Книга - Family Practice

Family Practice
Judy Duarte


ALL OR NOTHING…After a very bitter–very public–divorce, high-society surgeon Michael Harper needed a vacation. But his plans for peace and quiet hadn't included falling in love with a stubborn, self-reliant cocktail waitress from the wrong side of the tracks…or the two kids she hoped to adopt. Mansions, money–marriage. Michael was suddenly prepared to offer it all….But Kara Westin refused to take charity from anyone, especially not from a sexy, well-meaning doctor who knew more about family fortunes than family values. Despite temptation, Kara was determined to keep her distance. The only way she'd surrender her pride was in exchange for his heart.









Just the two of them.


Alone.



Get a grip, she told herself. It’s only a friendly dinner. And certainly not a date.



Kara struggled with the urge to go home, but then Michael answered the door wearing a pair of jeans, a crisply pressed white shirt and a smile that reached the golden hue of his eyes.



He’d showered. And shaved. His eyes swept over her body in an appreciative caress. “Come in.”



Kara moved into the small cottage. A fire crackled softly in the living room, and the easy sound of something classical played on the stereo.



Just friends. Neighbors.



“Can I pour you a glass of wine?”



Wine?



He flashed her a warm, friendly smile, and she wondered if she’d made more out of the offer than he’d intended.



We’re just newfound friends having dinner. What harm could there be in that?


Dear Reader,



While taking a breather from decorating and gift-wrapping, check out this month’s exciting treats from Silhouette Special Edition. The Summer House (#1510) contains two fabulous stories in one neat package. “Marrying Mandy” by veteran author Susan Mallery features the reunion of two sweethearts who fall in love all over again. Joining Susan is fellow romance writer Teresa Southwick whose story “Courting Cassandra” shows how an old crush blossoms into full-blown love.



In Joan Elliott Pickart’s Tall, Dark and Irresistible (#1507), a hero comes to terms with his heritage and meets a special woman who opens his heart to the possibilities. Award-winning author Anne McAllister gets us in the holiday spirit with The Cowboy’s Christmas Miracle (#1508) in which a lone-wolf cowboy finds out he’s a dad to an adorable little boy, then realizes the woman who’d always been his “best buddy” now makes his heart race at top speed! And count on Christine Rimmer for another page-turner in Scrooge and the Single Girl (#1509). This heart-thumping romance features an anti-Santa hero and an independent heroine, both resigned to singlehood and stranded in a tiny little mountain cabin where they’ll have a holiday they’ll never forget!



Judy Duarte returns to the line-up with Family Practice (#1511), a darling tale of a handsome doctor who picks up the pieces after a bitter divorce and during a much-needed vacation falls in love with a hardworking heroine and her two kids. In Elane Osborn’s A Season To Believe (#1512), a woman survives a car crash but wakes up with amnesia. When a handsome private detective takes her plight to heart, she finds more than one reason to be thankful.



As you can see, we have an abundance of rich and emotionally complex love stories to share with you. I wish you happiness, fun and a little romance this holiday season!



Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor




Family Practice

Judy Duarte







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


To Bob and Betty Astleford, who gave me a strong, loving foundation that became a springboard to reach my dreams. You taught me the values I hold dear and set a fine example of love, marriage and parenthood. I love you, Mom and Dad.

In memory of Regina Ann Ronk, who blessed my life and my writing. Philippians 1:2–3.




JUDY DUARTE


An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte always wanted to write books of her own. One day, she decided to make that dream come true. Five years and six manuscripts later, she sold her first book to Silhouette Special Edition.

Her unpublished stories have won the Emily and the Orange Rose writing contests, and in 2001, she became a double RWA Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green, both of whom write for Silhouette.

At times, when a stubborn hero and a headstrong heroine claim her undivided attention, she and her family are thankful for fast food, pizza delivery and video games. When she’s not at the keyboard or in a Walter-Mitty-type world, she enjoys traveling, romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.

Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498. You can also visit her Web site at: www.judyduarte.com.










Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue




Chapter One


“Dr. Harper, now that your wife is in prison, what are your plans?”

Barely out of his black Jag, Michael Harper tensed his jaw, slammed the car door and shoved past a cocky reporter and a heavyset cameraman. Ever since the trial, the press continued to dog him.

Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? The whole damn mess was yesterday’s news, at least as far as he was concerned. He’d been cleared of any wrongdoing, Denise was in prison, and their divorce had been finalized three months ago.

“Just one question, Doc. Has your practice suffered because of the scandal?”

A camera flashed in Michael’s face, and he clenched his fist, fighting an urge to grab the photographic equipment and sling it to the ground. “No comment.”

He strode toward the private stairwell that led from the underground parking garage to his second-floor southern California office, hoping to shake more than the dank odor of concrete, gasoline fumes and exhaust. Why the interest in him? In his practice, his life? He hadn’t done anything, just been an unwitting victim.

The thought of himself as a victim turned his stomach, knotted his gut. Michael Harper, son of the Raleigh-Harpers of Boston. Distinguished graduate of Harvard Medical School. Renowned cardiovascular surgeon. His life had been charmed from birth. Perfect.

Until now.

Damn you, Denise. Michael swung open the metal door and slammed it behind him. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Sure, the whole sordid mess had taken a toll on him. His former wife who had also been his office manager had carried on a lengthy affair with a high-profile politician. That was tough enough to handle.

But she’d laundered drug money through his office, then made illegal contributions to her lover’s campaign. There’d been a thorough investigation, and Michael had been cleared of any wrongdoing. Still, the embarrassment was hard to live down. Hard to forgive. Impossible to forget.

The press continued to dog him, Dr. Michael Harper, who had nothing to do with any of this. Even those sleazy tabloids had found him a newsworthy topic. Apparently, the public enjoyed hearing about a wealthy surgeon cuckolded by a bad girl and a notorious politician. But quite frankly, he was ready to escape the limelight.

Forever.

When he reached his office, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered to come in today. Habit, he supposed, but it wasn’t necessary. Due in part to the depositions and trials, both federal and state, he’d cut back on his patient load until it was nearly nonexistent.

“Michael?” Bertha Williams, his office manager, asked. The woman had come out of retirement to fix the god-awful mess his ex-wife had made of his books. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Michael followed the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of an electric percolator to the break room.

In years past, Bertha had hovered over him like a mother hen, fixing him a hot lunch when he’d been too busy to eat or too concerned about a patient to realize he’d skipped a meal or two. She handed him a steaming cup of coffee, then eyed him carefully. “Did you forget to shave again? Or is that an attempt to shake your wholesome, all-American look?”

“Neither.” Michael stroked the day-old bristles on his chin, then shrugged. “Maybe it’s apathy.”

“Humph.” She clicked her tongue, crossed her arms and shook her head. “You’re looking bad, Michael. Not overworked, but under too much stress.”

“I’m all right, just tired of all the fuss.”

Concern simmered in her hazel eyes. “You’re a surgeon, dedicated to your profession and respected among your peers. I’ve seen you work with only an occasional game of golf as a diversion. It may have been enough in the past, but not now. I think you should consider a vacation.”

A vacation? Impossible. “I need a permanent break from the press and media, but there’s a host of reporters staking out my jet at the Santa Monica Airport. They’re just waiting for me to show my face.”

“You could take a drive up or down the coast,” Bertha suggested. “Maybe find a secluded house on the beach.”

Ocean breezes. Sunshine. Long, solitary, mind-cleansing walks on the sand. It sounded too good to be true. Michael shook his head. “I can’t even go downstairs to the parking garage without meeting an entourage of reporters.”

Bertha furrowed her gray brow and drummed her fingers on the table, then she brightened. “Take my car. It’s parked out front today. Of course, it won’t be at all like driving that fancy black Jaguar of yours.”

Michael smiled. He doubted anyone would expect to see him drive an ’89 Ford Taurus out of here. Maybe her idea had merit.

Bertha stood. “I’ll get the keys. Then I’ll check with Dr. Hanson about taking the few patients you have scheduled this week.”

“No, I don’t think it will work. I’d have to go home and pack—”

“Oh, pshaw. You’ve got a shaving kit and change of clothes here. And anything else can be purchased along the way. Michael, you need a break, if not a full-scale vacation. Take some time to yourself, and maybe then you’ll be ready to come back to work.” Bertha dug through her oversize handbag and handed him a set of keys.

Two hours later, Michael drove south on Pacific Coast Highway. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but as long as the press hadn’t followed him, he’d be content to watch the sun set over the ocean, maybe even try surfing again. He hadn’t taken time to relax in years. He hadn’t really needed to.

A small, nearly obscure sign identified the upcoming town as Harbor Haven. The name had a pleasant, out-of-the-way sound. He flipped the blinker then turned left. A haven was just what he needed, especially if it provided peace and quiet.

He passed several pastel-colored storefronts—Bailey’s Bait Shop, Connie’s Bookstore, and the EZ Suds Laundromat. On the other side of the street, he spotted a momand-pop grocery store. Harbor Haven wasn’t really a town, he realized, but rather a small secluded enclave.

Down the road, a sign advertised Campbell’s Seaside Cottages, and an arrow pointed to a side street on the left. Michael followed the directions until he spotted a group of quaint little beach houses, all white with latticework trim. Only a bright yellow number distinguished one from another. A pink, flashing neon sign hung in the window of the largest cottage and announced, Vacancy.

He swung into a graveled parking lot, empty except for two kids and a mixed-breed dog playing with a soccer ball. Carefully avoiding a small, sandy-haired boy and an older redheaded girl, Michael pulled the Ford into a parking space.

As he turned off the ignition, he noticed the Rolex on his wrist. Not exactly sure why, he slipped off the expensive gold watch and placed it in the empty ashtray. Today, he was just a regular guy who drove an old Ford. Certainly not anyone famous or newsworthy.

