Книга - Finding Mr. Right

Finding Mr. Right
Gwynne Forster


Children's advocate Tyra Cunningham hasn't had time to think about men. After devoting her life to raising her younger brother and sister, it's now her turn to shine. But when her matchmaking siblings fix her up with hunky Byron Wright, doubts begin to surface. Is the single father and sweet, sexy powerhouse attorney too good to be true?Byron never dreamed he'd hit it off with Tyra! But being on opposite sides of an issue could derail their relationship before it gets off the ground. Now, as the controversy heats up, tempers–and passions–flare. The jury may still be out on Byron's future with Tyra, unless he can convince her that winning means nothing without having someone to share it with….









Tyra ran her tongue over the ice cream, closed her eyes and savored the rich, creamy delight


“This is fan—” She stopped in the middle of the sentence, and when she opened her eyes, she was staring into the pools of naked desire in Byron’s eyes. She lowered the ice cream cone from her mouth.

“Byron…”

“It’s all right. You caught me off-guard. Aren’t you going to finish your ice cream?”

She nodded, and as soon as the ice cream touched her tongue, her discomfort disappeared. She reached across the table and stroked the back of his hand, not thinking what her touch might precipitate. He turned his hand over and caressed her palm with his own.

“Byron, tell me why you called me tonight. I…I have to know.”

“I’m a loner, Tyra. I have always enjoyed being alone. I like people and enjoy being with those I find interesting. But I’ve always liked the peace and quiet of being alone. I always did my best thinking walking by myself in the park. Tonight, I suddenly felt as if the bottom had dropped out. I sat in my den trying to work, and suddenly I felt so lonely that I couldn’t stand it. And you were the only person on this earth that I wanted to see.”




GWYNNE FORSTER


is a national bestselling author of more than twenty romance novels and novellas, as well as general fiction. She has worked as a journalist, a university professor and as a senior officer for the United Nations. She holds a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in sociology, and a master’s degree in economics/demography.

Gwynne sings in her church choir, loves to entertain at dinner parties, is a gourmet cook and an avid gardener. She enjoys jazz, opera, classical music and the blues. She also likes to visit museums and art galleries. She lives in New York with her husband.




Finding Mr. Right

ESSENCE BEST SELLING AUTHOR

GWYNNE FORSTER







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To all of my fellow volunteers in the Obama Campaign for President of the United States—you helped make the impossible dream come true. And to President Barack Obama, who is the man for our time.


Dear Reader,

Thank you for making Private Lives, my previous Kimani Romance title, such a success. I deeply appreciate the loyalty of my readers, which I have been so fortunate to enjoy since the publication of my first novel in 1995. Many of you still write to me regularly, and I look forward to hearing from you.

My heroines are usually independent, educated and capable of making their life’s journey a successful one. In Finding Mr. Right, Tyra Cunningham is not an exception. But because her siblings think she needs a man and needs help in finding one, Tyra does a few foolish things, including looking past “Mr. Right,” in order to show her brother and sister that she is capable of finding one. There is a lesson in there, and I hope you catch it. My grandfather used to call it cutting off your nose to spite your face.

Byron is a tribute to those of you African-American men who are great fathers and who put a premium on loving your women and nurturing your children. And he is precisely what Tyra needs.

During 2009, Kimani Arabesque will release reprints of three of my popular Arabesque books, Swept Away, Fools Rush In and Scarlet Woman. All three of these books won national awards. They’ve been out of print for a while, so I hope you will have a chance to read the reissues.

I enjoy receiving mail, so please write me at P.O. Box 45, New York, New York 10044, and send a self-addressed, stamped envelope if you want a reply. My e-mail address is GwynneF@aol.com. Please visit my Web site at www.gwynneforster.com. For business purposes, reach me through my agent, Pattie Steel-Perkins, Steele-Perkins Literary Agency, 26 Island Lane, Canandaigua, New York 14424.

Sincerely yours,

Gwynne Forster




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12




Chapter 1


Tyra Cunningham stood at her bedroom window watching her younger sister, Darlene, drive off for her first day of work as an attorney. The early June breeze was blowing through her hair and drying the tears she hadn’t realized were welling up in her eyes. She’d done it. Nobody would have thought it was possible. With the responsibility she’d taken on for her fifteen-year-old brother and thirteen-year-old sister not to mention herself, she’d produced remarkable results. Her brother, Clark, was a civil engineer working in Baltimore, and her sister had just been hired by one of Frederick, Maryland’s most distinguished law firms. In the meantime, she had managed to educate herself. Of course, she’d had Maggie’s support, but she’d made the important decisions and taken responsibility for the family.

She raced down the stairs and into the breakfast room. Maggie, who had been her parents’ housekeeper before they had died in an accident, indeed, before Tyra’s tenth birthday, sat eating her breakfast. “I feel like celebrating, Maggie. I don’t have to worry about either of them any more. Mom and Dad would have been real proud, and that’s all I ever wanted. I hope you know that I couldn’t have done it without you, though.”

“The Lord always provides. Now, I wish He’d provide you with a man. It’s not a good idea you strolling around here with three decades under your belt and never even looking at a man.”

“I look all the time. I just don’t see any brothers who make me want to go to the trouble.”

“There’s a difference between browsing and looking. When I was your age, I would have been considered too old for marriage, that is, if I’d still been single. When you gon’ have children…after menopause? You young people act like youth is eternal.”

“Oh, Maggie. For the first time in memory, I feel footloose and fancy-free.”

“I know, chile. You’ve had to be a grownup since you were seventeen, and now you feel like you’re seventeen. But take my word for it, that’s not for you.” She refilled her coffee cup. “Tyra, I’m serious. If men want a family, they look for a younger woman. If they fall for you before they think about family, you’re lucky.”

“You know more about this than I do. My one foray into dating wasn’t very good, but I’m still hopeful.”

As she headed up the broad, winding stairs of the house, she was proud that she had not only preserved what her parents, both physicians, left to her and her siblings, but had doubled its value. Their big, white-brick Georgian mansion stood out even among the elegant homes surrounding it. She put on a straw hat and sneakers, got a pair of shears and went out in the back garden to trim the hedges and cut away the dead blooms from daffodils and jonquils before the hot Maryland sun made it unbearable.

Boredom set in almost at once. What was she going to do with the rest of her life? She had a degree in psychology and was qualified to be a psychoanalyst, but she hadn’t pursued a career because she’d been so focused on raising Clark and Darlene.

She went back inside and sat on a kitchen stool and waited for Maggie to come up from the laundry room in the basement. “What am I going to do with myself, Maggie? I plan to get a job. But a job isn’t the answer for what I’m feeling. It’s as if they went off and left me. I’m used to Clark being away, but Darlene’s the baby, and she’s on her own now.”

“You’re lonely, and you’re gonna find out that it’s not loneliness for Clark and Darlene. Being a woman means more than wearing a dress and putting on lipstick.”

“All right. All right. I get the message. I’ve sent out job applications, but with no response so far. I only started last Thursday, so I guess it’s too soon.”

“You’ve got the empty nest syndrome that parents get when their children leave home. You’ll get over it. Excuse me.” She went to answer the telephone in the kitchen. “She’s here, Clark. Just a minute.”

“Hi, Sis. I’m bringing home a friend for dinner and overnight, so you and Maggie fix something real nice. Be there at about six.”

“All right. At least this will give me something to do. With Darlene at work, this place is awfully quiet.”

“I can imagine. For years, you’ve been busier than you had a right to be. See you around six.” Tyra hung up the phone.

“He’s bringing a friend home for dinner, Maggie, and she’s spending the night. He wants us to serve something special, I guess. Wonder who she is and where they met. I’ll put some flowers in the guest room. At least, this gives me something to think about.”

“I was going to serve roast pork. Oh, well. I’ll just dress it up,” Maggie said. “Let’s see. Cold mint-pea soup; roast pork with mushrooms, roast potatoes and asparagus. A salad, and let’s see…crème caramel. Coffee if anybody’s got room left. That’s not so much, since everything’s light except the pork and potatoes. I need some more lemons, mushrooms and some cognac for the dessert.”

“Good. I’ll phone the grocer and the liquor store.”



Tyra finished setting the dining room table, put a bowl of hyacinths and sweet peas from her garden in the center of the table and sat down to watch the local news. A while later, she heard the doorbell ring, glanced at her watch and saw that it was already ten minutes to six.

“I’ll get it, Maggie.”

She opened the door and gasped. Standing beside Clark was a strikingly handsome man, who stood a good two inches taller than Clark’s six foot three. He was a good-looking man who wore success the way peacocks wear plumes. And the way he fixed his gaze on her unnerved her. Annoyed with herself, she looked down at her long, blue denim skirt and flat sandals. Her T-shirt flattered her ample bosom, but that was all it did.

She gathered her wits. “Come in. Clark, the time got away from me, and I haven’t even dressed for dinner. I’ll be right back.” She ran upstairs before Clark could introduce her to his friend. Why had she assumed that his guest would be a woman? Well, at least they hadn’t made chicken-à-la-king. Men preferred food that stuck to the ribs. She took a sponge bath and changed into a long, red-silk dress and heels. The shoes raised her height from five feet eight and a half inches to almost six feet. She liked being tall.

