat closing. "He married me because he wanted to help me, not because he loved me. It wouldn't be fair to tie him to me for the rest of his life. I can't. Not when he's done so much for me already. I promised him part of the business—not my heart, for God's sake.''
"Does he know how you feel?"
Rachel shook her head quickly. "No. At least, I don't think so."
"Then maybe you should tell him."
Tell him? Tell Paul she was beginning to love him, to need him, to want him in her bed all night long? The thought of confession tantalized Rachel, but just as quickly as it came, she forced it away. She'd already asked him for too much. How could she ask him for love, as well?
Almost every flight to the United States from Buenos Aires landed in Miami, and they were always packed. This one was no exception. The plane couldn't have held one more person. At 6:00 a.m., as the plane made its final approach to the Florida airport, Paul stared at the passengers around him who were reluctantly opening their eyes and realizing they would soon land. The children were fussy, their fathers wore chin stubble, and their mothers stared wearily into compact mirrors. For the most part, though, there was an air of excitement. Miami was their first stop. Their second would be Disney World.
All around him was the evidence. Goofy suitcases, travel guides with Epcot on the cover, even a five-year-old across the aisle sound asleep with Minnie Mouse ears already clamped on her head. Smiling to himself, Paul watched her a second longer, then turned his eyes to the window beside him. What he wouldn't give to take Elizabeth there. He could just imagine those big blue eyes opening wide and taking it all in. She'd giggle and laugh and exhaust them all.
They'd be a real family. With the smell of candy and popcorn in the air, Rachel would be by his side, wearing something summery and sexy. They'd be pushing Elizabeth through the park and laughing in the bright sunshine. And afterward, when Elizabeth was all played out and sound asleep, he'd order room service...for two. With candles and fresh flowers and chocolate souffle for dessert.
The captain's voice boomed over the intercom and shattered Paul's thoughts. Just as well, he thought, tightening his seat belt. The fantasy would never come true.
Despite their lovemaking, Paul knew Rachel didn't really love him. He'd caught her a few days before he'd left staring at some old photos of her and William. The expression on her face had been enough to answer all the questions Paul had ever thought of asking.
As if he could erase the vivid image, Paul brought his hand up to his eyes and rubbed them.
But it stayed with him—all the way from Miami to Denver.
Paul looked exhausted. And worried. And thoroughly ill at ease.
Rachel rose from the table and began to clear the dishes. "I made some cheesecake this morning," she said. "Would you like a piece or are you ready to rack out?"
"I'd love a piece," he said with a smile that belied the bags under his eyes. Glancing toward the baby in her high chair, he reached out and let her grab his fingers. "I've never had blackened cheesecake before. Have you, Elizabeth?"
Rachel's eyebrows shot into the air and she threw him a dirty look. "Thanks a lot. We worked hard on this dessert, I'll have you know. Even Rusty helped."
Paul rolled his eyes. "Oh, boy. I can't wait to taste it, then. What'd he do—stir the batter with his tail?"
Elizabeth laughed out loud, then banged her silver spoon against the table, a garbled word coming out of her that sounded exactly like "yabby-dabba-do." Rachel and Paul laughed with her, their eyes meeting over the baby's head. Rachel's anxiety lifted, and she let herself enjoy the moment for what it was.
Their laughter died quickly, though, as Paul let his hand drift to Elizabeth's downy head. "You know, I think she's grown. I was only gone a month, but she looks bigger to me.
He sounded almost sad. Rachel turned to look at him after she pulled the dessert plates from the cabinet and got two forks out. Was he wondering about the time they had left? Impossible. She stared down at the cake on the table—swirls of chocolate and vanilla with crushed almonds on top—it didn't look as good as it had a moment before, even though she'd worked on it all morning long.
"She is growing fast," Rachel agreed, taking a deep breath. "And that's one of the reasons I fixed the cake. We're celebrating you coming home and her nine month birthday." She paused. "There's one more reason we're celebrating tonight, though. I heard from Sylvia while you were gone. The court date's been set. A month from now, the adoption should be final."
Paul's dark eyes lit up with delight, and a big grin split his face. He jumped up from the table and grabbed Rachel, his arms going around to hug her tightly. "That's fantastic, Rachel. My God—it's wonderful!" Loosening his grip, but keeping his arms around her, he looked down at her, a puzzled expression beneath his pleasure. "Why on earth did you wait till now to tell me? You should have greeted me at the door with that good news."
She wondered that herself. Had wondered since the minute he'd walked inside. It was everything she'd worked toward—the very reason they were together—but she'd found herself almost reluctant to tell him after that first blush of ecstatic joy when she'd talked to the attorney this morning. By that afternoon, she realized why.
As wonderful as the news was, it also meant something else, as well—the end to their relationship.
But she couldn't tell him that.
 "It is great," she said finally, avoiding his eyes and pulling away from him, "but I guess I can't relax until it's all over. Too many bad thing's have happened that I haven't been prepared for."
"I understand," he said slowly. "More than you realize. .. I understand."
A coolness sprang up instantly between them, and Rachel was grateful for it as he moved toward the baby and stood with his back to her. She picked up the knife and began to slice the cake into generous pieces. Her hand trembled. "How did things go in Buenos Aires?" she managed to ask.
"It's looking very good. If the well comes in as big as we think it will, St. James will be set." He turned around. "You'll be set. For life."
"And the investors?"
"Happy as the proverbial clams." He took the plate of cheesecake she offered him and picked up a fork. "When William put in the bid for that field, I thought he was a fool. Looks like he wasn't, though. At least not in that department."
Paul had never said anything like that about William before. Rachel jerked her gaze to Paul's face, but he wore a neutral expression that told her nothing. Maybe the negotiations hadn't gone quite as smoothly as he'd made out, after all.
"And Senor Sabatini?" she asked. "How is he?"
"Glad to see me. He was afraid he was losing his backers when I didn't show up on time. I spent half my time reassuring him that we had every intention of honoring the contract."
"And all the fine print in it."
He gave her a small smile and nodded his head. "All the fine print."
"You can pass the good news on at Abe and Emma's big event next week," Rachel said, slicing her fork into the cake that no longer held her interest. "They're friends with a lot of the investors of St. James. I'm sure they'll be at the party."
"Party?"
She looked up. "They're celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary next Friday with a big party. The ladies of the church are giving it for them."
"Twenty years..." His voice drifted off, and in the silence, the refrigerator hummed. Elizabeth buried her fingers in her cake. Rusty thumped his tail against the floor. "Hard to imagine being married twenty years, isn't it?"
Rachel looked up into his eyes. There was nothing in the world she rather do than celebrate a twentieth anniversary with Paul Delaney.
And no way in the world was it ever going to happen. 
Chapter 13
The parking lot was full by the time Rachel and Paul pulled into the restaurant's drive. At the door, the valet took the car keys and Paul unstrapped Elizabeth from the seat in the back. Watching him, Rachel wondered if they'd done the right thing in bringing her to the party. It hadn't seemed like a good idea to her, but Abe and Emma had practically told them not to come if they didn't bring Elizabeth, too.
Rachel didn't really care, though. Tonight—just for tonight—she wanted to pretend that everything between the three of them was just the way it appeared to the outside world. She was a loving, wonderful mother who made their home perfect in every way. Elizabeth was the child they'd always wanted and would grow up to be every parent's dream. And Paul? Paul's role was that of the caring, attentive husband who anticipated his wife's every wish and made it come true before she even knew she wanted it.
It was a fantasy, she knew. In reality, no one had that kind of life, but Rachel didn't care. Tonight she was going to pretend.
Paul straightened up, and with the baby in his arms, he crossed the sidewalk to join Rachel. He looked so handsome, so sophisticated, that she felt her heart turn over inside her chest. And Elizabeth posed in his arms like a little princess, turning her head this way and that, checking out the other guests arriving at the door as if she couldn't quite decide who to allow in and who to refuse. The white organza of her dress spread over Paul's tuxedoed arm, and near her collar, he'd pinned a tiny red rosebud—a miniature of the one he'd pinned on Rachel's black sheath just before they'd walked out their door at home.