As he swung open the door and stepped from the sedan, the soccer ball came flying toward his feet, resting underneath Bertha’s car.

“Sorry, mister, I’m not too good at kicking yet.” The little boy’s soft brown eyes pleaded for understanding, and he pointed toward the broken-down fence that lined the back half of the parking lot. “The ball was s’posed to go over there.”

Michael stooped to retrieve the soccer ball, then tossed it toward the boy. The girl, wearing white shorts and a pink sweatshirt, struggled to hold the dog. When their eyes met, Michael did a double take.

It was easy to see how he had mistaken the petite woman for a child—but only from a distance. Up close, her maturity struck him as obvious, and when she smiled, her wholesome beauty stunned him.

The breeze stirred up the smells of salt and seashore and played havoc with her curly red hair, as did the sunlight, highlighting the color of autumn leaves and, for only a moment, reminding him of Boston. And the park where he had played as a boy.

She swatted at the springy strand that whipped across a lightly freckled nose. Large, expressive eyes, the color of the sea, enhanced a small, delicate face. She eased her hold on the dog until it lunged toward Michael with its tongue flopping. Snagging the bright yellow collar, she jerked the black overgrown puppy back. Michael wasn’t sure the petite woman could control the monstrous animal, but she did.

“Gulliver,” she scolded. “Behave yourself, or I’ll put you in the backyard.”

“I didn’t mean to spoil your fun,” Michael said. “As soon as I rent a cottage, I’ll move the car.”

“Hey, that’ll make you our neighbor.” The boy smiled. “I’m Eric, and this is Kara.”

He hadn’t meant to speak, to introduce himself. This quest had only been for solitude, a time to form a game plan of sorts. He’d toyed with the idea of relocating his practice from Los Angeles to Boston and hoped taking time off would help him decide.

When she flashed him a shy smile, warmth slowly poured over him, like aged cognac from a crystal decanter. And the words spilled out without any effort on his part. “My name’s Michael.”



Kara Westin nearly stumbled over the panting dog, but when she regained her footing and glanced into the amber-colored eyes of the man who’d just introduced himself, her heart jumped, and her breath caught in her throat. She wrestled the urge to gawk at the stranger standing before her.

Tall and broad-shouldered. Handsome, too. Hair, golden brown—sun-bleached, most likely. He had that lanky, water sport aficionado look. Jet skis, surfboards, sailboats.

Vacationing? she wondered. This late in the fall? The tourist season was over, which she found disappointing. A people watcher by nature, Kara missed the daily activity that provided fodder for the journal she kept.

She extended her hand in greeting before he did. “It’s nice to meet you, Michael. How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not sure. A few days, maybe a week.”

Kara eyed him carefully, trying to garner a sense of who her temporary neighbor might be. She found him hard to read. That, in itself, told her she should be wary. Her instincts about strangers had usually been on target. But this particular man wasn’t giving her intuition very much to work with.

“Where are you from?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“A couple of hours up north. I had some time off and thought I’d just travel along the coast.”

Kara, glad the dog had finally settled down, eased her hold on Gulliver’s collar. “Sounds like you’ve got an adventurous spirit.”

He slid her a half smile. “I’ve been accused of being staid and boring, but never adventurous.”

“That’s too bad.” Kara wondered how a man who looked to be the epitome of outdoor fun could consider himself dull. It didn’t seem possible. “Life can be tough if you can’t find time to enjoy it.”

“Kara’s just about the most funnest person you’ll ever know,” Eric interjected. “She’s always got a cool idea. She can make the yuckiest things kind of neat.”

“I’m not into fun,” Michael said. Topaz-colored eyes studied Kara a bit more intensely than she liked. It seemed as though he was trying to read her, just as she had tried with him. She found it unsettling until he turned and smiled at Eric. “I just came here to walk on the beach. Think. Have some alone time.”

And then Kara saw it, that glimmer of something in his eyes that told her more about the man than he told her himself. She recognized sadness, and although he’d only allowed her a brief glimpse, it was there. She was sure of it. Michael, whoever he was, had come to Harbor Haven to ease his pain.

Her heart went out to him, just as it did for every orphan she met—human or animal. Of course, she didn’t need to adopt another lonely stray into her world. Her time was spread a bit too thin, as it was.

When she wasn’t working at the Pacifica Bar and Grill and saving every dime she could for graduate school, she was helping Lizzie make a home for the children.

“Well,” she said, dismissing her analysis of the good-looking stranger, “Harbor Haven should give you all the fresh air and sunshine you need.” She pointed toward the office built on the front of Lizzie’s cottage. “You’ll find Elizabeth Campbell inside. She’s the owner.”

“Thanks,” Michael said. Then he strode toward the office, leaving Kara and Eric to their game of soccer.

“Okay, Kara,” Eric said. “Let’s finish our practice. What does the book say we need to do next?”

Kara smiled at the boy whose childhood had been interrupted by tragedy, knowing it was their commonality that led to their friendship and camaraderie. She, too, had been orphaned, but she didn’t have family to look after her. “I left the book on the picnic table. Let’s go read the next chapter.”

Eric dashed ahead, still favoring his left foot. Last year a tragic car accident had damaged his hip and thigh. The orthopedic surgeon said Eric might never regain the full use of his leg. Kara hoped he didn’t need any additional operations. The poor kid had been through enough already.

“Out of my way, Gulliver,” Eric said, as he tried to maneuver around the loping dog. “You’re supposed to watch and get the ball when we miss the goal. Only people play soccer.”

Kara wished she’d played soccer herself, as a kid. She hadn’t, of course, but the public library had oodles of books on sports, and she was determined to learn along with Eric. Instead of putting them at a disadvantage, reading and studying together had a lot of positive effects—the least of which was developing a close, loving bond with each other.

Eric, who had virtually no reading skills six months ago, was now browsing the library with enthusiasm. He saw education as a means of achieving anything he wanted, including fun on the school playground.

And that’s exactly what Kara had hoped would happen. It was her own plan of action. That’s why she struggled so hard to put herself through junior college, then on to a four-year degree. It had taken her six years to do it, but she’d achieved it without any student loans or financial aid.

As a child, she’d been a ward of the state for as long as she could remember, dependent upon the charity and handouts of others. But not any longer. Everything she owned, every oddball, mismatched piece of furniture, secondhand pair of shoes or outfit had been provided by her own labor. Self-sufficiency made her feel as rich and proud as a queen. And she would never take a dime from anyone else, never feel obligated to anyone again.

“Oh, Gulliver,” Eric said, as he and the gangly dog collided. The boy’s bad leg gave way, and he fell to the graveled parking lot and skidded on his hands and knees. “Ow.”

Oh, no. Not his leg, Kara thought, as she strode to Eric’s side, hoping the injury was minor. Lizzie hadn’t been too happy about Eric playing outside, let alone soccer. Too dangerous, she’d said. But Kara figured the woman was more concerned the courts would find fault with her and take Eric and his baby sister away. It hadn’t been easy for a seventy-five-year-old woman to gain custody of her grandchildren, but the boy’s heroism in the midst of tragedy had made him a celebrity of sorts.

Several televised reports and a heart-stunning newspaper editorial had led to an outpouring of support. Telephone calls to the television stations jammed their lines for days, and a slew of letters written to the editor of the newspaper demanded the children’s need for a loving family member to take them, no matter what her age. The judge, swayed by public sentiment, granted Lizzie temporary custody of Eric and Ashley, the baby sister whose life he’d saved.

Still, the guardianship Lizzie held was tenuous. Kara, having been jerked about within the system herself, knew firsthand how temporary custody and foster care could be. When it became necessary for the kids to have a more permanent home, she hoped the press would back her attempt to adopt the kids she’d grown to love. She had Lizzie’s blessing, but the court would make the ultimate decision. And at this time in her life, she had little to offer the kids except love.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Eric struggled to stand, tears running down his dusty cheeks to a quivering bottom lip. “That dumb dog—”

“Gulliver didn’t mean to knock you down,” Kara said. “He thought you wanted to race and play.”

“I know, but it really hurts, Kara.”

She scooped the boy up in her arms, then carried him toward the cottage he shared with Lizzie. “We’ll get you cleaned up and bandaged. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

“It stings, really bad.”

“I know it does, honey.” Kara carried Eric to the office steps, then adjusted him in her arms so she could open the door. “I don’t think we should let Gulliver play soccer with us anymore. He’s too big and rough.”

Eric blew at a scrape on his palm, then glanced at Kara. “But that would hurt his feelings, like when the kids at school don’t pick me to be on their team.”

Kara sighed. “You’re right. I guess we’ll have to figure out something else.” She knew how cruel some kids could be. Freckle-face strawberry. Raggedy Kara Ann. Don’t play with Kara—she’s got cooties.

Sometimes the sounds of childhood crept back to haunt her. She stilled them by remembering the kindness some of her teachers had shown—teachers like Miss Green who had shown compassion for a homeless girl by keeping a comb and brush set in her desk drawer.

Every morning, Kara would stop by the classroom where she could wash her face and comb her hair before the first bell rang. Most days, Miss Green would have an extra barrette or ribbon. The teasing seemed to ease after that, which was probably why Kara was still obsessed with cleanliness. She might not have any clothes that weren’t hand-me-downs or secondhand purchases, but she owned an array of soaps, body lotions and hair products that would put a teenage girl to shame.

As Kara nudged the door with her shoulder, Lizzie looked up from her desk. “Land sakes, what happened?”

Michael watched her every bit as intently as Lizzie, but she hoped to get Eric into the bathroom with as little fuss as possible. Things like this seemed to cause Lizzie’s already high blood pressure to skyrocket.