“Byron Whitley, this is my sister, Tyra,” Clark said when she returned to them. “My kid sister, Darlene, should be here in about half an hour. And this is Maggie Jenkins,” he said, as Maggie served hot hors d’oeuvres. “Maggie is our housekeeper and surrogate mother. Maggie, this is Byron Whitley.”

“Welcome, Mr. Whitley,” Maggie said. “I hope you’ll visit us often.” She cast a sideward glance at Tyra and smiled as if triumphant.

Tyra had never learned to drink, mostly because she felt that she had to set a good example for her siblings, especially her sister. Nonetheless, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and, after deciding that she could use something to steady her nerves, she asked her brother to make her a vodka tonic.

Clark stared at her. “You sure? In that case, you’d better eat some of those little canapés Maggie served.”

Tyra looked at Byron. “This morning, my responsibility for my brother and my sister ended. Clark has been on his own for the past five years, and today our sister, Darlene, began her first day at work. She’s an attorney. I think I deserve a drink.”

“You do, and I’ll join you,” Byron said, looking intently at her as if there were no one else other than the two of them. When he raised his glass to her, she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the sexual tension between them.

She heard the front door open and was about to go to greet her sister when she realized that Darlene had gone directly up to her room.

“Darlene’s here,” she said to Byron. “We’ll eat in a few minutes.”

Byron focused his attention on Tyra. “What do you do, Tyra?”

“I’m a psychoanalyst, but I think I’d make a good counselor.”

He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Yes. I expect you will be. Counseling can be very rewarding.”



So Clark wasn’t matchmaking, thought Byron. He hadn’t told his sister anything about his coming to dinner. Indeed, she hadn’t expected her brother’s guest to be a man, given her attire when she first greeted them. He smiled inwardly. When she saw him, she dressed in a hurry. He liked that, and he liked her. A woman who looked as if she might be in her late teens came into the room, her face all smiles. He noted that she had the Cunningham looks, but she certainly didn’t have the bearing of a lawyer.

“Hi, all,” she said.

Clark walked over to her, put an arm around her and said, “Byron Whitley, this is Darlene, my baby sister. She did a decent day’s work today for the first time in her life. Darlene, this is Byron Whitley.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Darlene.”

“Thanks. I’m glad to meet you, Byron.” She turned immediately to her older sister. “Hi, sis. Did I keep you guys waiting?”

Not much escaped him, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear he’d just been given the brush off by someone who was anxious to portray herself as something that she wasn’t.

“No, you didn’t,” Tyra said to her sister. “Let me check with Maggie.”



Tyra strode to the kitchen, her suspicions rising. “What’s going on here, Maggie? Did you get a look at Darlene? From head to foot, she looks the way she did ten years ago with her hair in a pony tail, no makeup, jeans that are too tight and sneakers. She didn’t leave here this morning looking like that.”

Maggie didn’t seem concerned. She handed Tyra two bowls of cold mint-pea soup. “Here. Put those in Clark’s and Mr. Whitley’s plates. I’ll bring in yours, Darlene’s and mine.”

She knew that Maggie’s nonchalance was her way of avoiding things. “Okay, but don’t you think Clark and Darlene are up to something?”

Maggie’s withering look was not unusual. For years, she’d used it as a way to express her disapproval without saying a word. “What on earth could they be up to? You ever know Darlene to keep a secret? Clark’s too smart to be in cahoots with Darlene about anything that’s supposed to be a secret. After you take those bowls in, would you come back and cover that platter while I light the candles?”

“Why don’t you cover the platter and I’ll light the candles? I don’t want to rearrange your handiwork,” Tyra said.

She put the soup at each place setting and looked in the top drawer of the china cabinet for the lighter. When she couldn’t find it, she searched for a match. She lit two matches, both of which quickly burned out.

“Let me do that for you.”

She looked up at Byron Whitley, towering over her in a way that few men did. When he smiled and extended his hand for the matches, her left hand went to her chest as if to lower her heartbeat. He took the matches from her hand, lit the candles and asked her, “Would you go to dinner with me Sunday evening?”

She wanted to say no. Indeed, she thought she was going to decline. Not because she didn’t like him, but because she did. And that was the problem. She didn’t know whether he liked her or knew that she was attracted to him and planned to take advantage of that fact.

“Will you?” he urged.

“I’d love to. Thank you.” Embarrassed because she’d agreed so readily. He raised an eyebrow, but she pretended that she didn’t see it.

After Maggie said grace, Clark asked Darlene about her first day at work. “I think they were all being nice to me. I liked the orientation that Mr. Harris gave me.”

“It was probably very thorough,” Byron said. “That firm knows its business. You’ve landed a good position. What area are you in?”

“I’m in contracts.”

“Good,” Byron said.

With Tyra’s help, Maggie served dinner. She believed that serving one course after another made a meal more enjoyable. For dessert, they each got three heaping scoops of crème caramel.

Byron tasted it, closed his eyes. “I’m never leaving this place. After a meal like this, I could sit here until it’s time for the next meal.”

“Oh,” Tyra said, “I’m not sure I’d like to see roots growing from you.”

Darlene giggled. “I doubt he’d grow the kind of roots you have in mind, Sis.”

Her comment had a suggestive overtone. “What kind of roots do you think I have in mind?”

“Let’s just say you’re not thinking of carrots.” Then, as if to dispel any misunderstanding, Darlene turned to Byron. “I’m out of line, but this is kind of funny.”

Byron’s laugh shook his body. “She’s got your number, Tyra.”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “She’s used to getting away with it. If Tyra sent her to her room, she’d stay there five minutes, come out, say she was sorry, hug Tyra and that would be the end of it.”

“I’m not a pushover.” Tyra felt uncomfortable under Byron’s intense stare. “Let’s go into the living room and play some music,” she suggested, to break the tension.

She and Darlene helped Maggie clear the table and clean the kitchen. “What are you up to, Darlene?” Tyra asked her.

“Nothing. Just relaxing after a hard day’s work.”

“Don’t make jokes, Darlene. I know you. And nothing’s going to convince me that you worked hard on your first day on the job. Nothing! Go in the living room and pick out some music, anything but hip hop.”

“I don’t do hip hop any more, Sis. You’re way behind. I’m going upstairs for a minute.”

Maggie put away the dish towel, removed her apron and looked at Tyra. “You didn’t have to come in here to help me clean up. Why you trying to avoid that man? I saw how he looked at you, and you saw it, too. He’s not wearing a ring, so what’s your problem?”

“If you’re trying to shove me into his lap, you can forget it. I’m not about to throw myself at him.”

“You’re not fooling me, Tyra. He’s gotten to you. You’re thirty-one years old, and men your age are getting married. So quit fooling yourself. Leave that tray here. I’ll take the coffee in. Find another excuse to avoid Mr. Whitley. If a man like him looked at me the way he was looking at you, I’d be in there where he could see me. I’m gonna have to sit you down and talk to you.”

“All right.”

Byron Whitley met her in the hallway. “Are you avoiding me? If you’re not interested, say so. I won’t be offended.”

Well, you couldn’t get more direct than that. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I always help Maggie in the kitchen. She’s the housekeeper, but she’s been part of our family since we lost our parents in an automobile accident.”

“And you became mother to Clark and Darlene, I presume.”

“I did with a lot of help from Maggie, who’s been with our family since I was nine. She’s a widow now, and this is her home. What time do you want to have dinner Sunday?”

“I’d like to pick you up at six-thirty. There’s a wonderful little restaurant I know in Buckeytown. It’s mainly Italian, but they serve great Maryland-style crab cakes.”

“I…look forward to Sunday.”

“Me, too,” he said without a trace of a smile. “Since you’re not avoiding me, let’s have some of that coffee I smell.”

“It’s in the living room.” When did Maggie pass them with the espresso? Surely she hadn’t let the man fluster her to the point that she didn’t see what was going on around her. She got through the evening by focusing on the music, changing the CDs and finding music by performers that Byron and her family preferred. At the end of the evening she announced that breakfast would be served from seven to seven-thirty, said good-night and went to her room. She had some choice words for Clark and Darlene, but saying them would have to wait.



The following morning, Clark and Byron said goodbye to Tyra. She promised Clark that she would give him a call. Once she had assured herself that both her brother and sister were settled in at work, Tyra placed a three-way call to them.

“What do you two mean by setting me up with Byron Whitley? Take care of your business and stay out of mine.”

“Now look, Sis,” Clark began, “that wasn’t really my intention. If I’d thought about it…”

Darlene interrupted. “So what’s the big deal? If you looked for a year, you wouldn’t find a better prospect than Byron. He’s tall, handsome, and he’s got a brilliant legal mind. You should be thanking Clark. And Byron liked you. Anybody could see that.”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “And he’s the right age—forty. Don’t tell me you didn’t like him. I could see that the minute you opened the door and looked at him.”

“I’m warning both of you. I can find a man on my own. I don’t need help from either of you.”

If Clark was trying to be a matchmaker, she’d no doubt frustrated him. Although he may not have planned it, Clark had already warmed up to the idea. “Byron says he has a dinner date with you this coming Sunday. I hope you’re not going to disappoint him.”

“If you hadn’t meddled in my personal life, Clark, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“He’s a great guy.”

“Remove your halo, Clark. Let me know if you’ll be home this weekend.”