He reached her side on the steps of the restaurant and smiled. "Ready for this?"
She shook her head. "I'm not sure."
"Why not? Don't you see everyone looking at you?" His chest almost seemed to swell as he spoke. "You're the most gorgeous woman here."
Rachel grinned up at him and took his arm.
A few minutes later, they entered the private room the church women had reserved. Beautifully decorated with pale roses and greenery, each table held a trio of small candles in the center. Gold-edged plates ringed the table's edge like a beautiful woman's bracelets, and in between the silver cutlery gleamed and sparkled. Waiters circulated among the crowd with laden trays, some holding tall flutes of champagne, others presenting tantalizing assortments of hors d'oeuvres. The women looked so proud—of their efforts and themselves. Everyone looked lovely.
Abe came to Rachel and Paul the minute they entered the door, a beaming smile showing his delight. "Would you look at this!" he crowed. "If she isn't the cutest little thing I've seen in all my days, I swear I don't know what is! Come on over here to your big ole Uncle Abe, sweetheart."
With fickle disregard for the man whose arms were already around her, Elizabeth cooed and laughed and held her hands out for Abe. Rachel watched as Paul almost unwillingly handed the baby over. A quick nod to Rachel and Paul, then Abe waded into the crowd of guests, Elizabeth's sweet face pulling everyone around him like a magnet.
Paul looked down at Rachel. "I've been jilted."
"Don't worry," Rachel said with a grin, "when they're sixteen and their car breaks down, it's always Daddy they call."
"I wouldn't mind," he said thoughtfully, his eyes following Abe's progress across the floor. "I wouldn't mind one little bit."
But he wouldn't be around, Rachel thought. To not
mind or get mad. He wouldn't be around because they
would have divorced before then and he'd be with someone else. Someone he really loved. Someone he might even
have other children with. The thought tore at Rachel's
heart with angry claws, but she fought it off. Not tonight,
she insisted, not tonight	
"There's Mr. and Mrs. Stanley. I'd better go talk to them. I'd like them to know about the South American deal. You don't mind if I leave you alone for a few minutes, do you?" His dark eyes looked down at her with the question.
"No, no," she said. "You go ahead. I know you need all the help you can muster right now. I'll be just fine."
 He started off across the room, but stopped once to look back at her. She wiggled her fingers, then he continued, and she took a glass off the next tray that came by.
For the next half hour, Rachel mingled with the guests. Many of them she hadn't seen in quite some time. There were the Grahams, her parent's closest neighbors and friends; the Moores, stalwarts of the church; and even the Haskells, distant cousins Rachel hadn't seen in years. By the time the meal was ready to be served, she'd seen and talked to just about everyone.
While she was in the process of locating her seat, an older man Rachel didn't recognize came up. His bright blue eyes flashed at her from beneath a full head of snow-white hair, hair so long it dipped below the starched collar of his pleated white shirt. His right hand gripped an ivory-topped cane with a silver tip, and she couldn't help but notice the enormous gold seal ring that almost covered one blue-veined knuckle.
"Mrs. Delaney," he intoned.
His voice was deep and gruff, and he wore a fierce expression, a perpetual one, from the looks of it. "Yes," she said with a smile despite his attitude.
"I'm Bartholomew Willis," he said. "And I've been wanting to talk to you."
The name registered instantly. Bartholomew Willis was one of the biggest investors in St. James Development, but Rachel had never met the man. He rarely went out, William had told her, but with his kind of money, he didn't have to.
"Mr. Willis," she said at once. "I'm so delighted to meet you. William always spoke highly of you."
"He damned well should have," the older gentleman shot back. "I gave him enough of my money to raise the Titanic."
 She was taken aback, but only for a second. William had said Mr. Willis could be a crusty old goat, but underneath he was really a lamb. "Well, he obviously made it back for you or you wouldn't have returned to give him more, am I right?"
The blue eyes narrowed and he emitted a sharp laugh. "That's right, little lady. He did at that."
Understanding flashed between them, and they both smiled.
He leaned closer to her. "Understand you've remarried."
Her fingers tightened on her champagne glass. "Yes, sir, I have."
"Damned fine man, that Delaney fellow. Damned fine. He handled a few details for me once or twice and I was most impressed. Most impressed."
Rachel relaxed slightly. "I'm glad to hear that, sir. I'll tell him you said so."
"Don't do that," he barked back. "No good telling a man his worth. If he doesn't already know that himself, it's pointless."
Rachel smiled. "You're probably right about that."
" 'Course I am." He smoothed one hand down his hair, then spoke again. "I was with him that day, you know. Actually in the office when it happened." The blue eyes narrowed. "They sent me packing the minute they could, but I was there.''
Rachel knit her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"I was there. With him," he snapped. "Your husband. When he fell over dead, I was there."
Her hand at her throat, Rachel stared at the man. "I. ..I didn't know."
"Figured as much," he said with one corner of his mouth going down. He blinked rapidly, the blue eyes suddenly brighter than they had been a second before. "My wife, God bless her soul, died twenty years ago on me. Out in the garden. I was in Zimbabwe at the time, taking care of some kind of useless business near Inyanga Falls. Couldn't get back to her for weeks. Maid found her—all alone."
His face seemed to sag momentarily, then he caught himself and looked back at Rachel. "But your husband didn't die that way. He wasn't alone, girlie. That's what I dragged myself over here to tell you. They made me leave, but that Delaney fellow stayed with him until the end, and I know that for a fact."
Rachel felt herself go pale. "Are you sure Paul was there—the whole time?" Her fingers went to her throat. "He never mentioned that to me."
His steely stare took her in as if to ask who she was to question his statement. "I think I'd know who was in the room and who wasn't. I was standing close enough to hear your husband's dying words," the older man said with a huff.
Dying words? "I... I had no idea... I was under the impression—" She stopped herself and fought for control. "Wh-what did he say?"
"He grabbed Delaney by the shirt and told him to watch out for you. To take care of you and that baby." Bartholomew Willis shook his head and glanced toward Paul. "Damned fine fellow, that Delaney. Don't see that kind of responsibility too much these days. Damned fine.''
From across the room, Paul watched the disaster unfold. He suspected what old man Willis was telling Rachel, but there wasn't a damned thing Paul could do about it. Bad memories would flood Rachel, and tonight of all nights, Paul wished it hadn't happened. She deserved a simple good time, not memories of a dying husband. Now she'd want the details he'd tried to keep from her. She'd demand them... and he'd have to tell her the truth... or lie.
And he couldn't do that to her.
Paul watched as she lifted her gaze and searched until she found him. Their eyes met, and a crackle of tension jumped across the crowded room and onto Paul's broad shoulders. He started toward her, then a crystal ringing sounded in the room and Paul turned to see Abe tapping his wineglass from a table near the front. He still held Elizabeth in his arms. "Let's sit down now, folks. Kickoff's about to take place."
Ignoring Abe and pushing his way across the room, Paul almost made it to Rachel before Lucinda Payne, another one of his major investors, grabbed him, her talonlike nails digging into him despite the heavy wool of his suit. "Paul, dear, what is this I hear about the South American deal taking off? Is it true? I need to know, sweetheart, I want to have a few things remodeled."
She wanted some remodeling done, all right, but it wasn't her thirty-room mansion. She kept a plastic surgeon on retainer, or so the rumor went. He made himself stop and smile at the coldly beautiful woman, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel flee the room and his heart sank. "It is true, Lucinda," he said smoothly, "and I'll call you first thing Monday morning and give you every detail, how's that?"
"Over lunch?" she purred.
"Absolutely," he promised. She released his arm with a catlike grin and he headed for the door through which Rachel had disappeared.
She was nowhere to be seen.
He grabbed the hostess and stopped her. "Did you see a woman go through here just a second ago? Black dress, blond hair?"
"No. But you might check in the bar."