“Nothing that a little soap, water and bandaging won’t help,” Kara said, hoping to sound cheerful.

“But his leg,” Lizzie cried. “The doctors said to be careful.”

“He’s fine. Don’t worry, Lizzie. Sit down before you have a heart attack.”

Michael was at Kara’s side in a moment. “Here, let me help,” he said, taking Eric from her arms.

She appreciated his assistance, which would allow her hands the freedom to care for the wounds. “The bathroom is this way. If you’ll just set him on the counter, I can do the rest.”

Kara led Michael down the hall, but when he placed Eric upon the pink-tiled counter, he didn’t turn and leave. Instead, he carefully checked each wound. His gentle assessment surprised her. Most men had a rather macho side, at least those she’d met while working at the Pacifica Bar and Grill. An image of Jason Baker came to mind, a man who had once thought Kara should be thrilled that a guy of his wealth and social standing should want to date her.

Hon, she could imagine him saying, just rub a little dirt on it. It’ll toughen up that wimpy kid.

“Do you have any antibacterial soap?” Michael asked, pulling Kara from her musing.

Unable to spot any on the countertop, she stooped to search the cabinet under the sink where Lizzie kept bathroom supplies. Finding soap in a clear, plastic bottle decorated with cartoon characters, she stood. “You don’t have to help me. I can take it from here.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said.

She watched him work carefully, all the while talking to Eric about soccer and school, taking his mind off the cleaning of gravel embedded in his right knee. Then Michael paused, glancing at one leg then the other. Noting the extensive scars and disparity in musculature? Kara wondered. If so, he didn’t comment, which was good. Eric was self-conscious of the difference.

“You’re pretty good with fixing skinned knees and hands,” Kara said, trying to make conversation. “What else are you good at?”

He looked at her with another one of those unreadable expressions, then their gazes locked for only a moment, but long enough for her to feel a flutter in her stomach and a warmth in her breast.

What else are you good at? Good grief. Had she said that? It sounded so suggestive, and she certainly hadn’t meant to…

“I mean,” she said, “any other talents?”

“None to boast about,” he answered. His amber eyes never left hers, and the room seemed to close in on them.

Boy, it was hot in here. Kara blew out her breath. “Ready for some gauze and tape?” she asked, trying to still her awkwardness.

“Yeah,” Michael said, returning his attention to Eric.

When Eric had been bandaged, Kara reached to take the boy from the counter and set him on the floor, but apparently Michael had the same idea. Their hands brushed together, and they both jerked back in response.

Kara, her fingers still tingling from his touch, felt her cheeks warm. Darn that telltale flush. She didn’t want him thinking she felt embarrassment or anything else. He was a stranger, just passing through. And she had a lot on her plate these days. A brief—

A brief what?

For goodness sake, was she even thinking an odd encounter in Lizzie’s bathroom with a stranger was a prelude to anything at all?

She’d been reading too many romance books.

And if she’d learned anything at all, happily ever after only happened in fairy tales. It had been a tough lesson, but one she wouldn’t ever forget. She would never allow a Prince Charming to rescue her and set her up in a castle in the sky.

Kara Westin could take care of herself.



Kara carried Gulliver’s leash and stepped out on the porch, intent on taking her usual sunset walk south of the harbor. It had become an evening ritual, ever since she’d first moved into the Haven.

The quiet hour before dusk was her favorite time of the day. She relished the tranquillity as the sun sank low in the pink and gray streaked sky. It gave her time to think, to plan, to dream.

Resting her hands against the lattice railing, she watched the waves crash upon the shore. Sometimes, when things were really quiet, she envisioned herself on the deck of a huge ship, sailing across the sea to a land of plenty and promise. Kara didn’t have many possessions, but she did own a vivid imagination, something she found priceless.

A lone gull sounded in the distance, and she searched the horizon. Instead of the bird, she spotted Michael, her new neighbor. He sat, alone and pensive, perched on the rocks that lined the jetty.

Who was he? Why had he come after the other tourists had gone home? She wanted to honor his privacy, but to do so meant she would remain on the porch instead of walking barefoot in the sand. Perhaps she could wave, acknowledge his presence, then continue on her own. She didn’t need to strike up a conversation or bother him.

She stepped from the deck and strode toward the fence behind Mr. Radcliff’s house. Kara and Mr. Radcliff were the only two permanent tenants of Lizzie’s cottages. The elderly man had been kind enough to allow Gulliver to stay in his yard, since Kara’s house didn’t have a fence. Kara, in turn, fed and cared for the dog and kept Mr. Radcliff’s yard clean.

Lizzie thought Mr. Radcliff rather stodgy and persnickety, but Kara disagreed. Losing his eyesight had surely made the old man act that way. Besides, Kara liked to focus on the good qualities people had, and as far as she was concerned, Mr. Radcliff had plenty. He’d been the first to suggest a trust fund be set up for Eric and little Ashley. And he’d organized the Gray Brigade, a group of senior citizens who had besieged the local paper with phone calls and letters to the editor in support of Lizzie’s request for custody.

Mr. Radcliff was kindhearted, even if he was a bit cranky at times. Lizzie referred to him as another of Kara’s adoptees, which, in a sense, he probably was. Of course, Kara made it a point not to coddle him, but she did take him dessert some evenings. And whenever his hometown newspaper arrived in the mail, she made time to read it out loud to him.

After she snapped the leash on Gulliver, Kara and the dog took off toward the shore, a bit more quickly than Kara had intended. “Come on,” she warned the dog. “Take it easy. I want to walk, not race. And if you don’t stop jerking ahead, you’ll pull my arm from its socket. Then who will exercise you?”

Gulliver, apparently not the least bit intimidated by Kara’s threat, didn’t show much restraint as they neared the stretch of beach where Michael rested upon the rocks, one knee bent, the other extended. He seemed so lost in his thoughts that she doubted whether he noticed her watching him. Or whether he even cared.

He picked up a small stone, studied it carefully, then tossed it into the surf. The breeze ruffled his golden hair, and the sun glistened off a bristled cheek, making him look like an eighteenth-century sea captain who’d lost his ship and crew. Kara’s imagination took hold, and she envisioned him marooned on a desert island, forlorn and helpless.

So pensive, so alone, she thought. So sad. Why did she always gravitate toward the downtrodden? Little boys who’d been orphaned, motherless babies, lonely old men and women, stray dogs.

Surely, she should leave him alone, allow him some privacy.

But like the call of the gull, his solitude cried out and beckoned her.




Chapter Two


Michael watched the sun dip low in the sky and found some peace at last. So far, so good, he thought. No one had recognized him or badgered him with questions he hadn’t even taken time to consider himself. For that reason alone, this quiet little hideaway might be just what he needed.

A bark caught his attention, and he glanced over his right shoulder where Kara walked her dog along the beach. No, he corrected, the monstrous dog walked her.

She caught his gaze and, perhaps assuming he wanted company, tugged on the leash to encourage the dog closer to the rocks. The breeze teased her autumn tendrils of hair, and the brightness of her smile seemed to challenge the setting sun. Like a pixie, she enchanted him. He studied her longer than was polite.

“Hello,” she called. “Gulliver and I are going for a walk along the beach, care to join us?”

Gulliver, she’d called the dog, and the image of a tiny Lilliputian queen trying valiantly to capture the giant brought a smile to his lips.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, swiping at a fiery strand of hair whipping in the ocean air.

He doubted telling her she reminded him of a Lilliputian would sit well, even if he bestowed the respectful title of queen, so he changed the subject. “Looks to me as though that dog wants to drag you down the beach.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” she said with a grin. “Tougher, too.”

Michael smiled again, finding it hard to believe that the redheaded pixie was either. He’d seen his share of strong women, hard women. Spending a few moments with one who was entirely different than others he’d known suddenly seemed appealing. He stood and climbed from the rocks, brushing the sand from the backside of his khaki shorts while he made his way toward her. “Maybe I should hold the dog.”

She shrugged as though his offer didn’t warrant much consideration, but a dimpled cheek and dancing green eyes told him she found something amusing in his words. “Suit yourself,” she said, handing him the leash.

As she transferred control of Gulliver, the dog danced and pranced before nearly dislocating Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, settle down, boy.” Then he glanced at the woman walking at his side and wearing a smile as light and easy as the ocean breeze.

“Gulliver loves to run on the beach,” she said, the lilt of her voice as fey as her appearance. “But I’m trying hard to train him to be well mannered.”

She had her work cut out for her, Michael thought. The dog still needed a lot of discipline, but he didn’t mention it. “How long have you been working with him?”

“Since I found him about three weeks ago,” she said, stooping to reach for a shell resting on the sand. She blew on it, then held it out for him to see. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

He nodded, although he would have stepped right over it himself.

She flashed him another effervescent smile. “I collect things.”

“Besides stray dogs and strangers?” he asked, unable to resist teasing her a bit.

She tucked the brown and yellow speckled shell into the front pocket of her shorts. “There’s enough loneliness in the world.”

He wondered whether she had experienced loneliness firsthand, or if she just had a compassionate heart. Both, he surmised. The sudden curiosity about her surprised him. “Mrs. Campbell said you’ve been helping her with the kids.”

Kara nodded. “At first, it was a neighborly thing to do, like reading to Mr. Radcliff. But I fell in love with Ashley and Eric. And we’ve become a family of sorts. When Lizzie can no longer take care of them, I’d like to be their guardian. Their mom. And I’ll take care of Lizzie, too.”

It seemed a noble thing for her to do. He couldn’t imagine his ex-wife being so tenderhearted that she’d take in a couple of orphans. Denise hadn’t wanted any of her own kids.

Why hadn’t he spotted her true character until after it reached up and smacked him between the eyes? In a way, he only had himself to blame for the entire mess.