“Since you’re not interested in Byron, Sis, can I go to dinner with the two of you Sunday?” Darlene said. Tyra threw up her hands. “Oh, stop acting so innocent. I’ll show you both a thing or two. See you tonight.”



Byron sat at his desk trying to focus on a case. He seemed unable to think about his legal strategy. He’d spent the previous night at the Cunningham home, hoping to be distracted from the case. But he hadn’t counted on that much of a distraction. He wanted to see Tyra Cunningham again, and he knew himself well enough to know that if he enjoyed her company at dinner, he’d want to see more of her—much more. She’d made a strong impression on him: not even the delicious crème caramel dessert had gotten his attention.

His intercom light blinked, and he pushed the button. “Mr. Whitley, your dad’s on two,” his secretary said.

He waited until the paralegal left his office and then picked up his second line. “Hi, Dad. How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. I was thinking how nice it would be if I took Andy fishing with me this weekend. Do you mind if he stays over with me Saturday night?”

“That much is fine, Dad, but I have something to do Sunday evening, and I have to check with Aunt Jonie to see what her plans are.”

“If he’s home by five Sunday, that should do it,” Lewis Whitley told his son. “I know you’ll have a fit if a day passes and you don’t see him. But he could spend Sunday night with me, and he’d love it.”

“Don’t tell him until Friday, otherwise, he’ll pester me about it the entire week. I’ll be in touch.”

Andy was his life, just as he and his sister had been the center of his father’s life. He tried to be both mother and father to the boy. Andy had never known his mother since she’d died a few days after his birth. He looked at the picture of the child that he kept on his desk and smiled. The boy looked as much like him as Byron looked like his father. What would his life have been like if Lois had survived.

He flexed his left shoulder in a quick shrug, his way of reminding himself that he couldn’t undo the past and that he had to get on with life. He had already realized that he wouldn’t be over Lois completely until another woman claimed his heart. But four years was a long time to wait.

He always played it straight, and he couldn’t commit to a woman unless he thought she would be a good mother for his son. So far, he hadn’t come close to finding a woman like that. A rueful smile flashed across his face. Wonder how long I’ll be able to say that.



The following Friday night, Tyra sat on the deck in back of her house, waiting for the hamburgers and hotdogs to grill. She almost always cooked dinner on the grill in the summer when Maggie took the night off. The housekeeper didn’t have regular days off. She took a day off whenever she needed to, provided her absence didn’t conflict with Tyra’s plans. She never worked on Sundays. Tyra hadn’t expected Clark, and when he arrived, she put more hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill along with two more ears of corn.

“This is a surprise,” she told him. “Darlene and I thought we’d be eating without you.”

“I wanted to talk to you and saying anything important to you over the phone is never a good idea.” He straddled a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie. “Byron Whitley is an exceptional man, and I don’t want you to treat him as if he’s an also-ran, an ordinary Joe. He’s not. There are seven lawyers in his firm, and he hasn’t lost a case in the fourteen years he’s been practicing.”

“Okay. He’s a great guy. But I won’t have my brother choosing a man for me. I can do that myself.”

“Yeah?” Darlene said. “Not according to Maggie. She said you wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to look for in a man.”

Tyra rolled her eyes skyward. “I know Maggie’s smart, but her words are not gospel. From now on, leave it to me to get my own man. So lay off, please. I know you mean well, but it is humiliating.”

“Are you keeping your date with Byron?” Clark asked.

“I told you I was, but if you ask me one more time, I’m going to phone him and cancel it. I know you both love me, but I want you to let me take care of this part of my life myself.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll lay off, but if you need me…” Unwilling to risk aggravating her more, he let it hang.



Ordinarily, Tyra would have asked Darlene’s opinion about which of two dresses she should wear to dinner with Byron. But since she had asked her siblings to back off, that meant not consulting them about anything to do with Byron or any other man. She chose a pale yellow sleeveless silk-chiffon dress that flared below the hips, black patent-leather shoes with three inch heels and a small black purse. She selected a black wrap in case the air conditioning in the restaurant was too much.

The doorbell rang precisely at six-thirty, and Darlene rushed to open it. Tyra took her time walking down the stairs and, at about halfway, she heard Byron say to Darlene, “What happened to your pony tail? I hardly recognize you.”

“That was then. This is now,” Darlene said. “Next time you see me, I may have a completely different look.”

“I doubt it,” he said.

“Hi, Byron. I meant to answer the door, but Darlene beat me to it.” She took the bouquet of pink, red and white peonies that he handed her and smiled. “How did you know that I love peonies.”

“Just luck, I guess. I’m fond of them, and those were so beautiful. I was wavering between the peonies and roses.”

Tyra looked over her shoulder at Darlene. “I’m thirty, Darlene, so I think I can go on a date without a chaperone.”

“Oh, sorry. I just thought you might want coffee or something.”

“Thanks, but we have to leave now,” Byron said. “Maybe next time. Goodbye.”

He helped Tyra into the front passenger’s seat of his Cadillac. Once she had fastened her seat belt, he closed the door, walked around the car and got in. Not bad, Tyra thought.

“I like the way you look. You’re…well…very special. You’re beautiful and elegant.”

A grin formed around her lips, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt like teasing him. “I wouldn’t call you beautiful, Byron. There are other words that describe you. But you’re elegant, and thank God, you’re tall. Oh, and I like the way you look.”

Laughter rolled out of him. “I noticed that you Cunninghams like to pull a guy’s leg. Clark’s good at it, and Darlene’s a prankster. I hope you’re more sober-minded.”

“You don’t like jokesters?”

“I didn’t say that. And I warn you I can give as good as I get.”

She settled back in the comfort of the Cadillac’s soft leather seat and crossed her legs. “I’m no slouch, either.”

They arrived at the restaurant, a rustic setting that she thought would probably be cozy and even more romantic in the winter when the stone fireplace sparkled with a roaring fire. White lace curtains with red tiebacks graced the windows, and offered relief to the red-brick walls. White linen tablecloths and napkins, white candles and long-stem goblets adorned the round tables that were designed to seat two or four. A bowl of white and pink lisianthus sat in the center of each table.

“Byron, this is so…beautiful. Thank you for choosing this restaurant. I imagine it’s even more idyllic in winter when it’s cold.”

He sat across from her and smiled as if trying to put her at ease. But, his smile had the opposite effect. It rattled her composure. He spoke softly. “What a lovely picture you painted. You wouldn’t happen to be an artist, would you?”

Her gaze drifted from his remarkable eyes to his wrist and hands. His fingers were long and appeared strong. How would they feel on her body?

“Do you paint?” he asked again.

Get a hold of yourself, girl. “Yes, I suppose I do. I make stained-glass art. I would love to make stained-glass windows for a modern-design church. I have all kinds of ideas, but I’m not good enough yet to carry them out.”

“I paint with watercolors. I’ve used oils, but I prefer water colors, because I think they’re best for the landscapes and seascapes that I do. I also play the piano. I’m pretty good at that.”

She sat forward. “You are? Gosh, I envy you. I’d give anything to play the piano. I’d settle for any instrument. I just want to play music. I love music. You’re…why are you looking at me that way?”

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’d never want to do that. So many things were flying around in my mind just then. It’s amazing that we have so many interests in common.”

“Would you care for drinks, sir?” the waiter said, interrupting the conversation.

Byron looked at her. “What would you like?”

“Something light…and safe.”

“I’m glad to know that you trust me.” He turned to the waiter. “Please bring her a Chardonnay spritzer, and bring me the wine list.”

They ordered their meals. Tyra was sure that she enjoyed the dinner but she hardly remembered tasting it.

“I take it you don’t eat much?”

“I do, I’m just a little overwhelmed. If I took a doggie bag, it would be gone in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m not sure I should ask what overwhelms you, but I’d certainly like to know.”

“The ambiance got me when we walked in. And of course, there’s you.”

He swallowed heavily, and his face darkened in a frown. “I guess it wouldn’t be nice of me to ask what you meant by that last part.”

“Thanks, because I’m not sure I could explain it. The food was wonderful. I’m glad you brought me here.”

“It’s a beautiful evening,” he said. “The sun sets late in mid-June. Would you like to drive through Sugarloaf?”

Tyra would say yes to most anything that would prolong her time with him. The man exuded charm. But in her experience, anything presented on a silver platter should be carefully examined. She’d do that. But in the meantime, she’d find a man without anyone’s assistance or intervention.




Chapter 2


The next morning, Tyra arose at sunup. She went into her flower garden and sat on the little stone bench beneath the rose trellis. Her parents had put the trellis and bench there a few weeks after they bought the house, and some of her fondest memories were of them sitting there on a summer evening, laughing, holding hands and sipping ice tea. Over the years, Tyra had gone there to find solace and direction. But as time passed, she needed the comfort she found in that little spot less and less. Tyra wondered why she’d gone there at this particular time.

“What are you doing out there so early?” Maggie called from her bedroom window. “You all right?”

“I’m fine, Maggie. Just musing.”

“I’ll start the coffee, and we can muse together. I’ll be down in a minute.

“So what’s up?” Maggie asked Tyra a few minutes later when they sat together drinking coffee.