He headed that direction, but a quick glance at the crowded room told him Rachel would never have gone in there, even as upset as she was. Turning, he started back into the main dining room, but a flash of black caught his eye. The huge windows of the bar looked out into a small courtyard with a bubbling fountain. In the spring, the owners opened the patio up and set tables around the water. In the fall, they turned on heaters and served drinks at the low bar. Had she stepped out there?
Paul pushed open the door. A white-aproned man stood behind the bar polishing glasses, and when he saw Paul, and the expression on his face, the man tilted his head toward a table at the back. Paul nodded his thanks, then noted with part of his mind that the bartender disappeared through a door at the end of the bar.
She was standing by the table, her arms wrapped around her as if she were cold, despite the heater hanging overhead.
"Rachel?" His voice was tentative. "Are you okay?"
Her throat tight and burning with the effort to hold back her tears, Rachel turned and looked at Paul. In his tuxedo, standing by the fountain, he didn't even appear real, and for a second, Rachel had the weird sensation of being trapped in a movie. Things outside her control were rolling past her, had been for months. She was part of it.. .but she didn't know the script.
"Why didn't you tell me you were with him?" she said bluntly. "When William died... you were there, and you never even told me."
 "The day I came to the house, you were too upset for all the details," he said quietly. "Afterward, things got so crazy with Elizabeth that we never had time to discuss it. Finally, I decided it would accomplish nothing to bring the subject up again. I wasn't trying to hide anything from you, but frankly—in view of everything else that was happening—it didn't seem as important."
"As important?" Her voice trembled then cracked, partially from grief...and partially from guilt. Had she seemed so unconcerned? Had she been that wrapped up in her problems? Surely not. "He was my husband, for God's sake. I have a right to know what happened."
"That's absolutely true, but I told you exactly what happened, Rachel. He had a heart attack. I called the paramedics, but he died before they could get him to the hospital. He... he actually died in his office. They tried to revive him on the way, but it was too late."
She felt the blood drain from her face, felt her cheeks go white. Dizzy and disconcerted, she stared at him. "Go on."
"We were arguing about the South American deal," he said, and swallowed. "William wanted to push it, and I didn't. I told him I thought it was a mistake, but he was determined. In fact, that's when he told me that he'd already taken a second mortgage on your home and borrowed against his life insurance policy. I... I was shocked and told him I felt he was putting you in jeopardy."
"Why?"
Paul blinked and held out his hands. "Well, I think that's obvious, isn't it? He died and look what happened."
"But you had no idea he was going to die. None of us did. He'd been in perfect health for years. That heart attack was totally—" As she spoke, Paul's expression had begun to change, to shift, and slowly the realization came to Rachel. The words died on her lips and she felt her face drain of color. Her fingers fluttered to her throat. "Did you... are you saying you knew... knew he was ill?"
Paul reached out for her but she pulled away awkwardly, her heel scraping against the tile floor with a noise that sounded like a cry. "Did you? Did you know?"
"No," he said. "Not exactly."
"What does that mean—not exactly?" Beneath her fingers her pulse jumped another notch. "Is it like not exactly telling me you were there when it happened?"
He blinked at the harshness in her voice, but when he answered, his own voice remained calm and soft. "There's only one reason I didn't bring the subject up, Rachel. I was trying to spare you. Nothing more."
"I don't want to be spared. I'm not a child. I want the truth... the truth you should have told me at the very beginning."
He took a deep breath, then began to speak. "I was with him one time when he felt bad. He reassured me that it was indigestion. I encouraged him to go to the doctor, but he refused."
Oh, God! Another flash of anger raced through Rachel, and this time, she realized, it was directed not just at Paul, but her dead husband, as well. The uselessness of it all! He could have gotten help... there were drugs or surgeries .. .things that could be done. "Why didn't he tell me?" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have made him—"
"Rachel—stop." Paul put a hand out as if to touch her, then dropped it when he saw her expression. Her actions didn't deter his voice, however. "You couldn't have made William do anything, and you know that. He would have put you off and told you it wasn't important. I couldn't have convinced him, either—even if it had been my business what he was doing to himself, which it wasn't."
The cold truth of what he was saying came down on the fire of her anger. Paul was right—William never listened to anyone, and even if she had known, even if Paul had said something, William wouldn't have done anything. He hated doctors and hospitals, but more than that, he always thought he knew what was best... for himself and sometimes others, as well. Rachel turned, her shoulders slumping. "Did he..." She stopped and cleared her throat. "Was he in a lot of pain?"
"I don't think so, Rachel. It was... fast."
She turned to face him. He moved forward, but she stepped back and away again, adding to the distance between them. "I want to know what he said. His exact words."
In the dim light of the patio, Paul's jaw tightened and his lips went together. For a second, she didn't think he'd answer her, then finally he spoke, his voice husky with obvious reluctance. "Are you sure you want to drag all this up?"
Her eyes blurred with tears; she knit her fingers together in front of her to keep them steady. It didn't work. Gleaming like ivory against the blackness of her dress, they still shook as she waited. "I've got to know," she answered. "Tell me." Her heart beat with the words. Tell me. Thump. Thump. Tell me. Thump. Thump.
Instead of speaking, Paul moved off to one side and stared past her to the mountains in the distant night. For a long time, he was quiet, then finally, he spoke with his eyes closed. "His last thought was for you and Elizabeth. He was obviously very worried about the two of you, and he made it quite clear that he loved you both—deeply."
She felt his gaze turn to her but she didn't look at him. She stared instead at the majestic shadowed mountains, her chin up, her shoulders back.
"He'd fallen. He was lying on the carpet. I'd already called for the ambulance and the place was crowded—secretaries, office people, mass confusion. He said something and I couldn't hear him even though I was kneeling right beside him. He reached out and I leaned closer to him." Paul stopped, cleared his throat, then continued. "He repeated your name—once, then twice. I nodded and started to stand because I thought he wanted me to telephone you. He became even more agitated so I stopped and that's when he spoke. He said, 'Take care of her.. .the baby, too.'" Paul held up his hands in a gesture of finality. "That was it."
The words hung in the air for just a moment. Rachel hadn't really believed Bartholomew Willis. William had told her the older man liked to exaggerate, and she'd assumed he was making the story up. Making it dramatic. When she'd seen the look on Paul's face as he'd watched her talking with Willis, she'd known then that there was something to the investor's words. But she hadn't been willing to accept them.
Now she knew. He'd been telling the truth.
The reality of the situation began to sink in—slowly, heavily—like rocks settling into the bottom of her stomach. Everything Paul had done, he'd done because William had told him to. With his dying words, her husband had instructed Paul to take care of her, to take care of Elizabeth.
What else could he have done when she proposed, but accept?
Slowly she turned her head and looked at Paul, the dreams she'd harbored going up in smoke. A real relationship with him? Impossible. He could never love her. Love and pity didn't mix. Just like love and obligation didn't go together.
He looked miserable as he spoke, his forehead furrowed, the corners of his eyes fanning with wrinkles. "In retrospect, I can see I made a mistake. I should have told you I was there, exactly what William said. But I felt like you'd had enough sorrow already. I thought that talking about his death would just be painful for you. And I wanted to protect you from that as much as I could. Especially after all the problems arose with Elizabeth." He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe I should have told you after the wedding, but that didn't seem like the time, either. I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. That's the last thing in this world I would want to do. Please believe me, Rachel. I'd never hurt you. I—"
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "It doesn't matter," she said quietly. "It's in the past. Over, done with. Nothing either one of us says now is going to make any difference." She paused. "It was a mistake, but I made one or two myself. Like letting us make love. I should never have let that happen. Our agreement—"
"We were both in that bed, as I recall, and besides—" his eyes searched her face, and she felt their gaze as if it were a caress "—maybe that agreement wasn't so great to begin with. Maybe—"
"No." She shook her head and interrupted him. "We can't go back. We can't undo the things we've already done."
"But we could go forward—in a different direction."
Her heart stopped, then painfully, slowly, it began again. She shook her head. "You don't mean that, Paul. Not really. You were fulfilling an obligation, helping me out—just like William had requested."