“How long have you known the Campbells?” he asked, trying to put the past aside.

“Ever since the accident.”

“Accident? What happened?”

She sighed, then looked at the ocean. “Eric, Ashley and their parents were driving home late at night when they were involved in a hit-and-run collision. Somebody sideswiped them, causing the car they were driving to spin out of control. It hit a concrete guardrail and burst into flames. The parents died upon impact, according to the coroner.”

The wind whipped a strand of hair across her face, and she brushed it from her cheek. “Eric was seriously injured, but instead of panicking, he released his baby sister from the car seat and carried her from the burning vehicle. A highway patrolman who came upon the scene found Eric holding Ashley on the side of the road, tears running down his face, trying his best to calm the crying baby. The city council proclaimed him a hero. It was in all the papers.”

Michael vaguely recalled reading about it, but lately, his mind had been on his own trials and tribulations. A small voice urged him to take care, to avoid rubbing elbows with anyone who might stir up media curiosity, but he pushed it aside. The accident had happened nearly a year ago, if he remembered correctly.

“Mrs. Campbell mentioned she had custody of her two grandchildren,” he said.

“Lizzie had to fight hard for it, though. She’s nearly seventy-five years old, and her health isn’t the best. A wave of public sentiment swayed the judge to grant her temporary custody. I help as much as I can, when I’m not working or in school.”

School? She had a youthful appearance, yet a wisdom in her eyes. He wondered how old she was. Yet what did it matter? So what if she was at least ten years his junior. She was just a woman he’d met while on vacation, certainly not a potential date. Still, she had tweaked his curiosity.

“Where do you go to school?” he asked, wanting to know more about her, about how she spent her time, what goals she had set.

“I graduated from Cal State San Marcos last June. I’ve been accepted into graduate school, so I’m working hard to save enough money to go.”

“What’s your major?”

“Liberal arts. I want to be a teacher and plan to get a master’s degree in education.” She flashed him another fey smile, and he had no doubt she would charm children and parents alike. He’d seen her with Eric. She’d make a great teacher.

“How about a student loan?” he asked. “Then you wouldn’t have to work at all.”

She sobered. “No. I’ve had enough public assistance in my life. I want to put myself through school, even if it means working at the Pacifica Bar and Grill until I can save enough for tuition.”

He missed the smile, the lighthearted tone of her voice. And he wondered where she’d hidden them. And why.

Be clinical and detached, he reminded himself. This woman is none of your business.

“Oh, look,” she said, pointing to a round piece of blue plastic up ahead. “A Frisbee.”

She darted toward the circular toy and bent at the waist to retrieve it, giving Michael a tantalizing glimpse of a perfectly rounded derriere and two shapely upper thighs that peeked through the flared hem of her shorts. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore a surge of desire. Kara might be small in stature, but she was woman through and through. An enticing woman, although he had the feeling she wasn’t aware of how striking she was.

“Want to play?” she asked, eyes bright.

Play? With her? In a heartbeat. But not Frisbee. Gulliver jerked on the leash, drawing Michael to reality. “I’m afraid I haven’t played on the beach in a long time. I doubt my aim is worth a darn.”

“We’ll just have to see about that,” Kara said, waving the blue toy as she carried it to him, all the while flashing him a dimpled smile.

A seagull cried overhead, then swooped toward the sand, pecking at a bag of potato chips left on the beach.

Spotting the gull, Gulliver yipped in excitement, then leaped up and jerked against the leash. In an effort to chase the bird, the fool dog circled Kara, throwing her into Michael. Then, as Michael reached to steady her, Gulliver wrapped the leash around their legs.

Off balance, Michael and Kara fell to the sand, while the dog slipped from the collar and ran down the beach, leaving the humans lying in the sand, arms wrapped around each other.

Michael couldn’t help but stroke her arm, soft and sleek from a peach-scented lotion that wafted and swirled around him. “Are you okay?” he asked, senses reeling from the feel of her, the sensation of lying next to her.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice husky and velvety, unlike the lighthearted tone he’d found attractive before but far more mesmerizing.

Waves crashed upon the shore, and their hearts pounded in unison. His eyes caught hers and locked in a soul-piercing stare, a gaze that communicated something they both felt but couldn’t voice. A tingle of awareness, a jolt of hunger.

Afraid he could remain locked in her arms forever, Michael rose up on an elbow, unwrapped the leash from around his legs, then stood. “Let me help you up.”

Her hand gripped his, and he pulled her to her feet. Brushing sand from herself, she chuckled softly. When she glanced at him, eyes crinkling in mirth, he spotted a dried piece of seaweed dangling from her hair.

He removed it, slowly and gently, allowing himself to touch the soft, springy curls that intrigued him. Her breath caught, and he knew she felt the undercurrents of desire as he had, but she quickly laughed it off. In an effort to break the tension, he supposed.

He’d be wise to do the same, to let the awkward moment pass. “Your dog ran down the beach. Should we chase after him?”

“No,” she said. “He’ll come back home. He always does.”

She bent to retrieve the Frisbee she’d dropped in the melee, giving him another glimpse of a shapely backside. He raked a hand through his tangled, windswept hair and blew out the breath he’d been holding.

“Let’s play,” Kara said, taking the toy and loping down the sand. So unlike any of the socialites Michael had known, her playful spirit taunted him.

She sent the Frisbee flying toward him.

Michael snagged the circular toy and sent it back.

“Hey, not bad,” she said, flicking her wrist and shooting the blue disc in a wide arc.

For the first time since the scandal had disrupted his orderly world, Michael found himself laughing. Bertha had been right. What he needed was a vacation, something to take his mind off his troubles.

As Kara leaped to snag the blue plastic plate, her sweatshirt lifted, giving him a glimpse of a small, ivory-skinned waist. A waist his hands could easily encircle and his fingers ached to caress.

He’d never been one to take sexual relationships lightly, yet he couldn’t help but wonder whether a brief affair might help him shake the rejection he still felt after his ex-wife’s betrayal. It seemed like a logical prescription to him. And certainly more pleasant than allowing his emotional side to weigh him down.

“Hey,” he called to the bright-eyed pixie. “How about having dinner with me tonight. I’ll pick up a couple of swordfish fillets we can grill.” And a bottle of wine, he reminded himself.

“That sounds like fun,” she said. “I have to help Lizzie put the kids to bed. It’s kind of an evening ritual. Can we make it about eight?”

“Sure,” Michael said. That would give him time to run to the drugstore and purchase some condoms. Just in case.

It had been a long, long time since he’d tried to romance a woman. He wondered whether he still had the touch.



Kara stood before Michael’s door, her fist raised, ready to knock. She watched a moth frantically try to penetrate the yellow globe of the porch light.

Was the glow a welcome or warning? She couldn’t be sure. What was she doing here? Why had she agreed to have dinner with him? To be neighborly, she reminded herself. But good grief, Lizzie was a neighbor. Mr. Radcliff was a neighbor. Michael was a stranger.

Oh, sure, he had a warm smile and a gentle touch, but that was all the more reason she had no business having dinner with him. Just the two of them.

Alone.

Get a grip, she told herself. It’s only a friendly dinner. And certainly not a date, for goodness sake. Dates had always made her uneasy, but when the last one ended in humiliation and tears, she’d vowed to steer clear of men and romantic notions.

Her stomach knotted at the memory of the family dinner party Jason Baker had taken her to. When he’d first asked her, she’d declined, not wanting him to think she was serious about him. But he’d prodded her until she agreed. I want you to meet my family, he’d told her. You’ll like them.

But he’d been wrong.

When she arrived at the house, she’d been unprepared for the formality, the suspicious evaluations, the snide remarks.

You remember Kara, don’t you, Mom?

Oh, yes. The cocktail waitress.

At first, the accusations had been silent—a haughty grin, rolled eyes. Then a few heartless comments and innuendoes were made about Kara and her cunning attempt to snag a wealthy husband.

Marriage? To Jason Baker? She hadn’t given it any thought at all. And after she’d met his family, particularly his snobbish, sharp-tongued mother, she knew she’d rather die than have anything to do with the man or his family again.

The dinner had turned into a social inquisition, and Kara, nails clawing her palms, had excused herself and slipped out before dessert was served. No, she would never put herself in that position again. Nor would she date someone whose parents considered themselves socially and financially superior to her.

She’d probably date again. Someday. When she had Ashley and Eric living in her own home. Those precious children were her priority, not romance and glitter.

She placed a hand on the doorjamb of Michael’s cottage and closed her eyes, reminding herself of the precious good-night kisses she’d just given and received. The gentle sway of the old oak rocking chair, the scent of baby powder, a dribble of milk on baby Ashley’s tiny chin. A sleepy-eyed grin that sported two little white teeth had filled Kara’s heart with enough love to last a lifetime.

After laying the baby in the crib, Kara had sat on the edge of Eric’s bed and read him another chapter of Charlotte’s Web. She’d listened to his prayers, cupped his cheek and kissed him good-night. The ritual was as pleasant and restful for her as it was for the brave little boy she had come to love.

Kara slowly opened her eyes, then scanned Michael’s porch. Two lawn chairs flanked a small outdoor table. A beer can and a magazine rested upon the glass tabletop.

The Aviator. Why would Michael be reading that? Was he an aspiring pilot? She’d never been one to judge a man by the car he drove, but an old Ford didn’t seem like the kind of vehicle a pilot would drive. But what did she know about pilots? And what did she know about Michael?

She struggled with the urge to turn and go home, to call him with an excuse as to why she couldn’t come to his house tonight, but she’d agreed to join him for dinner. She couldn’t back out now. He was expecting her.

Once again, she reminded herself this wasn’t a date. And it certainly wouldn’t turn out like the dinner party at Jason Baker’s house. Garnering her courage, she knocked on the door.