“I need to get a job. I haven’t had a response to any of the jobs I applied for, so I think I’ll do better if I try something else.”

“I expect you’re right. If it’s money that’s bothering you, I can live on less than you pay me. All I need is a home.”

“This is your home, Maggie. I’m happy to say that we don’t have a financial problem. I’ve invested what my parents left us. I’ve paid off the mortgage, and we don’t have any debts.” Indeed, the value of the trust funds had nearly doubled in the twelve years since the family had received their inheritance. Nevertheless, Tyra remained vigilant and had become as good a money manager as the man she hired to keep a check on their resources. “I’ll get busy with my job search as soon as I’ve eaten.”

True to her word, Tyra sat at her computer investigating online job listings. She thought she saw a good job prospect and telephoned the number on the screen.

“You’re definitely overqualified for this job, ma’am. Anybody who’s finished sixth grade can do what we want.” Tyra opened her mouth to say, “You should have put that in the ad,” but thought better of it, thanked the woman and continued her search. She doubted that she would have enjoyed a job that didn’t challenge her mentally. After applying for more jobs online, someone from the Legal Aid Center that she had spoken to earlier called her back.

“Miss Cunningham, this is Barbara Johnson. We have a position for a counselor that I overlooked when we spoke before. Would you come in tomorrow at nine for an interview?”

“Yes, I’ll be glad to. Thank you.”



The next morning at nine, Tyra stepped into the Legal Aid Center wearing a white linen suit and tank top, white sandals and bag.

The sisters liked to pull rank, but regardless of status, they appreciated class when they saw it.

Two hours later, she’d been interviewed by a supervisor, examined by a medical doctor and fingerprinted. She had also filled out a questionnaire that contained at least two dozen questions, and she was ready to say, “No more.”

“This will be your office,” Barbara Johnson said, “and your secretary sits next door. After two weeks, you’ll be asked whether you want to keep her or hire one whose skills and personality better suit you. We’d like you to begin tomorrow, but if you prefer you can wait until Monday.”

Nothing needed her urgent attention. Indeed, if she didn’t start work the next day, she’d spend the rest of the week waiting for Monday. “I can begin tomorrow, Ms. Johnson. Would you tell me who I report directly to?”

“Mr. Riddick is in charge of counseling. He’ll introduce you to your associates when you come tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Ms. Johnson. You’ve been so helpful.”

As Tyra left the center, she encountered a young good-looking brother. “Things are definitely looking up around here,” he said as he held the door for her. “I’m Christopher Fuller, and I hope you’re going to be working here.”

“I’m Tyra Cunningham. Glad to meet you.” She extended her hand, smiled and kept walking. She liked his looks, but she suspected that he could be full of himself. He didn’t seem to doubt his attractiveness, and that type had always bored her.

There I go prejudging men. I’m supposed to be looking for a guy, not necessarily to marry, but to get Clark and Darlene off my back. She thought for a second. Maggie, too. If they saw me with that guy, they’d mind their own business. He’s a looker. But something tells me he won’t measure up to Byron. Still…



Tyra plotted to find a man, who might make her reaction to Byron Whitley seem like a child’s delight with a new toy. Meanwhile Byron was arriving at the conclusion that Tyra could be important to him and that he wanted to see more of her. He rarely made a mistake when it came to women, and he didn’t think he’d made one with her. He’d gotten a wallop when he first met her. He knew he could lose interest in Tyra simply by staying away from her and by seeing other women. But to his astonishment, he didn’t want to do that. She intrigued him, and he wanted her.

“I’m wasting time,” he said to himself, recognizing something that was out of character for him, and lifted the telephone receiver.

“Ms. Cunningham’s not home, Mr. Whitley,” Maggie said when he asked for Tyra. “She ought to be back anytime now. I’ll tell her you called. You want her to call you?”

“Thanks, but I’ll try reaching her again later. Goodbye.”

He tapped the fingers of his right hand on his desk. “Now what?”

He phoned his aunt, his mother’s sister, who lived with him and took care of four-year-old Andy when he wasn’t at home. “My dad and Andy caught some striped bass this past weekend. Dad cleaned them, and I put them in the freezer. Would you mind cooking them for dinner? Andy is proud of them, and the sooner we eat them, the happier he’ll be.”

“I’ll be glad to cook them. You know I love fish. Why don’t you call your dad and ask him to have dinner with us tonight?” Jonie said.

“Good idea. Would you mind calling him? I’ll be busy for the next few hours.”

“I’ll call him. If you bring home some vanilla or strawberry ice cream for desert.”

“Will do. Andy will be ecstatic.”

He hung up and buzzed his secretary. “Ask Mrs. Foxx to come in, please.” For nearly a month, he’d been trying to figure out why the woman wanted him to be her lawyer. Rich as she was, she could have any lawyer she chose. He decided to stop guessing her reasons and ask her.

“Before we go further with this case, Mrs. Foxx, would you tell me why you want me to take your case? I’m a criminal lawyer. Yours is a civil suit and you’re not asking for money. Why?”

“I want an apology in The New York Times, and you can get that for me.” That wasn’t reason enough for her insistence that he take her case. She had met him at a reception in the mayor’s office and asked for his card. He remembered her. Any man would remember a woman who looked like her. But blond hair and blue eyes didn’t turn him on. The opportunity arose earlier than he’d expected.

“I shouldn’t take up so much of your time, Mr. Whitley. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner and drinks. We’d both be…more relaxed, and we’d get more done.”

He forced a half smile. “I don’t discuss business after my working hours, Mrs. Foxx. No, thanks. In fact, I advise you to get another lawyer. This case is not for me.”

He stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for considering me.”

She took his hand and held it. “It would have been nice. Very nice.” Head held high and shoulders back, she walked out of his office as if her brazen suggestion had not been thwarted. He buzzed his assistant. “Get me some information on Mrs. Foxx’s husband, please.”

“I have a file on them, sir. I’ll bring it right in.”

He flipped through the file. Hmm. Just as he’d thought. She’d married a rich man many years her senior and she was paying the price. He put the file in his out-box and buzzed his secretary. “Whenever Mrs. Foxx calls, I’m unavailable.”

A glance at his watch told him that if he wanted to speak with Tyra, he’d better call right then. He dialed her number.

“Hello, Tyra, this is Byron. How are you?”

“I feel as if I could jump across the Potomac. I just got a job, and I think it’s perfect for me, that is, if I get some interesting clients.”

“Congratulations. That’s good news, indeed. What will you be doing?”

“I’ll be counseling at the Legal Aid Center, and they want me to start tomorrow.”

“This is wonderful. I marvel at how much you and I have in common. When you get down to it, a lawyer is a counselor.”

“I hadn’t thought of the similarity, and I definitely wouldn’t compare what I’ll be doing with what you do.”

“Yes, but if you’re successful, a lot of people won’t need me. I called because I want to see you. We could go to the Kennedy Center or hear Kiri Te Kanawa at Wolf Trap. If that doesn’t suit you, I could pack us a picnic basket and we could go to Meridian Hill or the Tidal Basin and just be together. The sun doesn’t set before nine-thirty.”

Her silence told him that he had either surprised her or that she didn’t care for his plans. Well, he had patience. Finally she said, “I love the picnic idea, but I haven’t heard Kiri Te Kanawa sing in a long time, so—”

“There’s no reason why we can’t do both, and I’d be much happier. The concert is Saturday evening. We could have our picnic Friday evening in Meridian Hill and at the same time listen to a baroque ensemble. Would you like that?”

“Byron, you’ve discovered my weaknesses. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Then I’ll be at your house Friday afternoon at five-thirty so we can pick a good spot.”

“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

He hung up. She’d hesitated, and he wondered why. She was attracted to him, and they both knew it, so what held her back? If she was in a dilemma about him, he’d make up her mind for her the first chance he got. And if an opportunity didn’t come along naturally, he’d make one.

Byron Whitley was rushing her, and although she wanted to see him, she also wanted the experience of finding the kind of man she liked for herself. She didn’t need a matchmaker to fix up her life. She closed her eyes and imagined him kissing her. Her annoyance at Clark and Darlene had all but disappeared, but she still intended to show them that she was capable of managing her own love life. She was attracted to Byron…at least so far, but they didn’t have to know it.



“You going in for a swim?” Barbara asked her the next day at lunch. “The pool’s right behind us. It belongs to the Parks Department, but it’s never crowded. A lunchtime swim can relax you for the rest of the day.”

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit, but I’ll have a look at the swimming pool.” She took the elevator to the ground floor and followed the signs. At a door marked POOL, she read a plaque: “Gift from Morris Hilliard to the Legal Aid Center workers with gratitude.” Very interesting, she thought, wondering what the center had done for Morris Hilliard. Streams of water cascaded from a single, fifty-foot wall, in a waterfall of rainbow colors. Blue and white tiles paved the entrance to the pool and the area surrounding it.

She glanced at the man sprawled out in a red chaise longue. She couldn’t see his face, but his swim trunks advertised his seemingly more than ample equipment. She walked in the opposite direction in hopes of seeing his face without him noticing. The dark glasses did little to camouflage him, because they hardly covered his eyes. Christopher Fuller. She should have known.

Pool or no pool, it doesn’t seem appropriate for the office. But oh, the tantalizing picture he made lying in that chaise. She shrugged, and admitted to herself that she had no right to judge Christopher Fuller.