 "But I—"
"No." Her fingers tightened on his arm, then she dropped her hand. "It's too late. Relationships aren't based on pity, and they aren't shaped around business deals."
He wrapped his fingers around her shoulders. "We have more than that between us, Rachel. How can you say—"
She shook her head. "Let me go, Paul," she said softly. "Just let me go."
Somehow she got through the rest of the night.
But nothing Rachel had ever done was as hard, and by the time she and Elizabeth and Paul got into the Mercedes and he headed it home, Rachel thought she would fall apart. She didn't, though. She made it home, she bathed the baby, she bathed herself, and then she fell apart. In her bed, in the dark, where no one could see or hear.
Why?
Why had she ever thought she and Paul could have a real relationship?
Burying her face into her pillow and trying to stifle her tears, Rachel asked herself the question over and over. Why had she thought they could love each other? He'd told her in the beginning that he felt an obligation to William. Had she been so sure of herself that she'd thought she could change pity into passion? Turn obligation into love? She had absolutely no reason whatsoever for being disappointed.
He didn't love her.
And she told herself—long into the night—that she didn't love him, either.
The phone rang early the next morning. Sylvia's voice was full of excitement. "The court date's been set! Next Friday, 10:00 a.m.—Elizabeth will be all yours, Rachel. All yours!"
Paul sat beside the window looking into the backyard. The day had turned beautiful, a perfectly clear sky with warm sunshine and a cool breeze, and Rachel and Elizabeth were taking advantage of it. Walking across the backyard in a billowing skirt and sweater, holding the baby and laughing, Rachel looked like something from an old-fashioned painting. The image twisted inside of his heart with a painful catch. There would be few sights like that in his future.
The adoption was final.
The whole affair had been ridiculously simple, and he still couldn't believe it was actually over.
He and Rachel had met at the courthouse early this morning, and in no time at all, the papers had been signed, sealed and delivered. With Sylvia beaming beside them, Rachel and Paul had watched Judge Magruder sign her name. Rachel had worn a smile, but something had been behind her eyes, something he couldn't read.
Their conversation at Abe and Emma's party had ended any hope Paul had that Rachel might want to stay with him after the adoption. She'd made it more than clear that she didn't think they had a future together. The reality of this tore into him, but there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't make the woman love him. It had to come naturally or it wouldn't come at all. He'd thought briefly of telling her how much he really loved her, but what was the point? He'd only end up humiliating himself. A part of him felt the heavy weight of guilt, as well. Discussing William's final words had made Paul realize what he'd done... he'd taken advantage of William's inadvertent blessing. The real truth was Paul had always loved Rachel—even when she was married. William hadn't known that, of course, but if he had, would his final words have been different?
The phone at his side rang, and Paul reached out slowly. He knew who it was—he'd been waiting for the call just as Rachel had been waiting for Sylvia's.
He wasn't disappointed.
"The well is a good one, Senor Delaney. You must come south immediately. We'll be waiting." 
Chapter 14
"I packed some of those cookies you like in case you get hungry on the way. You know, those chocolate ones with the marshmallow centers."
Paul folded his coat over his arm and picked up the last of his luggage to take it downstairs. "You didn't bake them yourself, did you?"
Rachel put her hands on her hips and glared at him. She had to. Inside her throat, a big lump was forming—so big that she couldn't say anything without tears coming, too.
He grinned back at her and started down the stairs. She followed behind slowly.
"I've paid all the household bills in advance for the next two months. You shouldn't have any problems with anything, but if you do, call the office. Marilyn will take care of them for you." Paul stopped at the bottom of the stairs and draped his coat over the handrail. From the den, Elizabeth cooed and waved. He waved back and blew her a kiss, and she grinned, one side of her face smeared with the remains of a teething biscuit. He turned and faced Rachel once again. "You've got my numbers in Buenos Aires, don't you?"
Before she could answer, the doorbell buzzed once, then again. "Damn," Paul said, looking toward the door. Once again, their eyes locked. "Those limo drivers are always early. Why can't they be late just once?" He walked quickly to the door, opened it, and told the driver he'd be right out. Turning once more, he went into the den and picked the baby up from her playpen.
Rachel couldn't hear what he was saying, but Elizabeth answered, like always, with a laugh. As the baby grabbed for Paul's nose, Rachel turned around. She couldn't stand to watch anymore; her heart couldn't take another hit.
She struggled to get herself under control, and in another second Paul was by her side, the baby back in her playpen. Rachel looked up at him, then automatically lifted her hand and brushed an errant crumb off his cheek. "Didn't know you liked those crackers," she said. "Maybe I should have packed them instead of the chocolate ones."
He caught her fingers, and for just a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. His eyes darkened and he seemed to move closer to her. Just as quickly, though, he dropped her hand, and she knew she'd imagined—wished for—the caress.
"I wish you'd reconsider," he said.
Her heart lurched, then she understood what he was really saying. "You know I can't."
"But there's no sense in you moving out. I'm not even going to be here for at least two months, probably three. Why leave?"
"We've already discussed this," she said with a gentle smile. "It's time Elizabeth and I found a place of our own. Thanks to your expertise, we can afford it now."
"I'm not sure I had that much to do with it," he answered. "We were just lucky with the well. I should be able to give you a better idea of how lucky once I get down there, but I have a feeling you won't be needing any money for the rest of your life. You're set."
She grappled with the effort to keep her expression cheerful. "And so are you... Mr. President."
He looked over her shoulder out to the mountains for just a second, then swung his gaze back to her. "That still sounds strange to me—you're the primary stockholder of the company. Can't you make me something else? Emperor, maybe?"
'"Fraid not." She paused, then smiled in earnest. "You earned it, that's for sure.''
"It was the easiest way to the top I've ever heard of."
He was being polite—and she didn't think she could bear it. She gripped the banister with both her hands and weathered the awkward silence until she had to ask the question she'd been so carefully avoiding until now. "Do you want me to call a divorce attorney while you're gone or do you want Stuart Thomas to handle... things... for us?"
Paul's steady dark gaze never wavered. "I think Stu would be the best person. But don't call him just yet."
Her heart lurched painfully. "Why?"
"We need to give it some time, Rachel. If we started the proceedings so soon after the adoption, Hollis might get suspicious. Who knows what she'd do." He paused for just a second, then continued, his voice almost husky. "If you have to, move out, but don't call Stu just yet."
"Of course," she said, her hopes plummeting. "That makes perfect sense. "I...I wouldn't want to do anything now that would jeopardize the situation. Not after everything else." 
Paul glanced down at his watch. "Well.. .I guess I'd better head out…"
She nodded. He picked up his coat and headed to the door. She took two steps toward him, then stopped. He turned.
They seemed to be frozen in time, locked in a cold and distant place that neither of them could break away from. Outside, a bird chattered, and in the living room, the baby laughed. Dust motes danced in the light coming through the side pane of the door, and dimly the fact registered in Rachel's mind that Paul was wearing the tie she'd given him for his birthday just last week. The moment stretched between them, stretched and drew out like a golden chain whose links were about to pull apart, then snap.
She knew she shouldn't do it, knew it was a mistake, but Rachel decided she simply didn't care. Paul could think what he wanted to about her. Moving toward him, she reached up slowly with both her hands and cradled his face. His dark eyes opened slightly in surprise, but other than that, he showed no emotion whatsoever.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for everything you've done for me." Never breaking their stare, she went up on her toes and kissed him.
Slowly. Sweetly. Regretfully, she kissed him.
"That one," she said a long heartbeat later, "that one...was for me."
Paul had been gone almost a week when Abe stopped by the house unexpectedly one day. Rachel's heart lifted as she opened the door, and when her uncle's arms went around her in his trademark bear hug, she realized how good it felt—and how lonely she really was in the house on the side of the mountain.
She'd told herself to get used to the feeling. Paul was gone, out of her life, temporarily, of course, but soon enough, for real. They'd each fulfilled their part of the business arrangement, and there was absolutely no other reason for her to be thinking about him.
Except, of course, that she loved him.