Michael answered, wearing a pair of jeans, a crisply pressed white shirt and a smile that reached the golden hue of his eyes. He’d showered. And shaved.

She rather missed that salty, sea dog air he’d worn before.

His eyes swept her body in an appreciative caress. “Come in.”

He appeared genuinely glad to see her, and it both pleased and unnerved her. Impulsively, she turned and snatched the magazine and empty can from the table and thrust them toward him in an effort to put some distance between them, between him and her thoughts. “You left these outside.”

“Thanks.” He took them from her and stepped aside, holding the magazine and soda can against his chest.

Kara moved across the threshold and into the small but tastefully decorated cottage Lizzie had just refurbished. A fire crackled softly in the living room, and the easy sound of something classical played upon the stereo.

Just friends. Neighbors. Yet the romantic ambiance told her otherwise. As did the light, musky scent of aftershave. Her heart fluttered to a zip-a-dee-do-dah beat.

“Can I pour you a glass of wine?”

Wine? For a moment, Kara wondered if Michael’s expectations for the dinner were different than hers. She certainly hadn’t planned on a romantic encounter, and she quickly sought his eyes, hoping to see he hadn’t, either.

He flashed her a warm, friendly smile, and she wondered if she’d made more out of the offer than he’d intended.

She slowly ran her hands down the sides of her long, loose-fitting cotton skirt. We’re just newfound friends having dinner. And maybe a few laughs. What harm can there be in that?

“Sure,” she said. “Wine sounds great.”




Chapter Three


Michael stood like a starstruck teen as Kara entered his temporary home. Her simple cotton dress fit like a curtain flowing in the breeze. The soft peach fabric lay against ivory-colored skin blessed with a faint scatter of freckles, setting off that fiery shade of hair. When had plain cotton stood out as lovely, breathtaking?

Denise, his dark-haired, provocative ex-wife, had worn a lot of red and black, Lycra and silk. She’d chosen colors and tight-fitting material to make her stand out in a crowd. But had Michael been mingling in a banquet hall with elegant and notable guests, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes from the petite redhead who smelled of peach blossoms and taunted his senses with a plain, wholesome appeal. Had she chosen a dress to match her scent in an attempt to tantalize him?

She cocked her head and looked at him in a strange and fidgety way. Had he made her nervous? He hadn’t meant to.

Wine. He’d asked her if she wanted some, and she’d said yes. “Why don’t you take a seat on the sofa? I’ll bring you a glass. Is chardonnay all right?”

“Sure.” She swept into the living room, the gentle sway of her hem brushing small but shapely calves, and took a seat.

Michael placed the magazine on the counter and tossed the empty can into the trash. He withdrew a bottle of chilled wine from the refrigerator, pulled the cork and poured two glasses. As he handed one to Kara, he noticed how close she sat to the armrest of the sofa.

He’d meant to wine and dine her, to provide a sensual evening. To suggest they see how far this attraction went. But he’d never intended anything that wasn’t completely mutual. That had never been his style, not even when he was an intern and a few of the other young doctors were intent upon hitting on every good-looking nurse—whether she was willing or not.

His studies and his job had been too important for him to take lightly. Not that he’d remained celibate. He hadn’t.

While he tried to conjure up a way to ease the awkward moment, she nodded toward the Formica countertop where he’d placed the magazine. “Are you interested in airplanes?”

Did he dare tell her he had thought about selling his Citation, maybe making another purchase? No need to prompt any personal questions. Yet the way she lifted an auburn brow, cocked her head to the side and flashed him an interested smile caused him to digress in a way he hadn’t intended. “Planes have always interested me, ever since I was a kid, but I never took the time to pursue any training.”

“I’ll bet it’s fun, seeing the world from high above the ground.” She sighed, then gave a wistful shrug. “I’ve never flown before, but I’ve always wanted to. I used to hang out in the library when I was a kid. I’d read travel magazines and imagine myself taking exotic trips. Reading has to be the most exciting thing in the world.”

More than actually experiencing the world? Kara seemed to enjoy life in a way most people never did. Playing soccer with a kid, finding a shell in the sand, throwing a forgotten Frisbee through the ocean air. If anyone deserved an exotic trip, it was the effervescent young woman sitting on his sofa. “Do you still read?”

“Every chance I get.” Imagination lit up her face and seemed to dispel her nervousness. “I’ve been to the far ends of the earth, by dogsled, biplane, clipper ship. You name it.”

He felt a compulsion to take her someplace she’d only read about but reeled in the urge. Her enthusiastic, playful nature was having an unusual effect on him. And God knew he was clinical, rational, certainly not a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants type. “I’ve got the grill on the back patio. Do you want to sit outside while I prepare the fish?”

“Sure.” She flashed him a dimpled smile, then stood. “Can I help?”

“You can keep me company.”

On the back patio, a harvest moon rose high in the evening sky, watching them with mystical intent. Ocean air, crisp and fragrant, mingled with the smell of grilled swordfish and charcoal. Michael stood over the barbecue, watching the fillets sizzle over the hot coals, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes from casually glancing at the woman who watched him work.

Kara sat in a plastic patio chair, her feet barely resting on the deck. He found it nearly impossible to keep his attention focused on the task at hand, which didn’t seem at all natural. Kara wasn’t his type, wasn’t of his world, yet it didn’t seem to matter tonight. She intrigued him. “Have you always lived in Harbor Haven?”

“No. I’ve lived here for nearly a year and a half. That’s about the longest I’ve been in any town, but I’m not a wanderer by nature. It’s just the way things worked out.”

“So why here? At Campbell’s Seaside Cottages?”

“One day, while having lunch at the Pacifica, Lizzie offered to rent me a cottage at a reduced rate if I would help her out with some of the more physically demanding chores. I’ve always been on a limited budget, so I jumped at the chance to save some money.” She smiled and shrugged. “But Lizzie became more of a friend than a landlord and, when the kids moved in, we became a family. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

He watched her, the way she tilted her head, the way the patio light sparkled like glitter on the auburn strands. “You don’t seem like a homebody to me,” he said, even though she didn’t seem to be an adventure-driven nomad, either. “You have a playful spirit.”

“I’ve never really had a home, not one in the classic sense of the word, but I do now. I’ve taken great pains to make it warm and cozy. I’ve refinished a maple dining room set someone placed on the side of the road with a Free sign taped to it. Mr. Radcliff, the old man who lives between us, let me use his sander. I did a fairly decent job of refurbishing it, if I do say so myself.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, appearing to grow more comfortable, and flashed a teasing wink. “And you ought to see the tree house Eric and I are working on.”

“A tree house?” Michael laughed. “I’d like to see it sometime.”

She cocked her head to the side, sending him another dimpled grin. “Of course, you have to ring the bell to be allowed admittance.”

“Of course,” he said, falling prey to the playful notion.

Kara took a sip of wine. “How about you? Where are you from?”

“Originally, Boston.” He didn’t want to lie but wasn’t about to divulge any more information than necessary. As far as he knew, Kara hadn’t realized his identity. Not that he’d really kept it secret, but he’d come to Harbor Haven to escape, not attract more attention to himself. Landing in the public spotlight was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

She drew up a knee, placing a small foot on the rim of her seat and tenting the long sundress she wore, then rested her hands on her knee. Nothing showed, not a peek of skin, yet he found the move so revealing, so utterly sexy, he stood beside the barbecue like a befuddled teen. He snatched his wineglass from the patio table and took another taste—a long, deliberate taste.

“I’ve never been to Boston. What’s it like?” Her eyes lit up in anticipation, much like a child’s in a candy store, while she awaited his response. He didn’t have the heart to tell her his memories of the family home didn’t warm him the way she might imagine.

“Boston is historic,” he said. “And seasonal. Snow in winter, new leaves and blossoms in spring, hot and humid in the summer, colorful foliage in the autumn. I’m sure you’d like it.”

“Tell me about the holidays.”

Holidays? What kind of question was that? They had the usual; it wasn’t like Boston was a continent within itself. “What do you want to know?”

She shrugged her shoulders, then her eyes widened. “Christmas. Did your family have a wonderful Christmas?”

Michael didn’t like the reminder of stiff, formal holidays. It seemed as though his mother had insisted he and his father wear suits for the entire month of December. Droves of the elite swept into the house, but never more than was expected, more than was polite. “We always had snow, if that’s what you meant.”

She laughed. “I would expect a white Christmas in Boston. Tell me about your tree.”

Somehow, Michael doubted she wanted to hear that his mother hired professional florists to come in and decorate not only the tree but the entire house in holly, ivy, baby’s breath, bloodred roses, Irish lace and gold trim. He wished she’d go back to searching the library for answers to her questions. It wasn’t a memory he relished thinking about. “Our tree was always tall and green. Smelled like pine.”

“You’re no fun,” she said, waving him off with a hand.

He wasn’t a fun person. His job was a serious one. His life had always been one of commitment, responsibility. Clinical detachment. He held other lives in his hands. Emotional detachment was necessary for their survival. Vital for his own. “I told you before, I’m not considered a fun-loving person.”

“Christmas is a magical time of the year. You’re supposed to remember the wonder of it all, the excitement, the heartwarming things.”

How could he tell her his Christmases hadn’t been heartwarming, hadn’t been magical? They were pretty much like the rest of his life, only more lavish, more formal. “Why don’t you tell me about your holidays?”

“There’s not much to tell,” she said with a sigh. Then she brightened and pointed a small but elegant finger at him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not planning on having the biggest, most wonderful Christmas ever. This December will be my first with Lizzie and the kids. We’re doing it up special—cranberry and popcorn trim on the tree and a real tree, not one of those store-bought models.”