In the staff cafeteria, she bought a quiche, a bottle of lemonade and an apple, went back to the pool, and took a table in a shaded area to eat her lunch. Several people went for a swim, but she focused on her meal.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” the male voice drawled.

She looked up into the face of a man she didn’t know. Seeing that he was tall and easy on the eyes, she let herself smile. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said after dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

“And what a pity that is,” he replied. “I’m Matt Cowan. Are you going to tell me who you are?”

“I’m Tyra Cunningham.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Don’t let me interfere with your lunch. What do you do here?”

Very direct she thought. “I’m a counselor. Some people would call me a psychoanalyst, but they’d be wrong.” He crossed his legs and appeared to get comfortable, so she continued eating.

“What is your field?”

She stopped eating and stared at him. Curiosity was one thing, but rudeness was something she wouldn’t tolerate. “Psychology,” she said. “And that’s the last question I’ll answer.”

He stood and wiped the front of his left trouser leg with his handkerchief. “Sorry if I annoyed you. I tend to do that to people.”

“You didn’t annoy me, Mr. Cowan. I stopped you before you got that far.”

He smiled. “I’d like to know you better. But right now, I have to meet a client. We’ll pick this up again later.”

“Mr. Cowan, I had a cat who ignored me until he wanted something. He didn’t let me pet him or even touch him. One day I decided to let him know who held the power.”

Matt walked back and stared down at her. “What happened to him?”

“He loved milk and liver. When he didn’t get either for three days, he began following me around the house, rubbing against my leg and looking up at me and meowing. He got plenty to eat, but not what he craved. After a week, I relented, and he no longer treated me as if I were his servant. He was at my heels all the time.”

“And the moral of this story?”

“I don’t appreciate arrogance.”

“Okay. I stand corrected. Why don’t we have lunch tomorrow?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He looked at her for a minute. “I’m about to be late. See you.”

She didn’t think she could get along with him. He was an alpha male type, and he probably went to the gym every morning before getting to work.

She saw Barbara Johnson as she left the pool area and went back inside the building. She wasn’t sure of Barbara’s title or of her precise responsibilities, but she was certain that Barbara knew everything about everybody who worked for LAC, as the employees called the center.

“Barbara, are all of these lawyers full-time employees?”

“Good heavens, no. Fuller, Parker and Jenkins are full-time. All the others are either salaried part-time employees or volunteers.”

She knew she was taking a chance, since Barbara could have been involved with someone at the center, but she asked any way. “What about Cowan? He struck me as being a lawyer.”

“He is, and he makes certain that everybody knows it.”

“Hmm. No love lost there.”

“At first glance,” Barbara went on, “it seems like the pickings here are good. But scratch the surface, and you’ll find that this place is about as devoid of real men as a baseball stadium in January.”

Barbara couldn’t have been more correct or more discouraging. No telling what was behind that. She forced a smile. “What a pity. They’re such a good looking bunch, too.”

“Yeah, but you can’t judge a man by his appearance.”

“Nor a woman.” Realizing that her last comment might have been misinterpreted, Tyra tried to make up for it. “I know you’re very busy, but perhaps we could have lunch.”

“Sure,” said Barbara.

“See you later.” Tyra went back to her office, wondering about her decision. She could be a counselor somewhere else, but the real appeal of the job was its available bachelors. So far, the two clients she was assigned—a teenage runaway and a woman who wasn’t sure she wanted to leave her abusive husband—were depressing cases to work on. She welcomed Byron’s call that evening with enthusiasm.



With Andy in bed and his Aunt Jonie sitting outside on the deck as she did most summer evenings, Byron had a sudden sense of loneliness. He knew it was natural to feel that way after Lois’s death, but her loss was buried deep inside of him in a place that no once could touch. Without thinking, he picked up his cell phone and dialed Tyra’s number.

“Hi. This is Byron. Did I call too late?”

“No. It’s only nine. How are you?”

The word fine came to mind, but he didn’t feel fine. He’d spent the day smiling and pretending. “I’m not sure how I am, Tyra. I think I’d feel better if you were here.” He knew he’d shocked her, but it was no use pretending.

“You’ve surprised me, Byron. If something’s wrong, I’m sorry. I’d fix it if I could.”

“I’m not certain you can’t. Ever since I met you, I’ve been a little off kilter.” And he had. Things that usually satisfied him just didn’t anymore.

“Are you unhappy?” she asked. He heard in her voice the softness and compassion that he’d missed for four long years.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m obviously not myself, either. And I shouldn’t be dumping this on you.”

“That’s what friends are for. Look, come by and let’s go some place and get an ice cream cone.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. In fact, I think it’s just what I need. Can you make it in twenty minutes?”

“Twenty minutes it is.” She brushed her teeth, dabbed a bit of perfume behind her ears and went in the family room where she knew Maggie was watching television. “I’m going out for a few minutes.”

“If it’s who I hope it is, make good use of the time,” Maggie said as she threw a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“No comment.”

Tyra grabbed her pocketbook from the back of the dining room chair, took her hair out of a ponytail and closed the front door behind her. As the Cadillac drove up, she started down the walk. Byron got out of the car and met her.

“Hi.” He slipped an arm around her waist, bent over and kissed her cheek. “I’m not moody, but—”

“Oh, you don’t have to explain,” she said, taking his hand. “We all need a lift some time. You’d do the same for me.”

He opened the passenger’s door for her and helped her in. “You’re right. I would, and I won’t forget it.”

Without thinking Tyra reached over and patted his hand. “Were you really feeling depressed?”

“Yeah. If things aren’t going right, I usually fix them. Right now, I’m feeling better.”

She thought it best not to comment, but still, the idea that she could make a man like Byron Whitley forget about whatever was bothering him was good for her self-confidence. She wanted to hug him.

She knew she’d better be on her guard with this man. She slid down in the comfortable leather seat. What the hell, she said to herself. I’m thirty-one, and it’s time I did some living.

She’d thought he would take them to a place nearby, but since she lived on the outskirts, he began driving in a different direction

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask where we were headed.”

“I knew you were taking us to a place that sold ice cream. What else did I need to know?”

He parked and turned to her. “You’re growing on me. So you’d better be careful.”

“Thank you for warning me.”

She wasn’t prepared for the cozy, romantic atmosphere inside the massive ice-cream cone-shaped shop. Under hanging lanterns, white pillar-candles were nestled in arrangements of yellow, red and blue nasturtiums atop wrought-iron marble-top tables. Soft music filled the air. With his hand pressed against her back, Byron guided her to a table with a view of the moonlit sky.

They seated themselves, and he picked up a menu. “Whatever flavor you can imagine is here. What would you like?”

“As much as I love ice cream, I feel as if I can’t eat anything. I mean, Byron, it’s so…perfect.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, but I’ll be disappointed if you don’t have some.”

“I know, but not to worry. The chance of my leaving here and not tasting any ice cream is close to nil. I’ll bet they don’t have pomegranate ice cream.”

A grin flashed across his face. “Let’s see. Last time I was here, it was on the menu, and it was delicious.”

“I’ll have a double cone.”

“Good. That’s what I’ll start with.” He called the waitress. “Two double scoops in a cone of pomegranate, please. I’ll get an apricot cone for dessert.”

If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall for him. The waitress brought their ice cream and some napkins. Tyra ran her tongue over the ice cream, closed her eyes and savored the rich creamy dessert.

“This is fan—” She stopped in the middle of the word. When she opened her eyes, she was staring into pools of naked desire. She put the cone on the plate that the waitress had placed in front of her.

“Byron—”

“It’s all right. You caught me off guard. Aren’t you going to finish your ice cream?”

She nodded, and as soon as the ice cream touched her lips, her discomfort disappeared. She reached across the table and stroked the back of his hand. He turned his hand over and caressed hers. It was too much.

“Byron, tell me why you called me tonight.”

“I’ve always been a loner, Tyra. I have always been that way. I enjoy being with people who are interesting to me in some way. But I liked the peace and quiet of being alone. I always did my best thinking walking in the park or in the woods by myself. Tonight, I suddenly felt lonely. I sat in my den trying to work, and suddenly I felt so alone that I couldn’t stand it. And you were the only person that I wanted to see. You can’t imagine how happy I was when you suggested we get together.”

“I see.”

“I won’t ask what you are thinking.” He leaned forward. “Can we spend some time together? I mean a lot of time. Is there a man in your life?”

“The answer is no.”

“Do I stand a chance with you?”

“Well, I haven’t left my house at night on the spur of the moment to go any place with a man other than you.”

He sat back in his chair and gazed into her eyes as if to make certain that he had heard her correctly. “Not only do you and I have a lot in common, but there’s something else important going on here. At first I thought it was just physical attraction. But you’ve quickly proved me wrong. And it isn’t one-sided, either. Are you willing to explore it?”

“What can I say? The same feeling that hit you hit me. But let’s go slowly.”

“You’re telling me not to rush you?” She nodded. “All right, I won’t,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, “but I certainly won’t take things so slow that you’ll think I’m dragging my feet.”

“Would you mind spelling that out?” As soon as she said it, his expression brightened, and she wished she hadn’t asked him to explain.