She pushed that thought away—as she had a million times already—when Abe stepped inside. "What on earth are you doing here?" she said. "I'm delighted, but you should have called first. We might have missed you and I would have hated that."
"It was a spur of the moment trip." Abe reached inside his coat pocket and flourished an envelope in front of her face. "Guess what I have here?"
"Tickets to the Broncos' next game?"
"Wouldn't pay good money to see them right now." His blue eyes twinkled. "Better than that."
On all fours, Elizabeth rounded the corner. Seeing her great-uncle, she rocked back on her diapered behind and burst into a torrent of conversation, then looked at him expectantly. He laughed and bent down to her level. "No, sweetheart, it's not that, either."
He swept her into his arms and headed into the living room, looking back at Rachel as he stopped in front of the big picture window. "No more guesses?"
He seemed so happy and so excited, it was almost infectious, but she simply couldn't think of another thing. "I'm stumped," she said. "You tell me."
Leaning over and kissing the baby, he prolonged the moment, then answered. "I'll give you a hint. It's an anniversary present for Emma. Something really, really special."
"But you already gave her a gorgeous silver necklace. I saw it at the party."
Waving one hand, he dismissed the piece of jewelry. "That was for our wedding anniversary. This is for another anniversary. An even better one."
Mystified, Rachel arched her eyebrows. "Well, I didn't know you had any other anniversaries, and frankly I have no idea what you could get her that would top that necklace. She loved it. I've never seen her cry like she did when she opened that box."
He smiled with contentment. "Yeah, that was a home run, wasn't it?" His expression shifted. "But this is going to be a grand slam!"
As if she couldn't stand waiting any longer, Elizabeth jumped up and down in his arms. "All right," he said laughing, "I'll tell you... I've got two tickets to Tahiti in my pocket. I'm taking Emma on a cruise!"
"Are you kidding?" Rachel laughed and clapped her hands. "Oh, my gosh, she's going to have a fit! What in the world possessed you to do something like that?"
He put the baby down and watched her crawl toward the coffee table. "Well, it's a long story."
Rachel tilted her head. "Then let me get us some coffee."
She came back into the room a second later, two cups on a tray with a thermos beside them. Sitting down beside her uncle, she patted his wide thigh. "This is really something, Abe. To Tahiti?"
He nodded his head and reached for a cup. "I was in the South Pacific right after the war. Took my time coming home, traveled around a bit." He watched her fill up his cup, then nodded as she added two spoons of sugar. "I stopped there—in Tahiti—and it was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen in my life. Truly a paradise. I swore one day I'd go back with a woman I loved, but in the meantime I came home, married my first wife and promptly forgot about it."
Rachel fixed her own coffee, sipped it and waited expectantly.
For a second he looked down into his cup, then back at her. "By the time I met your aunt, Tahiti was a dream I'd forgotten. Then the other day, by golly, I got one of those travel magazines, and there it was! Couldn't believe it. Had changed a bit, of course, but looked like the paradise I remembered. I'd been looking for a special way to celebrate our anniversary and when I saw those photos I knew exactly what it'd be... I'd take her there. Called the travel agency and bam!" He shook his head in open amazement. "All it took was a credit card."
Rachel couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, that's really all it takes these days. Just a credit card."
He sipped his coffee with a satisfied slurp. "Think she'll like it?"
"Are you kidding? What woman wouldn't? William and I were always going to take a cruise.. .but we never had the time." A pang of disappointment tapped against her heart, then left. History, she thought unexpectedly. Ancient history.
"Well, we've got nothing but time," Abe said, "and I wanted to make this occasion really special."
She tilted her head. "But what anniversary is this?"
He hesitated for only a second, then his blue eyes twinkled and he spoke. "What the hell, you're certainly a grown woman by now, I guess I can tell you." Holding his coffee mug steady, he leaned closer to her as if they were in a room of crowded people and he didn't want anyone else to know. "It's our real anniversary," he whispered. "Not the day we met, not even the day we married. Nope, came lots later than then—it's the day your aunt fell in love with me. That's our real anniversary."
Rachel's breath stopped inside her chest as if a giant hand were squeezing her heart. "I... don't think I understand."
"Your aunt didn't love me when we got married, Rachel. She knew I needed a mother for my kids, and I knew she needed a daddy for you—not to mention someone who could put bread on her table. But I made her fall in love with me." He grinned widely. "Took me a few years, made some fumbles along the way, even lost the ball once or twice. But I did it in the end. And I remember the day it happened."
All Rachel could do was shake her head. It seemed amazing to her that these two people she loved so dearly had such a history behind their relationship, a complete story about which she'd known nothing until the past few months. This time it was she who leaned forward and waited.
He sipped his coffee.
"Well?" she said. "Aren't you going to tell me about it? The day it happened?"
"Well, of course I'm not going to tell you about that." He looked genuinely surprised. "That's private!"
Rachel's laughter burst from her—she couldn't help it. Then she threw her arms around her uncle and hugged him tight. "You're absolutely right," she said, tears behind her chuckles. "That's private."
Abe and Emma left the following week. Rachel and Elizabeth took them to the airport.
"You have our number on the ship, now, don't you?" Emma fussed with her handbag, then glanced up at Rachel.
 Shifting the baby from one arm to the other, Rachel nodded and smiled. "I've got everything. Your itinerary, the numbers, the captain's name. I feel like I'm taking the trip, not you two." She paused. "Maybe I should go."
"Don't be ridiculous," Emma replied sharply. "You couldn't possibly leave right now. You've got too much to do. Remember?"
"That's true," Rachel said slowly. "I've got to find an apartment, then move—"
"Not to mention all that legal business you need to take care of after Paul returns."
Rachel nodded her head. She'd been expecting a lecture from Emma, something along the lines of "I made my marriage work, why can't you?" but instead, her aunt had kept quiet. Which was extremely curious, since Emma said exactly what was on her mind at all times. The trip had been a shocker, though, so maybe she'd had too much on her mind to press. Beyond the words of advice she'd given to Rachel early on, Emma had said absolutely nothing else. It was almost as if she were waiting to see what Rachel would do.
The loudspeaker cackled, and Abe left his station at the window to join Emma and Rachel. "It's time to hit the road. Let's play ball, babe."
He threw his arms around Rachel and the baby, giving them both enthusiastic kisses. Taking Emma's carry-on bag from her, he stood aside.
Emma's lips were dry against Rachel's cheek, the touch brief and soft. "Will you be okay?" Her hazel eyes searched Rachel's.
A lump came into Rachel's throat. They were going to be gone almost two months. Paul was basically out of her life. The only thing waiting for her was an empty house. "We'll be hunky-dory," she said with a smile.
Elizabeth laughed and tried to repeat the words. For days she'd been trying to say something that they all thought sounded like "hunky-dory." Emma smiled, then kissed her again. "Take care." A moment later, they disappeared down the jet way.
She was—as she'd once told Paul—the last one left.
Everyone in her life had gone their separate ways, some seemingly not to even return. She found herself more lonely that she'd ever been in her life.
The nights were the worst. Every evening, the house echoed with a deep, dark silence that seemed to grow with every passing hour. By 3:00 a.m. every night, in the lonely dark, her thoughts always focused on Paul. The questions obsessed her. She wondered what he was doing, who he was with, how his work was progressing.
If he missed her.
Somehow, she managed to get through, day by day, primarily by filling the hours with activity. She cleaned the house constantly, cooked incessantly, and tried to keep Elizabeth out of everything she could reach that she couldn't reach before. The nights didn't get any better, though.
One morning, after a particularly sleepless night, Rachel answered the doorbell's ring, her eyes bleary, her hair a mess. A woman, dressed in a cheerful yellow running suit and holding a plate of cookies, stood on the doorstep. Her long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a tentative smile. "Hi. I'm Mary Lou Nelson. I live across the street. I'm almost embarrassed to come over, but I've been meaning to stop by since you've moved in and just now had the time." She thrust the plate toward Rachel. "These are for you. Welcome to the neighborhood."