“It sounds great,” he said, easily imagining it would be, if Kara had anything to do with it. He almost wished he could be there, see the magic she would set into motion. Before changing the subject, he glanced down at the swordfish steaks. Done and ready to eat. He speared each one and set them on a plate. “Come on,” he told her. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want to eat inside or out?”



Kara glanced at the nearly full moon overhead, then at the small glass-topped table and two wrought iron chairs Lizzie had purchased for the patio. She flashed her host a smile. “Outside, of course. I’ll help set the table.”

She was on her feet and heading for the kitchen when she heard the roar of Jason Baker’s modified Ford pickup outside. No one else in this town had an engine that blasted that loud. It announced his arrival before he turned into the drive. Her first concern was that he would wake up Ashley and Eric. Her second, that he had come to see her.

When he honked his horn, as though Kara and the entire neighborhood should run to greet him, it took all her gumption not to march outside and give him a piece of her mind.

“Who’s that?” Michael asked, striding toward the living room window. He peered through the wood-slat blinds.

“Jason Baker, I imagine.” Kara slowed her steps, not at all wanting the arrogant jerk to know where she was. He’d been pestering her lately, ever since she’d told him she wouldn’t date him any longer. Not that she’d actually dated him before. As far as she was concerned, a Saturday matinee and a humiliating dinner party didn’t mean they had a budding relationship.

“He’s knocking at your door.” Michael stepped away from the blinds and gave Kara a cautious glance. “I’ll put the fish in the oven.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s bad enough that he comes by the Pacifica where I work, but I’m not going to encourage him to start dropping by my house.”

“What does he want?”

Kara shrugged. Who ever knew what Jason wanted, other than public attention and a flock of female admirers? “Maybe he wants to lay on the charm and convince me I made a mistake by not going out with the richest guy in town.”

Michael lifted a brow. “He’s rich?”

“Well,” Kara said, “by virtue of his birth. His parents own the EZ Suds down the street and a chain of five or six others in the county. As far as I know, he’s thirty years old and his only job has been to play hard, especially at the gym. His parents give him a pretty hefty allowance.”

Michael slid her a slow, easy grin. “Sounds like he’s the pick of the litter.”

“He’s the whole litter. Jason’s an only child—Daddy’s boy and Mama’s baby.”

Tires squealed and gravel crunched as Jason pulled out of the drive, obviously unhappy to find Kara away from the house.

Michael opened the refrigerator and pulled out a salad he’d made. “Sounds as though he thinks you’re his girlfriend.”

Kara rolled her eyes and sighed. “That’s the problem. He’s the only one who thinks that.”

“Here.” Michael handed Kara the salad bowl. “You can carry this out to the table. I’ll bring the plates and silverware as soon as I locate a candle.”

“A candle? I think we’ll be able to see. The porch light puts off a nice glow.”

“The candle is for ambience,” Michael said. “Besides, it will keep the bugs away.”

Kara laughed. “Well, then bring on the ambience.”

The fish was cooked to perfection. And the salad was so light and tasty the dressing couldn’t have possibly come from a bottle. Kara couldn’t remember the last meal she’d enjoyed so much. “Dinner was delicious. Where did you learn to cook?”

“In college. My roommate’s parents owned a restaurant. He made it look so easy, I decided to try a few simple dishes myself. I don’t get a chance to cook very often, and my wife—” He paused, and a pained expression crossed his face. Had he not meant to tell Kara he was married? Had something happened to her? “We ate a lot of meals out.”

The fact that he had arranged a dinner, one that had subtle hints of a romantic ambience, caused an uneasiness to surface. She furrowed her brow. “I had no idea you were married.”

“Was married,” he said. “The divorce was final three months ago.”

“Any kids?” Kara asked, suddenly realizing there was a lot she didn’t know about this man.

“No, thank goodness. The divorce was messy. I’m glad I was the only one to suffer through it. I don’t know what I would have done if I would have had to explain things to a child.”

Kara reached out a hand to touch his forearm in comfort but wasn’t prepared for the surge of heat her compassion had unleashed. Her stomach did a somersault, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

But it was too late.

Their eyes locked, and something passed between them. Understanding and friendship, she hoped, but it was more than that. It was something she’d never felt before—a strange kind of push-pull. Something that felt as though it was too much and not enough at the same time. “It’s too bad things didn’t work out for you.”

“The divorce was for the best.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

He placed a warm, gentle hand on top of hers, in comfort, she supposed. “Don’t be sorry, Kara. It takes the magic out of your eyes.”

“The magic?”

He slowly, as though reluctant, withdrew his hand from hers. “There’s something special and effervescent about you. It dances in your eyes.”

If he was trying to put the moves on her, it was working in a way she hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t encountered before. Every reasonable bone in her body begged her to retreat, but some mysterious inner voice urged her to listen. To draw closer. To see if she could find magic in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

He caught her chin with the tip of his finger. “That wasn’t a line. You have a wholesome vitality I’ve rarely seen.”

Before Kara could summon the words to speak or the strength to look away, a souped-up engine roared into the small neighborhood. An amplified stereo blared as the vehicle entered the gravel parking lot. The door opened and shut, but the engine continued to run, and the sounds of heavy metal blasted throughout the sleepy neighborhood.

Jason was back.



Michael didn’t usually dislike people he’d never met, but in Baker’s case, he’d make an exception.

The wave of anxiety that crossed Kara’s face made Michael want to stomp outside and chase that damned idiot away. What kind of guy pursued a woman who wasn’t interested? He had half a notion to call the police but kept his seat.

He reached across the table and took Kara’s hand. Her fingers clutched his, and he felt the need to keep her safe. To chase all the bad guys away.

What a crazy thought. He was no hero. He was just a doctor. A man who held his emotions in check. A man who, by necessity, held himself at a distance. A man who didn’t need to become involved with anyone for a long time, if ever again.

As tires spun in the drive and Jason peeled out in a show of frustration, Kara released his hand and smiled. “I guess I’d better go.”

Before Kara had come for dinner, Michael had entertained thoughts of having her spend the night, but now his intent was more to protect her than to pursue the passion that flared between them. Not that desire for her had left him, by any means. If anything, he found her more attractive, more precious. “I don’t like the idea of you being over there alone.”

She scooted her chair from the table and stood, then gathered the plates and silverware they’d used and carried them to the sink. “Jason’s not dangerous. He’s just bothersome. If he comes back, I’ll pretend I’m not home.”

“If he comes back, I’ll be outside before he climbs from the truck.” Michael grabbed the empty wine bottle, laced the stems of the goblets between his fingers and followed her to the sink. “Don’t worry about the dishes.”

“All right,” she said, fidgeting with the dish towel that lay on the counter. She looked at him, eyes catching his and drawing him into their depths.

He cupped her cheek to offer comfort. To convey friendship. Or so he told himself. His thumb made a slow, gentle circle on her skin. Her eyes widened, and her breath quickened. Not in fear or discomfort, he surmised, but in a surprised reaction similar to his own.

Not intending to force the obvious attraction, he placed a light kiss on her forehead in an affectionate manner—friendly and brotherly. That’s what he’d meant it to be, what he had convinced himself was appropriate. Sure, early on, he’d thought about a passionate evening, even had a new box of condoms tucked into the drawer in his nightstand, but he’d thought the decision to have sex would be mutual. Seducing Kara wasn’t his intent.

His face lingered above the spot on her forehead where he’d kissed her. The melon scent of shampoo taunted him, as did the subtle peach fragrance she wore, tempting him to distraction. He lifted his head and stepped back, his eyes watching her reaction to his neighborly gesture.

Her lips parted, more in surprise than in an effort to prompt him for another kiss, one more than neighborly. In spite of the fact that he had no intention of taking advantage of her, the desire to taste her sweetness was more than he could ignore.

He tried to brush a light kiss across her dusky lips, but as he lowered his head, he drew her close. She whimpered softly and leaned into him in a move so natural, so gentle, he had no idea why it unleashed such a powerful desire for her touch, her embrace.

She tasted like sunshine and moonbeams, snowflakes and raindrops. Mountain meadows and morning dew—everything that was right with the world. But before he could take the kiss further, catch a glimpse of the places passion could take them, she pushed her hands against his chest and broke the soul-stirring spell.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice husky and soft.

Sorry? She was sorry? He was the one who had kissed her. The one who had planned a seduction, of sorts. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She stepped away from him, pink-tinged cheeks, a telltale, sensual flush along her neck and chest. “I don’t know why I let that happen.”

Let that happen? Shoot, Michael doubted either one of them could have kept that from happening, not once their lips touched and the power of what they felt had been unleashed.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. “I mean, other than Jason.” The question surprised him, since it really wasn’t any of his business. Yet for some reason, it seemed to matter a great deal.

She appeared to ponder his question or maybe her answer. The slow response caused him an odd sense of discomfort.

“No,” she said, as though choosing her words slowly. “I’ve never really stayed in one place long enough for any kind of friendships to develop. And now that I’ve settled in Harbor Haven, I don’t have time for a relationship like that. I’ve got too much at stake to become involved with anyone right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lizzie’s health isn’t good. Her doctor has already told her to cut back on the stress in her life. I try to help whenever I can, but we’re not sure how much longer she’ll be able to care for Eric and Ashley. I’d like to adopt them, but I’ll need to prove myself worthy to the courts. And that could be difficult.”

“Why?” She was good with Eric, and Michael assumed she’d be good with Ashley as well.

“I’m a twenty-four-year-old single waitress. I don’t have a family of my own—no parents, aunts, uncles. And after graduation last June, I don’t have much money left in the bank.” She shrugged. “The list goes on, but I’m pedaling as fast as I can, trying to put myself in an admirable position.”

“I think your objectives are commendable.”

“Thanks, but the courts might not be so understanding. They still prefer two-parent families with steady incomes.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed.