He leaned forward, his eyes twinkled, and a smile—just short of salacious—framed his lips. “I mean, when I kiss you, I won’t pour it on. I’ll make it sweet and tender, and when I touch you and stroke you, I won’t be too possessive. I’ll be careful.”

For a full minute, he had her spellbound. She thought of him sinking into her body. Her fingernails scored the palms of her hands, and the pain brought her back to her senses.

She stood. “It’s getting late. We should go.”

“Of course,” he said. He paid the bill, took her hand and walked with her to his car. On the drive back to her house, they didn’t talk. He put a CD into the player, and the sound of Chet Atkins’s guitar enveloped them. Byron parked in front of Tyra’s house and walked her to the door.

“Give me your key, please.” She did, and he opened the door, walked in with her and closed it. “You made me feel special tonight,” he said. “You were there for me.” His left hand stroked the side of her face, and his right hand held her arms, eased across her back and gathered her to him.

She knew he meant to kiss her, and she wanted it so badly that she could hardly wait. Her heart beat so wildly that she feared she would faint. His eyes darkened. When he lowered his head, she rose on tiptoe to meet him. He ran the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips, testing them. She opened her mouth and sucked him in. His groan stunned her. A prickly sensation shot through her, making her tremble uncontrollably. He gathered her into his arms and held her there.

“I’d better go while I still have my sanity,” he whispered after some minutes. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

She kissed his lips. “Drive carefully. You’re carrying precious cargo.”

“I promised not to rush you, but if you say things like that to me, keeping my word won’t be easy. I won’t be like a long distance runner but more like a sprinter.”

She floated up the stairs in a world of her own. If he could make me feel like that with just a kiss…I could be wrong, but how do I know he’s the one? But before I get involved with him, shouldn’t I see what else is out there?




Chapter 3


Byron drove three blocks, stopped and put the car in park. Overwhelmed, he hadn’t reached his car before he wanted to turn around and go back to her. What the devil was wrong with him? He was his own man—always had been. But this sudden need for a woman he’d seen three or four times boggled his mind. He wasn’t upset. He just couldn’t understand it. He’d never felt about any woman the way he felt about her. It was if some vital part of him was missing the moment he left her. He shook his head, put the car in gear and continued home. It was probably a fluke. But she made him feel so good. God, please let it be real.

He hadn’t told Tyra about Andy. She didn’t know he had a son and, until that moment, he hadn’t thought it important. But it was. For if his feelings for her persisted, his having a child could become an issue. He’d have to do something about that, and soon.

He drove into his garage and entered his house through the passageway that connected the garage and the kitchen side door. Vowing not to allow anything to spoil his good mood, he took a bottle of ginger ale from the refrigerator, sat down in the family room, kicked off his shoes and flicked on the television. He switched between late-night talk shows, but didn’t see or hear much of either. Tyra had seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. Lord, she was so sweet. And she had an air of innocence that didn’t seem to fit with what he knew about her.

He remembered that he’d promised to call her and looked at his watch. A quarter to twelve, twenty minutes since he left her house, but too late to phone. But if he didn’t call, she’d probably think he wasn’t a man of his word. He dialed her number and prayed that the phone wouldn’t ring in anyone’s room but hers.

When she answered the phone by saying “Hi,” he knew he’d done the right thing.

“I almost didn’t call, because I was afraid I might awaken you or your family. But I didn’t want you to think of me as unreliable. I’ve been thinking about you, and about us, and I can hardly believe that I had you in my arms. If it doesn’t happen again and soon, I’ll think I imagined it.”

“Not to worry, Byron, if I thought you forgot it, I’d remind you.” Her laughter, warm and hearty, floated to him through the wire.

That comment surprised him. He hadn’t known many straightforward women. He was used to women who liked to play games with a guy. “It’s really refreshing. I hope the time soon comes when you’ll feel free to kiss me whenever you want to.”

“You promised to go slowly.”

“It seems to me that I’m crawling at a snail’s pace.”

“Really? A roller coaster is more like it. I enjoyed being with you tonight, Byron, but I’d better get to sleep. I have to get up at six-thirty.”

“Stay sweet. At least I’ll see you Friday at five. Good night.” He’d wanted to add sweetheart, but he knew she’d say he was moving too fast.

“Good night, dear.”

She hung up. He sat there staring at the receiver. She’d said, good-night, dear. Was he dear to her? He’d give anything if he understood women, any woman. He took a shower, dried off, slipped into bed and let the cool sheets tantalize his naked body. What he wouldn’t give if she were there to wrap her arms and legs around him! He couldn’t help laughing at himself. Every man had at some point knelt before a woman. Who was he to complain about the order of things? He had to wait, and he’d be glad to cool his heels while he waited for Tyra Cunningham.



Tyra strode into the Legal Aid Center office building the next morning feeling like a lottery winner, until Christopher Fuller blocked her way.

“Feeling frisky this morning, are we?” he said with a rakish grin. “I thought I saw you in the pool area yesterday at noon fully dressed. A beautiful woman like you should take a dip so we can appreciate you fully.”

She caught herself before she did something she’d later regret. “Not all of us are exhibitionists, Mr. Fuller.”

His eyebrow shot up. “When you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

She moved around him, and as she passed, she said, “When what you’re flaunting isn’t so special, you’re wasting your time.” His shoulders seemed to sag, so she knew she’d hit him where it hurt. He’d hoped she had seen him sprawled out in the lounge chair. She admitted to herself that he appeared well endowed, but he could bet she’d never know for sure.

But of all the men here, he’s the one who’s after me. He’s the only one that I don’t want near me, she said to herself. As far as she was concerned, all he had going for him was below his waist, and she didn’t need that from him.

She found a note on her desk from Lyle Riddick, the man Barbara Johnson said was her supervisor and whom she hadn’t yet met. “Ms. Cunningham, could we meet in my office at ten this morning. Thank you, L. Riddick.” She reread the note. At least he said thank you. Since he didn’t say what they would discuss, she couldn’t prepare, so she began drafting a questionnaire designed to obtain essential information from her clients—questions that would help her determine the best way in which to help them. Tyra walked into Lyle Riddick’s office at exactly ten and stopped short. Was she in a bird sanctuary?

“Come in. Come in, Ms. Cunningham. I surround myself with my favorite things…to the extent that I can. And birds and squirrels are among my delights. My yard is full of squirrels, by the way.” He stood and shook hands with her. “I’ve been away at a conference. Delighted to meet you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Riddick. I hope the conference was worthwhile.”

“Indeed it was. Are you satisfied with your assignment so far?”

She leaned back in the chair, assessing the man as best she could.

“Thank you for asking,” she said. “I haven’t had anything to do really. I’m sorry for being so blunt, but you asked, and I always try to tell the truth.”

“Honesty is a good thing. I have a case for you. The boy’s name is Jonathan Hathaway. He’s a great kid, but he’s got some family problems. If you have extra time after dealing with this problem, I’d like you to counsel Erica Saunders. After twenty-five years of marriage during which she never held a job and lived off her husband’s earnings, she got bored, had an extra-marital affair. She feels she’s being mistreated because her husband is divorcing her and refuses to pay alimony. She’s depressed, almost suicidal and thinks the whole world is against her. I thought you might be able to help her.”

She stared at him. “I hope you don’t think I’d sympathize with her.”

“I think we’ll work well together, Tyra,” he said with a hearty laugh. “And please call me Lyle. We have a couple of young turks here, but I see that you’re able to keep them in line.”

“Yes. I’ve met both of them, and I don’t anticipate a problem.”

“Good, Ron Parker took a turn with the Saunders case, but I decided he wasn’t the person to deal with it. Stop by his office and get the file. If you have any problems, I’m right here.”

She thanked him and left. A knock on Parker’s office door brought a response that was more akin to a growl than a greeting. He stood when she walked in.

“Well. Well. Things are looking up around here. I hope you’re the secretary I ordered. Hmm.”

Another one of those. “Mr. Parker, I’m Tyra Cunningham, and I’ve been assigned Erica Saunders’s case. Lyle said you have her file. May I have it?”

“Walked right into that one. No hard feelings, I hope. I didn’t know we were hiring women.” He searched through a stack of folders on his desk and handed her one of them.

“Thanks. I’m sure that’s not all you don’t know.” She couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Another lesson learned. If she’d met him at a party and he’d asked her for a date, she would probably have gone out with him, though she doubted she’d have done it a second time. She wouldn’t say that Ron Parker was a problem. Nor did she expect him to be one, but he was obviously accustomed to getting what he wanted, and he seemed to want what didn’t come easily. Or so it seemed. On the way back to her office, she stopped to get coffee.

“Can we have lunch today?” Matt Cowan asked her when she bumped into him in the coffee room.

“I have to prepare for a new client this afternoon, so it’s probably not a good time.”

He dropped three packets of sugar into his coffee and stirred, all the while gazing intently at her. “You have to eat, don’t you? Why not have dinner with me.”

She smiled, because she didn’t want him for an enemy. But she couldn’t imagine why anyone would care about a having lunch with someone who didn’t matter. “All right, but I’m planning to read while I eat.”

He put the coffee cup down and put both hands in his pants pockets so that his suit jacket hung at his sides and back. To her mind, exasperation was the only word that could describe him.

“Are you brushing me off?”