Touched, Rachel invited the woman in, and for the next half hour, over coffee and cookies, they got to know each other. In no time at all, they learned they both loved to knit, and that was all it took. They made plans to meet the next week, and Mary Lou promised she'd introduce Rachel to the other women on the block with young children.
When she shut the door behind the woman, Rachel felt a guilty tug. She hadn't even told her that she wouldn't be there much longer.
The more she looked at apartments, though, the less she liked what she saw. Somehow, along the way, Paul's house had become home now, and she didn't want to leave it. At two months—long past the time Rachel thought she'd be gone—she acknowledged the truth.
It wasn't the house she didn't want to leave.
It was the man.
On Wednesday, she washed all the windows.
On Thursday, she cleaned out the basement.
On Friday, she went shopping.
Elizabeth had to have some cooler clothes, Rachel told herself as they pulled into the mall in downtown Denver, and she planned to stay there all day, looking for cotton T-shirts and little shorts.
They found plenty to buy, but by late afternoon, both of them were tired and cranky. When they passed a yogurt shop, Elizabeth started to cry, and Rachel knew it was time for a break. Buying them each a scoop, she maneuvered the stroller to a nearby table, then settled down to feed the baby bites between her own.
She'd taken one and given the baby one when a familiar voice reached her.
"Rachel! I take one day off and guess who I see? My very favorite clients!"
Rachel looked up into the hazel eyes of Sylvia Martin. The adoption attorney had a clothing bag from an exclusive dress store draped over her arm, and another shopping bag clutched in her hands.
"And doesn't that yogurt look yummy? Mind if I join you?"
"If you can stand the mess, we'd love to have you." To make the point, Elizabeth grabbed for the yogurt spoon and pulled it toward her mouth, half the creamy mixture spilling onto Rachel's leg, the other half going down into the depths of the stroller. The women laughed, and Sylvia went to get her own treat.
Two seconds later, she sat down beside them, her own double dip well in hand. "I know I shouldn't be doing this," she said, tilting her head toward the dress bag. "I barely fit in that thing as it is, but I had to have a new dress. Would you believe I've got a date next week?" Her rounded cheeks puffed up and turned cherry pink. "My God, I haven't had a date in a hundred years, but he asked.. .and I said yes!" She shook her head and dug into the yogurt. "I can't believe I said yes."
With a tempo that held no rhythm, Elizabeth beat her hands against the bar on the front of her stroller. The timing was tricky, but Rachel managed to spoon yogurt in between each measure. "Who's the lucky guy?" she asked.
"A doctor who has an office down the hall from me." Sylvia rolled her eyes. "A doctor! My mother always told me to date doctors, but she didn't think I'd wait thirty years to do it."
Rachel smiled. "You've never married?"
"Nope. My mother was bedridden, and I took care of her for many, many years. When she passed away, I decided to make up for lost time and that's when I went to law school. Then I started my practice...and then one day I woke up and I was fifty. No family. No kids. No husband. Just me." She punctuated the last with another spoonful of yogurt. There was no regret in her voice.
Rachel couldn't resist. "Did it bother you? Not to have all that? To be alone?"
"Oh, I wasn't alone! I had tons of friends and more to do than I could possibly keep track of." She leaned over to Elizabeth and tweaked her cheek. "I even had children, in a way." She looked over at Rachel. "Every time I managed to get someone a baby, I felt like I'd added another child to my own family."
She leaned back and took another bite. After a moment she spoke. "I'd be lying, though, if I told you I'd never missed a husband... especially when I see a couple like you and Paul."
Rachel jerked her eyes from the baby to the lawyer. "What... what do you mean?"
"Well, you're obviously deeply in love. I'd like to have a man look at me like he looks at you."
Rachel's mouth fell open. She snapped it shut and prayed the woman hadn't noticed. "Tha-that's an interesting thing for you to notice."
"I didn't," Sylvia said nonchalantly. "Not at first. Hollis was the one who pointed it out to me. She said something else I thought was curious at the time, but clearly she was wrong on the second count."
"What was that?"
"She said you two were in love... but you didn't know it yet." Sylvia scraped the bottom of the paper cup with her plastic spoon, then looked at Rachel with a grin. "Strange, huh? I told her she was crazy. Anyone seeing the two of you kiss that day outside my office would know you were in love...why wouldn't you know it yourself?" She licked her spoon. "An even better question would be why would you marry if you didn't love each other?" Smacking her lips once, the attorney crushed the paper cup and laid it on the table. "There was no good reason I could think of— except love—and that's what I said."
In the chaotic, noisy food court, the two women stared at each other. Rachel had always wondered Did she know? and now she had her answer. Sylvia Martin had known, had been aware, all this time, that Rachel and Paul had married just to keep the baby. The only one they'd really managed to fool had been Hollis. When they parted, Rachel's quick hug of the attorney was more heartfelt than usual.
Late that night, as Rachel bathed the baby, she replayed the conversation in her head. Hollis had thought Rachel and Paul loved each other. Deeply. That was the only reason she'd let her keep Elizabeth. Sylvia had thought better, but—for whatever reasons of her own—had kept her reservations to herself. They must have put on an awfully good show, Rachel thought as she tucked the sleeping baby into her crib. Hollis Sarif was no dummy.
By the time she'd taken her own bath and got into bed, Rachel had managed to turn the question around a hundred times, but each time the words came back to the same question.
Had Hollis seen something in Paul's eyes that Rachel herself had missed? 
Chapter 15
By the time Paul's plane touched down in Denver, he'd accepted reality. He'd had more than two months to wrestle with it, and the truth had finally won.
He couldn't make Rachel love him.
The best he could do was tell himself he'd had her for a little while, and leave it at that. Sooner or later, he'd meet someone else. He'd stop staring at sleek blond women, and he wouldn't track down soft, husky voices to see what their owners looked like. He told himself he'd even get over the urge to smile at sweet little babies that couldn't yet walk, but who loved to laugh. He'd have to be contented with simply seeing his own daughter once a year and knowing there could be nothing more.
He would manage.
It would happen. In time. Lots of time.
And to start the clock ticking, he went straight from the airport to the office. He'd call Rachel from there and tell her he was back in the country. They'd had several awkward telephone conversations, and he knew she was still at the house. He forced himself to pick up the phone and dial, but no one answered.
Ten minutes later, he knew why.
"Paul? When did you get in?"
He jerked his head up at the sound of the voice that had been haunting him. Rachel stood in the doorway to his office. Like the dream he'd had so many times while he was gone, she appeared calm and serene... and as beautiful as ever. A pale blue skirt hugged her slim hips and a soft, almost furry, sweater clung to curves he'd fought to forget. Fought and lost. Lines of confusion were etched across her forehead, and her gray eyes were shadowed. "Why didn't you call me? I—I would have come to the airport and picked you up."
He rose and stepped in front of his desk, his pen still clutched in his fingers. "I didn't want to bother you," he said. His voice was smooth, but inside, he was anything but calm. All he could think about was sweeping her into his arms and crushing her against him. He wanted to taste her lips, to smell her hair, to drink in everything about her that he'd missed so much. He'd been kidding himself, he realized belatedly. There was no way he'd ever get over Rachel. No way in hell.
Unaware of his turbulent thoughts, she moved into his office. "It wouldn't have been a bother. I've missed— we've missed—you. I even found Elizabeth in your room a few times, looking around like she'd lost something. Can you believe it?"
He found himself smiling. "Where is she? I'm dying to see how much she's grown."
"I left her with a new play group we found. There's a bunch of women on the block with kids about her age. We take turns watching all the kids for a few hours."
 "And she likes this?"
"Adores it. She even has a little boyfriend...Eric. He's a redhead a few doors down. I think she's fascinated by his freckles."
Paul nodded seriously. "Those can be attractive. I prefer blondes myself but..."
Outside in the hall, a buzz of conversation droned, then faded. Someone's computer beeped, a fax machine sprang to life, a phone rang then stopped. The tension built between them until Paul could almost see it. Finally, Rachel broke the silence.
"I haven't found an apartment yet. Nothing seems quite right...but I'm still looking." Her gray eyes flashed up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "I guess I'd better get busy, huh?"