Michael knew there was a lot more to providing for kids than financial stability, but he doubted the court would agree with him. But what did most people know about spending holidays in an exclusive boarding school? Or having a chauffeur deliver a fourteenth birthday gift to camp? “I think kids belong with people who love them and have time to spend with them.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Well, I’d better get going.”

Even though Michael wanted her to stay, wanted to see how far their attraction would go, he knew pursuing any kind of relationship with Kara was out of the question. She’d made it clear that the kids were her priority. And he certainly didn’t need to get involved with anyone right now. Especially not someone who dreamed of warm, intimate, down-home family holidays. Or Christmas trees with handmade decorations.

She paused at the door. “Dinner was delicious. I had a nice time. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It hadn’t turned out to be the sensual kind of evening he’d originally planned, but it had worked out for the best. Still, he couldn’t seem to shake the memory of the toe-curling kiss they’d shared.

“Maybe we can do it again before you have to leave.”

Do it again? The kiss immediately came to mind, even though he knew they were discussing dinner and friendly conversation. He hoped she hadn’t read his mind, but when she blushed, he realized her thoughts had drifted in the same direction as his.

She offered him a shy smile. “I was referring to dinner.”

“I know.”

He was amazed by her innocence and determination yet realized she had her own battles to fight in Harbor Haven. And he had a hell of a mess to go home to—a practice he needed to rebuild or move across the country and an ex-wife who continued to write him letters of apology for the gut punch she’d given his pride. No, he and Kara had nothing in common. And their differences were legion.

He took her hand and opened the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“I told you I’d be okay,” she said, lifting her chin in determination.

Michael gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I know you’ll be just fine. But I’ll feel better knowing you got inside the house all right.”

Then, as he led her onto the porch, he left his front door open wide.

Because he’d be right back.

Because the lamp from his living room would help light their path.

And because he needed a reminder that he had a home to return to.




Chapter Four


As Kara and Michael made their way along the darkened path that lined the cottages, an evening breeze stirred the scent of night-blooming jasmine. The wind also tousled Kara’s hair, but she was more concerned about the way that unexpected kiss she’d shared with Michael played havoc with her mind.

The comfort he’d provided had left her senses buzzing, her skin tingling. Oh, sure, there was a certain amount of solace in his eyes, in his embrace. But there was also a fire in his touch, a mind-robbing passion in his kiss.

What had she been thinking? She had no business kissing a stranger, a vacationer. It was bad enough she’d have to stand before the judge as a young, unmarried woman applying for custody of Eric and Ashley. She certainly didn’t want the court to think she was juggling her own needs and those of the children. The well-being of Eric and Ashley came first, above all else.

“Watch out,” Michael said, steering her away from an outstretched branch of a scraggly hibiscus plant that grew along the walkway between her home and the darkened cottage belonging to Mr. Radcliff.

She made a mental note to trim the floral shrub, then glanced at Michael. She could barely make out his features, only the shadowed outline of an angular profile. Yet she was very much aware of his protective nature. His kindness. He appealed to her, and the attraction she felt pushed the limits of friendship.

How could this stranger stir feelings she’d never had before, she’d never imagined? He had to be much older than she, well into his thirties, no doubt. A transient vacationer who wouldn’t be in town for very long. Certainly not long enough to establish a friendship, let alone something more than that. Something lasting on which she could pin her hopes and dreams.

Silly romantic fantasies had dogged her throughout a lonely childhood, but she quickly swept any such notions aside and focused her thoughts on the only family she had really known—Lizzie, Ashley and Eric. Kara would never leave them, never place them second in her life.

As they reached the porch of her cottage, Michael’s steps slowed. He scanned both sides of her house. “Where’s that dog of yours?”

“Gulliver?” she asked. “He stays with Mr. Radcliff, since he has a fenced yard and I don’t.”

“He’s not much of a watchdog. Why isn’t he barking?”

Kara smiled. “Gulliver is still a puppy. And besides, he sleeps in the house. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him bark at anything other than a seagull.”

Michael released her hand and cupped her cheek. “If you get scared, or if you need anything at all, give me a call.”

“I don’t have your number,” she said with a smile.

He paused, as though caught off guard. “I never expected any calls. Never wanted any. I forgot to ask Lizzie what my telephone number was.”

Kara laughed. “I had a nice time, Michael. Go on home and relax. I won’t need to call you.”

A furrowed brow indicated he wasn’t convinced by her bravery, but he sported a grin. “Good night, tough guy.”

She swatted his arm. “I’m tougher than you think.”

Kara watched him walk to his cottage and hoped her words rang true, because the only thing she really feared was losing Ashley and Eric to someone the courts decided could offer them a better home.

But would that someone know how much Ashley liked graham crackers and peaches? How she liked to stroke the satiny part of her blanket whenever she got tired? Would that someone cherish the time spent reading bedtime stories to Eric? Or admire the way he struggled to overcome his disability?

Kara didn’t think anyone else could love those kids like she did. Those precious children meant the world to her, and she’d do anything to be their legal mommy, to provide them with the loving home they deserved.



The next afternoon, while he was drinking a ginger ale and thumbing through another aviation magazine, a pounding on the front door jarred Michael from his reading.

Eric, wide-eyed and trembling, stood on the front porch. “You gotta come quick. Ashley hurt herself and is gonna die. She’s bleeding really bad and crying. We don’t know what to do. You just gotta come.”

“Let’s go.” Michael followed the boy to Lizzie’s house. The door was open, and he strode inside.

Kara sat on the sofa, holding a cloth against the baby’s head. Blood had seeped through the white cotton as well as Kara’s fingers. Lizzie glanced up, face pale, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“Ashley pulled herself up to the coffee table, then took a tumble,” Kara said. “She caught her head on the corner. We need to go to the hospital.”

“Did she lose consciousness?”

“No.”

“Here,” Michael said, stooping before the whimpering baby. “Let me see.”

“I can’t remove the cloth, her wound is bleeding too much.”

“Face cuts bleed a lot. They’re usually not as bad as they appear.”

“She’s got a nasty bump, too. Head injuries scare me.”

Michael lifted the cloth from Ashley’s brow. “Hey, pumpkin, that’s the hazards of standing alone and trying to be a big girl.” He gently probed the swollen knot and assessed the gash on her head. “She’ll be fine, although you might want to have the cut stitched. I could put a butterfly bandage on it, but it’s a bit deep.”

Kara glanced at him, her face pale, her eyes searching his. “How do you know so much about first aid?”

Michael probably should have told her he was a surgeon, but so far she hadn’t questioned him about who he really was, about things he’d rather not discuss. “I work at a hospital. I’ve seen plenty of knots, cuts and bruises. Believe me, Ashley’s fine.”

Eric made his way to Michael’s side and placed a hand on his knee. “I knew you could help my sister. That’s why I ran to get you. You fixed up my skinned knee and made it not hurt any more. You’re practically a real doctor.”

Kara smiled and tousled Eric’s hair. “He sure is nice to have around in an emergency.” Then she turned those teal-blue eyes on him. “Thanks.”

“I told you before, give me a call if you need me.”

“We didn’t call you,” Kara said with a dimpled grin. “I don’t know your phone number, and Lizzie can’t remember where she filed it.”

He smiled and brushed his hand over Ashley’s downy soft curls. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m just two houses away.”

Kara turned to Lizzie, who sat in an overstuffed easy chair near the window, fanning herself. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I am now. All that blood. Ashley crying. I suppose it is just a minor injury, but my blood pressure still doesn’t know that.”

“Why don’t I take her to the hospital and have the cut stitched,” Kara said. “You’d better stay home and rest.”

Lizzie pulled herself to her feet, “If I don’t go, how are you going to get there? Take the bus?”

The bus? That was silly. Michael could offer to drive her, but he would rather avoid any hospital settings. He might be more recognizable there.

“Can’t you just drive Lizzie’s car?” he asked. The baby had settled down. The wound had stopped bleeding. Kara appeared to be relaxed.

“I can’t,” Kara said.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I never learned to drive.”

Michael’s jaw must have dropped when he heard her words, because Lizzie explained. “Kara hasn’t had the same opportunities as some young people. She has never owned a car, so she’s never been able to practice. I keep thinking I’ll take her out driving, but I guess we haven’t taken the time.”

“It’s no big deal,” Kara said. “I walk a lot. And the bus system works great.”

The bus. Michael bit back a scowl. Shoot, it wasn’t as though he were a fugitive. The worst that could happen would be having reporters find him and harass him again. If that happened, he’d just leave town.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll take you to the hospital. Just give me a minute or two. I’ll go get my keys.”

As Michael left the room, Lizzie let out a slow sigh. “He is the nicest young man. Aren’t we lucky to have someone who knows first aid living next to us?”

“Yes,” Kara said. “Do you think he’s a doctor?”

“Driving that old blue Ford?” Lizzie made a noise with her lips. “Doctors are rich. I’ll bet he’s just a hospital orderly.”

“You’re probably right,” Kara said. She placed a kiss on Ashley’s head. “But still, it’s nice to know that someone around here has some medical skill. Maybe I’d better sign up for a first aid class through community services. Michael won’t be here forever.”

“No, he won’t.” Lizzie placed her hands on the armrests of the chair and slowly rose to her feet. “Too bad. He would make a nice neighbor.”

Yes, he would, Kara thought. She, too, was glad to have him near. On one level. Under the surface, she knew having Michael next door would be a trial of sorts because each time she looked at him, she remembered the feel of his hand on her cheek, his lips on hers, the taste of him. It was a distraction she didn’t need right now.

Before she could respond to Lizzie’s comment, Michael returned with his car keys and Eric on his heels. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, dear,” Lizzie said. “You’ll need a car seat. We’ll have to take it out of my back seat and put it in yours.”