She didn’t try to control the smirk that formed around her lips. “Would anybody dare to do that?”

Matt ran his fingers through his silky curls, a testament to his Native American heritage.

She looked at her watch. “It’s eleven o’clock. Meet you in the lunch room at twelve thirty.”

“I’d almost given up hope.”

“Well, you’re nicer than I thought you’d be,” said Tyra.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

“No, but your brusque manner doesn’t impress me. Fuller and Parker impress me to the extent that I don’t like their company.”

“But I’m just another guy, eh?”

“I didn’t say that, and don’t put words in my mouth. See you at twelve-thirty. I have to work.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

She went back to her office and closed the door. What would Byron think about that? It was just lunch, but it was still a date. She told herself to tread carefully, and not risk ruining her relationship with Byron just to prove that she could find her own man.

She headed to the cafeteria to meet Matt for lunch and, to her surprise, he was already there waiting for her. She had assumed that he would be late. Once they had gotten their food, she decided to initiate the conversation. “How old are you?” she asked him.

“Thirty-five.”

“Are you married?”

He didn’t seem a bit taken aback, considering her question. “I am. But I’m at a different state in my life. I want stability and a family. Right now, I don’t have either.”

“Is it you or her?”

“It’s a combination of things, and it’s too bad. What about you?”

“I’m sorry. As for me, I’ve never married or even come close to it. But I met someone recently who seems interesting.”

“He’s a lucky guy.”

She was surprised that he was so open about such personal matters. But she realized that he was vulnerable and seemingly very unhappy.

“Are you separated now, Matt?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but it suits me. The longer it lasts, the more I learn about myself and the happier I am.”

She sipped sweetened ice tea as she waited for Matt to finish his apple pie. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t, because she knew he would see the pity in her eyes.

As they left the lunch room, she asked him, “Do you think you and your wife could make a go of it if she worked harder to understand your needs?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Neither is what the other needs.”

“Thanks for your company, Matt.”

“I thank you. Just talking about it has strengthened my resolve to put my life in order. You’re a good listener, and I’ll bet you’re a good counselor.”

“See you later.”

She sat down at her desk, leaned back and exhaled. She understood the wisdom of letting Byron know her feelings, and that meant letting him know her dreams and aspirations. She cared for him, and she wanted him.

At two-thirty, a tall, handsome and well-dressed teenager walked into Tyra’s office and extended his hand. She liked him at once. “Ms. Cunningham, I’m Jonathan Hathaway, and I hope you can help me,” he said. She asked him to have a seat.

“Thanks. My seventeen-year-old girlfriend is pregnant, and her dad won’t let us marry.”

“Did you date her without his permission?”

“No. I went to her house practically every evening, took her out or stayed there and did my homework with her. Sometimes he was at home, and sometime he wasn’t.”

“I don’t think the courts can give you permission to marry this girl so long as she’s under eighteen, but you do have some rights, and we’ll see that those rights are honored.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I sure hope so.”

She talked with him for half an hour and realized that they might be forced to go to court. “Where does your family stand in this, Jonathan?”

“They’re angry. She could stay with us and my folks would help me pay for everything, but her dad won’t allow it.”

“What is he demanding? He must want something.”

“Oh, he does. He’s asking for money.”

Tyra bit back her anger. “I’ll see what we have here and collect the resources that we need, Jonathan. Meanwhile, try not to worry. She’ll be eighteen in about six months, and her father will have no legal jurisdiction. Of course, we want marriage for the two of you before the child is born, if possible. You’re my number one priority.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I know you’ll do what you can.”

She said goodbye to Jonathan. She’d lost track of time and realized that it was past time to go home. She quickly packed up her things.

“How about a drink?” She looked up and saw Christopher Fuller holding the lobby door for her.

“No thanks. I’m in a hurry to get home.”

“If you’re in a hurry, why’d you stay so late? What were you doing? Making out with Cowan?”

“What I was doing is none of your business. I don’t have a damn thing to do when I get home. I just can’t stand you.” She whirled around and bumped into Matt. “Matt, this idiot says I’ve been making out with you. I’d appreciate it if you’d straighten him out.”

As she rushed off, she heard Matt say, “Come off it, Fuller. You wouldn’t know a lady from the pigs you lie around with. You’ve had one warning. If you don’t want a second one, you’d better change your tone.”

When she got home, she went to her bedroom, closed the door and kicked off her shoes. She’d decided it would be foolish to jeopardize her relationship with Byron merely to put her siblings in their place.



Byron was a block from his house when he remembered his promise to buy Andy a bicycle. A four-and-a-half year-old could handle one he reasoned. He turned the Cadillac onto Genstar Drive and headed for the Francis Scott Key Mall. Once inside the mall, Byron passed a bookstore window and saw a children’s book about Frederick, Maryland heroes. He went in and bought it. Andy loved stories that he could retell in his day school and was fast earning the title of class storyteller. Byron made a note to read the book first so that he could answer his son’s questions, and he knew there would be plenty of them.

Byron found the bicycle that he wanted, remembered to get a helmet and headed home. He pulled into his garage, left the bicycle and helmet in the car and entered the house through the kitchen. In his haste to greet Byron, Andy nearly fell out of the chair.

“I need a new story, Daddy. Kisha told one today, but nobody clapped.”

Byron lifted the boy into his arms and hugged him. “Why didn’t you clap?”

“I didn’t want her to be as good as me.”

“As good as I. You should have clapped. You’re good at it, and you can afford to be gracious to other children who try to tell stories.’

“Yes. But she wasn’t as good as I am.”

“Fine. Next time, I want you to lead the applause for her. Got it?”

“Yes, I will. But I don’t like the idea.”

Byron put Andy back in the chair and went up to his room. A search of the yellow pages in the telephone book gave him a choice of several gourmet restaurants, and he chose one. After ordering, he showered and dressed in black jeans, a T-shirt and black sneakers and went downstairs.

He handed his son the book he’d bought earlier. “Let’s read, Andy.”

“What’s the story about?”

“Important people who lived in Frederick long ago.”

“Good. I’m going to read slow, so I’ll remember it and I can tell it at school tomorrow.” The boy read the picture story in about fifteen minutes. “I love the story, Dad.”

Andy loved reading. Indeed, the boy had a sizeable library of books. It was becoming difficult to find new ones that challenged his skills. I’m going to have to start writing stories for preschool children, Byron said to himself. “If I get Andy’s imagination to working, it should be fun.”

At five-thirty, he rang Tyra’s doorbell, and, to his disappointment, Darlene opened the door. “Hello, Darlene. Are you the Cunninghams’ official doorman?”

“Hi, Byron. I think I detected a bit of sarcasm. Who do you want to see? Tyra or Clark? Clark’s in Baltimore.”

“Darlene, give me a little credit. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have a reason. Do you mind if I come in and wait for Tyra?”

“Sure. Something tells me that I get on the wrong side of you without trying.”

“Darlene, I told you I was expecting Byron at five-thirty.” Tyra walked in. “Hi. I’m sorry, Byron.”

He leaned over, kissed Tyra’s cheek. “It’s all right. We’ll make up for it.” Tyra cast a glance in Darlene’s direction, took Byron’s arm and ushered him out of the house.

“Do you realize I’ve never been to Gambrill Park?” she asked him as he opened the front passenger door for her. “And I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Something tells me that, when you were a teenager, you didn’t do much dating.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. I was seventeen when we lost our parents, and responsibility for my siblings and our home fell to me. I was scared to death of setting a bad example.”

He got in the car, eased his arm across her shoulder and turned to her. “I’ve waited all day for the greeting that Darlene deprived me of.”

She turned to him, snuggled closer and parted her lips. Heat plowed through him as she sucked his tongue into her mouth. He knew he should stop, but when he attempted to pull away, she clung to him. He braced his hands on her shoulders and eased her away from him. Her face bore a dazed expression.

He held her as close as he dared. “It’s still daylight, sweetheart. We could draw quite a crowd.” He’d meant it to be funny, but she didn’t smile. “What is it, Tyra? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I guess. I suppose I’m only now learning who I am. I surprise myself sometimes when I’m with you.”

Her words brought an inward smile and gave him a feeling she would never understand. If he was the man to teach her who she was, nothing would please him more. He knew she wasn’t an innocent. A woman without any sexual experience wouldn’t relate to a man as she did. But she’d missed something, and he couldn’t wait to fill the void.

“Don’t think you haven’t shown me a different side of myself. The good thing is that I like who I am with you,” he said, as he headed out Yellow Springs Road to Gambrill Park. “I’ve already picked out a space for us. It’s close enough to the bandstand, but far enough to protect the eardrums.”

After parking the car and locking it, he took a wicker picnic basket and a shopping bag from the trunk, walked with her to a big boulder and put the basket on it. “This boulder will not only make a great table, it’s a good back rest.”

“What’s in that?” she asked, pointing to the shopping bag.

“A blanket to sit on, and two longs-sleeved shirts, one to protect your arms from the mosquitoes and the other to protect mine. I also brought along some repellant. Mosquitoes hate that.”

He spread the blanket and sat down beside her. “Would you put your head on my shoulder for a few minutes?” he asked her. “I’m not rushing you, but I’d like you to be a little closer.” He was still hot from her kiss in the front seat of his car.