While he'd been gone, Paul had thought a lot about her in his house. The images had been so vivid. If he went home now—saw her in the kitchen, smelled her perfume in the air, heard her laughing with Elizabeth—he knew he'd be lost. Forever. He made a quick decision.
Turning back to his desk, he fussed with the papers scattered across them. "Take your time," he said. "I'm going to be really busy the next month or so." He looked up at her now. "There's an all-suite hotel down the road. I think I'll just stay here in town for a while."
Her eyes widened and her fingers flew to her throat. "Oh, Paul, I don't want to run you out of your own house. That's not necessary."
His gaze met hers. "You're not running me out." He paused. "But it is necessary. Things... seem to happen when we sleep under the same roof. I think it might be for the best. Until the divorce is final."
She blinked slowly and pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth. For just a second, he imagined her telling him not to do that, to come home, to be with them... to be her husband like he wanted to be. Instead, she said, "Maybe that is for the best."
He ignored the knot in his throat. "Yes."
"Have... have you called Stu about the papers?"
"Not yet, but I'll do that today."
The awkward silence grew. She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. "Well.. .I guess I'd better go. Let you get back to work." She tapped her fingers against his desk, but made no move to leave.
"There is a lot to do," he said. "The well was very successful. So successful that Senor Sabatini wired the second draft of the payment to our bank here before I even left. He believes the field is going to be extremely profitable, but we won't know for sure until I get down there permanently and can really get things going."
She jerked her head up, and their gazes collided. "You're still going to move down there?"
"I need to." He did need to—not because of the business—but because he had to leave her. To get away. The pain of loving her was too much, and even though now he knew he'd never get over it, at least there he wouldn't be reminded daily of what he didn't have.
"Well..." she said. "When?"
"I'm not sure yet. It depends." In his heart he finished the sentence. On you.
She nodded, then turned and headed toward the door. Paul's heart ached as if someone had actually punched him in the chest. He found himself taking steps after her—almost following her—then she stopped at the doorway and he stopped, too.
Her eyes seemed to fill her face. "Elizabeth's really growing, Paul. I... I can't believe how quickly it's happening. It seems like just yesterday, she was so tiny, so helpless, and now..." "Some things change fast, I guess. Too fast." Her gaze darkened unaccountably—almost as if a shadow went over her features—then she turned once more and quietly shut the door behind her.
It was a dangerous drive home. All the way, her eyes filled with tears, Rachel stared at blurry stop signs and indistinct red lights. When she pulled the car into the driveway and walked into the house, she issued a prayer of thanksgiving that she'd made it safely. Then she burst into tears.
He was going to call Stuart.
Like some kind of avalanche, everything she'd put into motion was gathering speed, gaining momentum. In a matter of weeks, there would be papers to sign, another judge to see.
Then they'd be divorced and it would all be over.
She laid her head down on the glass-topped table and cried some more.
He ate dinner by himself in the hotel dining room. An hour later, he couldn't remember what had been on his plate. Going back to his room, he flicked on the television and stared at the screen. Two hours after that, Paul had no idea what he'd watched. Giving up, he pulled a chair over to the window and sat down.
With the shadow of the mountains in the background, the lights of Denver flickered, then went out, one by one. He did nothing but sit and think. By 4:00 a.m., the city wore a lonely orange glow from the streetlamps that echoed how he felt inside.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he loved Rachel.
By Friday Rachel knew she had to do something. The something she had to do turned out to be going to the grocery store. It was another mindless activity that let her put off the inevitable for a few more hours.
When she got home and carried the sacks of groceries into the kitchen, she realized she'd bought enough food to feed a family of four for months. Putting the cans into the pantry and the vegetables into the refrigerator, she had but one thought. He'll have plenty to cook when we're gone. Then she remembered the empty shelves that had greeted her when she'd moved in. Paul didn't cook. That's why he'd loved the meals she'd fixed—a man who did cook wouldn't have been as appreciative of her burned roasts and uneven cakes.
Elizabeth crawling around at her feet, sacks of groceries all around her, Rachel sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. A slide show of images clicked in her mind. Abe and Emma, their arms wrapped around each other as they went down the jet way. Sylvia's face as she talked about her "date." Hollis's words... "They love each other but they don't know it." What more did Rachel need to make her accept the truth? Who was she trying to fool?
Before she could think about what she was doing, she sprang from the chair, grabbed the phone and punched out the number to the office. Paul came on the line a second later, his deep voice sending a shiver down her back.
"Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?" she blurted out. "I went grocery shopping and I thought you could use a home-cooked meal... even one of mine."
When he said yes, she realized she'd been holding her breath. Slowly, she released it and closed her eyes.
 "Can I bring anything?"
"Just yourself," she answered. "At eight?"
"I'll be there."
Paul pulled the car into the driveway, cut off the engine, then reached over for the cellophane-wrapped lilies he'd picked up on the way over. Holding the pink-and-ivory flowers against the steering wheel, he looked out the window at his house.
Why had she called?
What did she want?
How should he act?
Since the minute he'd hung up the phone, Paul had been in a state of unbelievable anxiety. He felt like a fourteen-year-old kid—half of him dreading the dance, the other half of him sick with excitement. He was dying to know what she wanted. He thought it might have something to do with the divorce, but he hadn't even called Stuart yet. Every time he picked up the phone to call the attorney, his fingers refused to dial the number. So what was this? A farewell dinner?
Or something else?
He would never have allowed himself to even consider anything else, but something about Rachel when she'd been in his office on Monday was different. He couldn't put his finger on the change, but there was no question in his mind that she seemed at odds with her usual serenity. Like some kind of light, a nervous energy had hovered around her, sparking off her hair and changing her eyes from gray to charcoal and back again.
And then, she'd called him.
He'd canceled a late-evening meeting with some investors—something he'd done without a second thought— and had run back to the hotel. Taking a shower, changing clothes, stopping at the florist—the whole time his mind had been whirling with the possibilities. By the time his hand gripped the door release and his heart lurched against his chest, Paul knew that even if she hadn't called him, he would have called her.
It was time to decide their fate.
And that meant one thing.
Regardless of the possible outcomes, he'd have to tell her he loved her. If she didn't believe him—didn't want him— then there was nothing else he could do but turn her loose. At least he would have tried.
Before he even rang the bell, Rachel threw open the door.
She wore a soft blue blouse tucked into a slim pair of jeans, and as always her makeup and hair were perfection. The whiff of perfume that wafted toward him wrapped itself around his chest and squeezed. Then he saw Elizabeth. She was standing—standing!—beside her mother, hanging on to her pant legs with a death grip and grinning up at him. Rusty was on the other side, his tail thumping the floor so hard, Paul thought the house should be shaking.
He didn't know what to say, wasn't sure he could even get words out. He thrust the flowers toward her.
Her eyes widened, then she reached for the bouquet and smiled softly. "Welcome home" was all she said.
His throat instantly tight, Paul stepped inside and swooped Elizabeth into his arms. She giggled and reached for his nose while Rusty barked and danced around them, his toenails clicking a crazy cadence on the parquet floor. Rachel disappeared down the hall, but called back over her shoulder. "Go on into the den—I'll be back in just a second."
The three of them turned left and stepped down into the living area. A bright, cheerful fire glowed behind the screen in the fireplace and Paul immediately noticed the plate of crackers and cheese on the cocktail table. A frosted martini glass and a pitcher waited beside the food.
His eyes met Elizabeth's. "Uh-oh. She made martinis."
The baby grinned, then beat her open hands against his chest. "Ya-da-ya-da-ya," she said.
He dodged a doll without any hair and one stuffed rabbit to sit down on the sofa. Balancing Elizabeth with one hand, he reached for the pitcher with the other and filled up the glass. Bracing himself, he took a sip. And then another. It was perfect. Dry and cold and biting.
Rachel came into the room. She'd slipped an apron over her jeans, but nothing could have hidden her curves. He had them memorized. Her eyes met his. "How's the drink? I found a bar guide that had a recipe for martinis in it. Thought I'd give it a try."