“Why don’t I just drive your car, Lizzie?”

“Oh. That would be easier, wouldn’t it?”



Ten minutes later, Michael pulled into the hospital drive. He dropped Kara and Ashley off at the ER entrance, then parked Lizzie’s car in the visitor’s lot.

This was a new experience for him. Usually, he pulled into a reserved spot. There was a special status given to doctors, even more so to surgeons. He’d never realized how special until he entered the double doors of the ER like any one of the others waiting their turn.

An older woman and her male companion sat quietly and thumbed through weathered magazines. Michael wondered if they were actually reading the words or just going through the motions.

A young man in baggy jeans paced the floor, walking on the shredded hems of his pants. Michael figured he’d walk off the excess length of his jeans before the afternoon was up. He glanced at the clock. Two thirty-five. This would probably take forever.

He counted the people in the room—fourteen—then shook his head. Back in med school, he’d spent an ungodly number of hours during his long shifts in the ER—hours on end, days with little sleep. Still, the time had passed quickly. A string of emergencies, one crisis after another, kept him going. The hours passed quickly.

Two thirty-six. At this rate, he and Kara would be here all day.

He spotted her at a small window, balancing Ashley on her hip and pulling out insurance cards and a permission-to-treat form Lizzie had signed. He thought about joining her at the window, but didn’t. Instead he studied the figures in the room. He saw loneliness, worry and boredom etched on the faces before him. One man slammed down a magazine, then stomped out the door. Michael felt as though he’d like to do the same thing, but before he could give it any thought, Kara made her way toward him.

“I’ve signed her in,” she said, trying to twist her head from Ashley’s reach. The little girl grabbed a handful of the red hair and jerked. Kara merely tugged the strands from Ashley’s grip, leaving several hairs behind. “The receptionist said they’d call us when it’s our turn.”

Our turn? Michael scanned the room, then nodded. They took a seat near the telephone.

Two thirty-seven. He made another assessment of the gash on Ashley’s forehead. Three stitches, maybe four. Four hundred dollars and half a day wasted. Oh, well. What did he have to do, anyway?

“Would you please hold her?” Kara placed the infant on his lap before he had a chance to ask why. “I need to call her doctor. With all the excitement at home, I forgot.”

“Sure,” Michael said. He rested Ashley’s diaper-clad bottom on his knee. She was a pretty little thing. Not much hair, but big brown eyes that would drive the boys wild in a few years.

The baby thrust a fist at him, two strands of Kara’s hair still held tightly in her fingers. “I know you like the color. Me, too. But if you continue to pull it out like that, Kara won’t have any more for us to admire.”

Ashley laughed as though they’d shared a private joke.

Michael hadn’t held babies very often. Not like this. Ashley blew bubbles through pursed lips, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You were squawking pretty good a few minutes ago. Had everybody in panic mode. Did it hurt that bad?”

The baby let out a happy shriek, the high-pitched sound surprising the smile from her face.

“I didn’t think so.”

When Kara returned, she reached for the diaper bag before Michael could put the baby in her arms. “Are you hungry, little one?” she asked, handing Ashley a bottle of milk.

Ashley eagerly snatched the bottle and slunk down in Michael’s arms. She kicked one heel against his knee while happily mouthing the nipple. A dribble of milk eased down her chin, and he caught it with the tip of his finger. She smiled at him, as though grateful for his assistance. This was a strange experience for him. Sure, he’d held kids. Sick kids. Recovering kids. But not like this. Not in a day-to-day way.

The tap of Ashley’s heel upon his knee slowed to a stop, and she closed her eyes and slowed her sucking. When her lips loosened upon the nipple, a flurry of tiny bubbles rushed into the remainder of the milk, filling the half-empty bottle with a lacy froth.

Imagine that, the little kid was sleeping in his arms. A little angel—with a tummy full of milk and a knotted gash on her noggin.

He held her like that for a long time, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Amazing, he thought. The little girl rested in peaceful slumber, but he, too, found a sense of peace. Relaxation. Well-being. Something he’d been searching for on the jetty by the harbor. When Ashley woke up, this mellow mood in which he found himself would pass. But he’d touched the clouds for a moment and discovered a hint of the peace he’d been after.

“Michael?” Kara tapped his shoulder and pointed to a nurse in the hall. “It’s our turn to go.”

Michael sheepishly glanced up from his musing, only to see many of the same people still waiting. “How did you manage to take cuts?”

She smiled. “Dr. Weldon was visiting a patient on the fourth floor. When I called his service, they had him paged.”

Of course, Michael thought, as he got to his feet, careful not to wake Ashley. That made sense. He followed Kara, who followed the uniformed nurse to one of several cribs provided for the youngest ER patients.

“Dr. Weldon will be right in,” the nurse said. “Since the baby’s sleeping, why don’t you just hold her until he comes. They’ll be poking and prodding her soon enough.”

Michael glanced down at little Ashley. It seemed a shame to wake her, but he knew the routine. And the procedure. She’d be strapped to a papoose board that would restrict her movements, and she wouldn’t like it at all. He held her close, wishing he could spare her the pain and discomfort and knowing he couldn’t.

Dr. Weldon approached Kara and drew the curtain around the crib, providing what little privacy the ER could offer. Weldon had a paternal, grandfatherly appearance, with bushy white hair, a bit of a potbelly and ruddy cheeks. “Well, well,” he began in a patronizing fashion. “What happened?”

“She pulled herself up on the coffee table, then lost her balance. She hit her head on the corner.”

“Did she lose consciousness?” he asked.

She’s all right, Michael wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t his case. It wasn’t his kid. He was just the neighbor who’d brought Kara and the baby to the hospital. Keep it simple. Stay detached.

“No, but she sure did cry,” Kara said. “You should have seen the blood. She about scared the liver out of me and Lizzie.”

“I’ll bet she did,” Weldon said. He made a cursory exam of Ashley’s wound then looked into Michael’s eyes. He lifted a white bushy brow and took on more of the grandfatherly persona Michael had first recognized. “I’m Dr. Weldon.” As his eyes caught Michael’s, recognition flickered. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“I don’t think so,” Michael said.

“Michael isn’t from around here,” Kara said. “But he has first-aid training. He works at a hospital.”

“Is that right?” Weldon said, his eyes clear and piercing, like those of a headmaster at an exclusive, all-boys boarding school. Like those of old Iron Bones at Brynwood Hall, where Michael had been sent at the age of eight.

Michael had the strange urge to shuffle his feet and hang his head like an errant schoolboy on the verge of expulsion. Instead, he straightened. Hell, he wasn’t hiding from anything. What did it matter if the older doctor knew who he was? As a rule, doctors had a code of ethics when dealing with each other. Michael doubted Weldon would rush out and call some tabloid reporter and offer an interview for a price. “My name is Michael Harper, but I doubt we’ve ever met.”

The perusal was over as quickly as it began. Dr. Weldon did an admirable job stitching Ashley’s wound, in spite of the tears of protest—both Ashley’s and Kara’s. Michael had to smile at Kara’s stricken expression as the doctor deftly sutured Ashley’s face as good as any hot-shot plastic surgeon could have done. Weldon’s training undoubtedly came from years of experience.

The elderly doctor released Ashley from the papoose board that had secured her, allowing Kara to comfort the crying baby, who was more angry at being confined than in pain from the wound or its suturing.

“How is Lizzie feeling?” Weldon asked Kara as he removed his gloves.

“All right, I suppose.” She held Ashley close, cooing to her and patting her back like a seasoned mother. “She complains about the number of pills you’ve got her taking.”

“She needs them all,” Weldon said. “I’ll swing by on my way home tonight. I want to take her blood pressure when she’s at home and relaxed.”

Michael had wondered whether Ashley’s doctor was a pediatrician. Now his question had been answered. He was a general practitioner. And probably a darn good one. The kind they didn’t make anymore.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Kara said.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Weldon replied. Then he turned to Michael, those wizened blue eyes ever vigilant. “I still think you look familiar, son.”

Michael shrugged. “Maybe I remind you of someone else.”

“Maybe. I’m sure it will come to me after you go.” Weldon turned his eyes to Kara. “I’ll see you later this evening.”

“All right,” Kara said.

Weldon’s eyes swept Michael one more time, then he strode out the door, white coat flapping in the breeze—unleashing, so it seemed, the familiar scent of hospital disinfectant, the sounds of rubber soles upon the freshly waxed tile, ballpoint pens gliding across clipboards, gurneys rolling down the corridor. The sights and smells of the ER swirled around him, snaking into his memory and shaking his conscience. He belonged in a place like this, not on a lazy seashore.

Michael tensed. “I’ll bring the car around,” he told Kara.

She nodded.

As he strode from the ER, he tried to shake the feeling of being caught. Caught doing what? Taking time to himself? Making a game plan regarding his career?

Did he fear being recognized by Dr. Weldon?

Or being chastised for a dereliction of professional duty?

Guilt tugged at him, and try as he might, he found it hard to shake. He had a surgical skill other heart surgeons hadn’t perfected. It was a skill and technique he wasn’t using. How could he think of taking a vacation? Of wasting his time strolling on the beach?

But how could he provide the best medical care to his patients when his mind was preoccupied with the reporters who hounded him, who hung out by his car in the parking lot, who waited to pounce on him in the hospital cafeteria, who followed him home in the evenings?

He supposed part of their fanatical interest in him was the fact that he came from an ultra-wealthy family, that he’d achieved notability on his own talents and merits and not by virtue of his birth. The last tabloid had suggested he was now the most eligible bachelor in the country.

But if Michael had learned anything, it was that he wasn’t marriage material. Hadn’t Denise said as much? His career meant too much to him. His patients would always have priority over his wife.





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