She did as he asked and put one arm around his back and the other across his chest. “I could go to sleep right here,” she said, her voice low and inviting.

“Tyra, you don’t want me to rush, so don’t feed my imagination with statements like that.”

“It was an innocent remark. What time does the music start?”

“It started when you appeared at your foyer.”

When the sound of musicians tuning their instruments reached their ears, Byron handed Tyra a copy of the evening program and opened his own. “You read it to me,” she said. “I’m too comfortable to move, and I’d have to let go of your waist.”

He read it to her and added, “We’re in luck, or at least I am. I love Italian baroque chamber music.”

“Me, too. The problem is that it puts me right to sleep.”

“We’ll have our picnic in a few minutes. I don’t suppose you can eat and sleep at the same time.”

She kissed his neck, and he wished she’d warned him. “I guess not. I don’t remember ever dreaming about food. And that’s weird, because I love to eat.”

He covered the boulder with a blue tablecloth, set the table with the matching plates and utensils the caterer supplied and placed their food on it.

“This is wonderful, Byron. A feast beneath the stars in a fairy-tale environment, listening to beautiful music in the company of a man who is literally a heartthrob. If I act a little giddy, who could blame me?”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Don’t expect me to behave when you talk like this.” He held a glass of white wine to her lips. “I’ve been drunk on you since the minute I first saw you. If you keep talking like that, I’ll start staggering.” It was all right to joke and tease, but he was serious. “Tyra, I asked you if there was a man in your life, and you said that there wasn’t. Will you give me a chance to be the man in your life?”

She seemed taken aback. “Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

“No, not yet.”

“If I know up front what your motive is I might cooperate.”

“Fair enough.” He swatted the side of his neck to discourage an offending mosquito. Then he opened the shopping bag and took out the shirts he’d brought.

“Thanks. You’re a very thoughtful man.”

“If you give me a chance, Tyra, I’ll always take good care of you. Always.”




Chapter 4


On the way home from the concert, Tyra mulled over Byron’s words, and especially her memories of his gentleness throughout the evening. He’d done everything but feed her by hand. Now, he wanted her to confine her male companions to him.

Tyra didn’t want any man but Byron. Yet, she wasn’t sure that not seeing other men made sense. She could count on one hand the men she’d dated and still have fingers left.

“You’re very quiet,” Byron said. “Is there a something bothering you?”

“I’m not sure. There isn’t another man in my life, but I’m not certain that I want to promise you that there won’t be. There are times when my attraction to you frightens me. I love being with you. and I’m happy when I’m with you But suppose I’m making a mistake? Don’t you ever doubt your feelings, Byron?”

“I appreciate what you’re saying, even though I don’t like it. I especially appreciate your honesty. I’m forty years old, and I know who I am. I don’t doubt my feelings for you one bit. Are you telling me that you don’t trust a relationship with me?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m wondering if I’ve had enough experience to know…I mean to judge what I’m feeling. It happened so suddenly, and it…seems like we’re moving too fast.”

“No relationship stands still, Tyra. It either grows, or it begins to die. Are you afraid?”

“Believe me, it’s definitely not dying.”

“If you want to stop seeing me, tell me right now.”

When she turned to look at him, she saw that the firm set of his jaw did not match the softness with which he spoke. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so candid. “No, I don’t want to stop seeing you. I love being with you.”

“But you don’t trust the relationship.”

“That’s too harsh. I trust you, and I… Oh, why did I start this.”

He parked in front of her house, cut the motor and turned to her. “Will you or won’t you stop seeing other men and give us a chance?” He looked into her eyes, unsmiling, and she knew what would come next if she said no. If the truth were known, he had no cause for concern. Don’t make the biggest mistake of your life, girl. He’s asking for the truth.

“I will, Byron,” she said at last and breathed deeply in relief, “but you promised not to rush me.”

He slid an arm around her. “I know I did, but I had to know, because we need to talk. Instead of going to the concert tomorrow night, will you have dinner with me?”

She hid her surprise at his change of plans. “What time?”

“I’ll be here at six-thirty. Okay?”

“That’s fine,” she said and stroked the back of his hand almost absentmindedly. “It’ll be a long day.”

“Does that mean you’ll be eager to see me?”

“That’s what it means.” His eyes seemed to devour her. Then a half smile played around his lips.

“If we weren’t right under this streetlight. I’d kiss you silly.” He got out, went around and opened her door and headed up the walk to her house.

Unwilling to let him leave so soon, she said, “Why did Clark invite you to spend the night here? I don’t get the sense that you two are really close friends.”

“Our offices are in the same building and, occasionally, we eat lunch together. At the time, he was an expert witness on a case I had here in Frederick. The judge wanted the trial at nine o’clock, and that didn’t suit me, but it suited Clark, so he suggested that I spend the night here. As an added incentive, he raved about Maggie’s cooking, because he knew how much I love good food. He didn’t mention you, and it’s a good thing that he didn’t, because I don’t like being set up.”

“He told me he was bringing a houseguest, but he certainly didn’t describe you. I thought he was bringing a girlfriend.”

Byron stepped closer. “It happened when you opened the door. Why don’t you stop fighting it?” He brought her into his arms. “Kiss me. I’m starved for you.”

She reached up to kiss him playfully on the cheek, but he moved to capture her lips. She tasted his hunger and his driving need. She pulled his tongue deeper into her, answering him with her own rising passion. He grabbed her buttocks and fastened her body to his. She could feel him then, and heat began to simmer in her loins as she pressed herself to him until, nearly frantic with the need to explode, she undulated wildly.

Out of her mind with desire she grabbed his hand and rubbed her left breast with it until he began to pinch and squeeze it. “Do something,” she moaned. “I’m aching.”

She thought she would die from the feeling of his long fingers on her skin as he released her breast from her scooped-neck dress. Lifting her, he sucked her left nipple into his mouth while he teased and pinched the other one. She’d never felt anything in her life like the throbbing between her legs. And still he suckled her.

“Oh, my lord. I can’t stand this,” she moaned, shaking from the onslaught of his passion.

He released her breast and wrapped her in his arms. “We’re going to have to do something about this, sweetheart. Do you feel anything for me other than passion? I know you feel that. Do you? Do you care for me?”

“Yes. Oh, yes, I do. What…what happened a minute ago?” When he stepped back in order to see her face, she wondered if she’d said the wrong thing, if he’d think her immature.

“If we had privacy, we probably would be making love this minute. At least, that’s what we both need right now. Have you ever had a truly satisfying sexual experience?” She shook her head. “It’s something for us both to look forward to.”

She wanted to ask him why the thought brought a smile to his face, but she figured she’d revealed enough for one evening. “I don’t think we’d better consider that right now.”

“I agree. I’ll see you tomorrow at six-thirty. Kiss me, and this time, please don’t turn up the heat.”

“I didn’t turn it up. You turned it up.”

“Did not.”

“Did so, and I can prove it.” When he raised an eyebrow, she reached up and touched his lips with hers until, frustrated, he brushed the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips until she opened to him. He plunged into her demanding, asking, begging for what he needed until she capitulated and loved him as sweetly and as tenderly as she could, stroking his face, nibbling on his tongue and moaning softly.

“You’re…you’re precious to me,” he said when he could get his breath. “Don’t forget that.”

Long after Byron left her, Tyra stood in the darkened foyer coming to terms with her feelings for Byron. There was no point in fooling herself. Byron Whitley was the man for her, no matter how he happened to come into her life. When she was in her teens and twenties, she didn’t have an opportunity to play the field. Now, she was thirty-one and too old for it. She wanted a family of her own.

She turned on the hall light and started up the stairs, rubbing her hands along the banister that she’d slid down so many times in happier days before her parents died. I’ve been so busy trying to relive the youth I missed, that I almost missed out on the prime of my life. I’m through with that. Byron asked for a chance, and I’m going to give him one.



Byron’s problem at the moment did not involve questions about his feelings for Tyra. He knew he loved her. The questions that gnawed at him were how she would react when he told her about Andy, and how would she and his son get along. Maybe having had to nurture her siblings when she herself still needed nurturing had turned her against children. Maybe she’d find it difficult to love another woman’s child.

I should have told her before it got this far, before we began to need each other. But what the heck! The die was cast when we met, and I didn’t have a reason to tell her anything personal. Besides, it happened so fast.

He tiptoed into Andy’s room and stood beside the child’s bed marveling at his son as Andy stretched, hugged his teddy bear and sank into a deeper sleep. He knew that, in spite of his feelings for Tyra, he’d close his heart and his mind to her and get on with his life if she couldn’t accept his child as her own. He leaned down, kissed the boy’s forehead, turned out the light and closed the door. Life could play cruel tricks, but if he were fortunate this time, he’d have a real home and family. But he wasn’t going to rush it. He’d introduce her to Andy when the time was right and not before.

With his mind at ease, he turned his thoughts to one of his clients. He didn’t like the man, because of his alcoholism. The man swore that he could stop drinking, if he wanted to and probably believed it. He agreed to take the man’s case because his teenage daughter needed help. Yet, he had a nagging feeling that his client was basically selfish, that he didn’t really have his daughter’s interest at heart. After reading two similar cases, he shrugged. What would be would be. A peaceful sleep awaited him the minute he put his head on the pillow.





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