"It's perfect."
"Better than the old way?"
"Um. Hard to say," he answered diplomatically. "What kind of cheese is that?"
For another twenty minutes they talked leisurely, Paul telling Rachel about the work he'd done in South America, Rachel relaying funny stories about the baby. Overlaying the conversation, like a veil of lace, were Paul's impressions of Rachel. She looked so beautiful, her eyes warm and inviting, her hair a silky knot on top of her head. How could he even consider living his life without her? It was absurd. He couldn't. He simply couldn't.
She glanced down at her watch as the baby's eyes began to grow heavy. "Oh, my gosh, I didn't realize it was this late." She rose and started to take Elizabeth from his arms. "I need to get her down, then we'll eat."
He stood. "Let's do it together. If I hand her to you now, she'll just wake up and we'll have to start all over."
Rachel's gaze went to the child in his arms, then back up to his face. "Maybe I should go check on dinner first. I don't want to burn everything—"
"It'll be fine. Let's do this together."
The nursery brought back memories, and as Paul slipped Elizabeth into her crib, Rachel by his side, he thought about the last time they'd been in the room together. As if she were sharing his thoughts, Rachel looked up at him. By the dim light of the night lamp, he watched her expression shimmer.
"I missed this," he said simply. "South America seemed farther away than it usually does." His eyes went back to the sleeping baby. "Everywhere I looked, I saw things that reminded me of home. A sound here, a smell there. It was tough." He turned to Rachel. "Usually I don't do that."
If she was shocked by his frankness, she didn't show it. "You were gone a long time. Maybe that had something to do with it."
"Maybe," he said. He reached out and tucked a strand of blond silk behind her ear. "I think it was something else, though."
She seemed to be holding her breath. "What?"
"I left something here this time," he said softly. "Something I usually take with me. I guess I missed it."
"And what would that be?" she asked.
He reached out and took her hand, spreading her fingers and putting it on his chest. "My heart," he said simply.
Her own heart lurched as she looked at him in the dark, the unmistakable rhythm of his pulse beating beneath her palm. She wasn't sure exactly what he was saying, but somehow, between his low voice, his warm chest and his steady look, she managed to find her own voice. "I think I might know where it is," she said softly.
His eyes searched her face, almost hungrily, and an unexpected lump came into her throat. Could he possibly feel the same way she did? It didn't seem imaginable, but his hand was gripping hers so tightly she didn't think he'd ever let go... which would be fine with her.
"What are you saying, Rachel? Is... is there something wrong?"
She stared into his face, unconsciously memorizing the way his eyebrows winged, the crook of his nose, the small white scar beneath the corner of his lip. "Ye-yes," she said haltingly. "There is something wrong. I can't seem to get a certain man out of my thoughts. No matter what I do, where I go, he's always there."
He seemed to freeze. Everything about him grew still and hard, and expectant, and he waited for her to say more. Only she didn't have more to say.
Finally, his lips—those beautiful, wonderful lips that had kissed her so well—moved, and he spoke one word. "Who?"
"You don't know by now?"
"I want to hear the answer."
Something turned over in her stomach. In another time and place she might have said "butterflies," but right now it didn't feel like butterflies. It felt like a giant dinosaur.
"It's you," she said, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to divorce you, and I don't want to leave this relationship. I'd like to try and make our arrangement into a real marriage. I... I love you, Paul."
His face looked as if it'd been carved in marble, but she knew him well enough now to read the subtle shift—in his eyes, in his jaw, in the way he held his mouth. She'd shocked him—no, stunned was the better word—and he had no idea of how to respond. The dinosaur inside her stomped once, then twice. She ignored it and kept going.
"I know we made an agreement, and it... it didn't include love. It didn't include a lot of things, but along the way, it seemed to take a few turns neither one of us expected." Licking her suddenly dry lips, she continued. "You always seem to know what I'm thinking, and you always say exactly what I want to hear. When Elizabeth got sick, you were wonderful. You were so supportive. And then, when we made love..." She lifted her gaze to his face. "It was wonderful," she said simply. "I realized for the first time what it was like to have someone hold me who was really holding me. Someone who wasn't thinking about something else he should be doing or somewhere else he should be going." She stopped to draw a breath, then slowly expelled it. "It felt wonderful, and then I realized nothing else mattered. Even if William had asked you to watch over Elizabeth and me, it wasn't important. The only thing that really counts is love."
When he spoke, his voice was a tortured whisper.
"I love you, too. I've always loved you."
She heard the words, but they didn't register. They made no sense. "What? What are you saying?"
He looked at her, the moonlight shining in behind him. "I've loved you since the moment I met you, Rachel. When you asked me to marry you, it was like a dream coming true for me."
"But..." Her voice rose unintentionally high.
He raised a finger and put it across her lips, his touch making her tremble. "I couldn't tell you. You were married. You and William looked perfectly happy. It would have been totally inappropriate, not to mention the fact that I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd damaged your marriage somehow by telling you how I felt."
She started to speak and he stopped her, again. "William's words about taking care of you meant nothing to me. I loved you before then. I would have looked after you regardless."
Rachel knew her mouth had fallen open, but she seemed physically incapable of closing it. She stared at him. "I— I don't believe it" was all she could say. And she couldn't. It seemed too good to be true. Was he trying to make her feel better? Was he trying, in some weird way, to let her down slowly? To let her think he had cared about her somehow?
As always, he seemed to read her mind. "Do you think I could have made love to you if I hadn't actually loved you?" he asked, cupping her face in his hands. "You mean the world to me, Rachel. You always have, and I came over here tonight prepared to say something like this myself." His fingers tightened. "I had to try, but frankly I don't know what I would have done if you'd refused me, because I don't think I could have given you up. You're the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, to grow old beside, to kiss every night and wake up by every morning. What's so hard to understand about that?"
Rachel's heart twisted inside her chest, then she flung her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in the side of her husband's neck. He loved her. Like a mantra the words repeated themselves over and over in her mind. He loved her. Halfway laughing, halfway crying, she raised her head and kissed him on the lips. "I... I had no idea," she managed to say as he kissed her back. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
He lifted his face, their lips only inches apart. "I couldn't. I didn't think you could love me back, and I felt I had no right to even ask—not this soon." His arms tightened around her. "But I love you—have always loved you—and that's the only important thing now." He kissed her again, longer and sweeter this time, their mouths meeting and touching and saying all the things they hadn't yet had the time to say. Finally, he pulled away. "When did you know?" he asked. "When were you sure you loved me?"
The question surprised her, but she automatically knew the answer. "When you left." She pulled back in the circle of his arms and put both her hands on his cheeks. "When you left and I was all alone and there was no one here. Emma and Abe were gone, you were gone... it was just me. Me and Elizabeth. I realized how empty the house was and... my heart, as well."
"And you were scared?"
She smiled and looked into his dark and loving eyes. "No. I wasn't scared. That's the funny thing about it. I'd told you that being the last one left was the worst thing that could happen to someone, but then I realized I was wrong."
"How's that?"
"It's not being alone. That's not the problem. Having a life without love is what makes you lonely. When you left, I realized that. I had Elizabeth's love, of course, but it wasn't enough. Not after I'd known I wanted yours, as well."
Her eyes flashed to the crib, then back to Paul. "I'll always love Elizabeth... and I'll always love you, too. With love in my heart—for both of you—how could it be empty? How could I ever be alone?"
His gaze held hers for a very long moment, then he pulled her to him and kissed her once more, a solid, promising kiss that told her she'd never been more right in her entire life. His lips covered hers, softly, tenderly. She wanted it to go on forever. When it ended, he cupped his hands around her face as if to bond them together even more—an impossibility as far as Rachel was concerned. She knew what he was going to say, and the words rang in her heart. I love you. I love you. Were there sweeter words that a husband could say to his wife? She didn't think so. She smiled in anticipation, her eyes adoring as they looked into his.
He smiled back, then spoke softly, his nose wrinkling in a most attractive manner. "Do I smell something burning?"