Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication About the Author Letter to Reader Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Copyright

“I need a husband.”

Rosie sniffed. “But husbands don’t grow on trees.”

“No,” Steve agreed. “Not the last time I checked.”

Suddenly, her words sank in.

She needed a husband.

Then she could face her family and friends without shame. He owed her. He owed the family. There was a way to help them all. But it was a huge risk. He could lose the best friend he’d ever had, the only family he’d ever known.

But Rosie was part of that family. Shouldn’t he help her? Shouldn’t he do the honorable thing, the gentlemanly thing?

He wasn’t a member of the family, not by blood. More than once he had wished there was a way to change that. Now he could do something for Rosie that none of the rest of them could. He had a way to get her out of this jam.

“I could be a husband,” he said finally.

Dear Reader,

Happy Valentine’s Day! What better way to celebrate than with a Silhouette Romance novel? We’re sweeter than chocolate—and less damaging to the hips! This month is filled with special treats just for you. LOVING THE BOSS, our six-book series about office romances that lead to happily ever after, continues with The Night Before Baby by Karen Rose Smith. In this sparkling story, an unforgettable one-night stand—during the company Christmas party!—leads to an unexpected pregnancy and a mustread marriage of convenience.

Teresa Southwick crafts an emotional BUNDLES OF JOY title, in which the forbidden man of her dreams becomes a pregnant woman’s stand-in groom. Don’t miss A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing. When a devil-may-care bachelor discovers he’s a daddy, he offers the prim heroine a chance to hold a Baby in Her Arms, as Judy Christenberry’s LUCKY CHARM SISTERS trilogy resumes.

Award-winning author Marie Ferrarella proves it’s Never Too Late for Love as the bride’s mother and the groom’s widower father discover their children’s wedding was just the beginning in this charming continuation of LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER. Beloved author Arlene James lends a traditional touch to Silhouette Romance’s ongoing HE’S MY HERO promotion with Mr. Right Next Door. And FAMILY MATTERS spotlights new talent Elyssa Henry with her heartwarming debut, A Family for the sheriff.

Treat yourself to each and every offering this month. And in future months, look for more of the stories you love...and the authors you cherish.

Enjoy!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

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A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing
Teresa Southwick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mike Boyle,

a fellow forgotten middle child.

You’re a hero in my book, bro.

TERESA SOUTHWICK

is a native Californian with ties to each coast, since she was conceived in the East and born in the West. Living with her husband of twenty-five years and two handsome sons, she is surrounded by heroes. Reading has been her passion since she was a girl. She couldn’t be more delighted that her dream of writing full-time has come true. Her favorite things include: holding a baby, the fragrance of jasmine, walks on the beach, the patter of rain on the roof, and, above all—happy endings.

Teresa also writes historical romance novels under the same name.

Dear Reader,

Since I was a little girl, my two favorite things in the world have been books and babies. Even now, I can’t help but peek into each stroller I pass. The power of a child to command the attention of every adult in a room amazes me. More extraordinary is the magic of a baby’s laugh. I challenge anyone to keep from smiling at that joyful sound.

I specifically remember being bitten by the writing bug in the fourth grade. That “Pike’s Peak or Bust” assignment I thought was completed wouldn’t let me alone until I added a few more pages. My teacher liked it. More incredible was how much I enjoyed (gasp!) homework.

Not a day goes by that I don’t give thanks for the gift of reading and the satisfaction and pleasure of writing—especially when I can include a baby in my story. So it’s an honor and privilege to have A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing included in Silhouette’s BUNDLES OF JOY promotion this month.

This book was a lot like that fourth-grade writing assignment. Creating Rosie Marchetti was great fun—not to mention her four attractive brothers and hunky hero! Every day I couldn’t wait to sit down at the computer and see what the meddling Marchettis would do next. Steve Schafer stole my heart as he was capturing Rosie’s. The only sight more endearing than a baby is a strong man holding that baby. Steve does that—and more.

I hope you enjoy reading Rosie and Steve’s story as much as I loved writing it.

Chapter One

No man had a right to look so good in a pair of worn blue jeans and a brown leather jacket that had seen much better days.

And no woman about to get married should notice, Rosie Marchetti told herself. She should especially not notice through the chapel window as she waited for her bridegroom.

What was he doing here?

Steve Schafer.

Her heart gave a medium-size lurch before she could stop it. How did he always do that to her? When would she learn not to let him?

She watched him look around the parking lot, then her hands began to shake when he headed her way. She wouldn’t have noticed him out there if he was just any man. But her luck wasn’t that good.

Steve Schafer stood six-feet-two-inches, one-hundred-and-ninety-pounds of swaggering sex appeal. Not just any man had his shade of sandy-blond hair, or mocking eyes that color of dark blue, or a jaw so square and hard it could have been chiseled from stone.

There was something about Steve. A masculinity that reached out to women—even ones about to get married—daring them to flaunt their femininity and force him to take notice. Rosie was no exception. It was her cross to bear. For as long as she could remember she had been searching for the antidote to his particular strain of seductive charm.

Every single time he hadn’t noticed her, she prayed for a cure that never came. She winced at the thought, angry at herself for still caring—even a little.

So what was her brother’s best friend doing here, at her secret wedding?

Then she knew. She’d been half expecting something; if not an act of God, or a natural disaster, at the very least some form of interference from the meddling Marchettis. She pressed a hand to her stomach as the bad feeling she’d been fighting while waiting for her overdue groom to show up got worse.

Just last night she’d phoned home in Los Angeles about her plan to marry Wayne. Her mother had asked her to postpone so that she and her father could give their only daughter a big church wedding. Rosie explained that she and Wayne were madly in love with each other and couldn’t wait. She was pleased that only half of that statement was a lie. Florence Evelyn Marchetti could spot a whopper a mile away. Rosie figured she’d had a fifty-fifty chance that her mother would buy the story. When they’d hung up, she’d thought her mother had accepted her plan to marry. If she’d thought right, it could mean that Steve was here with bad news that had nothing to do with the wedding.

Clutching her bridal bouquet of white roses and baby’s breath, she rushed toward the man now standing in the chapel vestibule staring at her.

“Oh, God, Steve. Is my mother all right? She didn’t have another heart attack did she?”

He removed his aviator sunglasses, but that didn’t help her to read his expression. “Your mom’s fine, Ro.”

“Thank God,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

She would never have forgiven herself if her announcement had brought on a relapse. Florence Marchetti’s heart attack three months earlier had traumatized the whole family. It was like seeing a crack in the Rock of Gibraltar and watching helplessly while the indestructible stone crumbled. The doctor had told them that she was extremely lucky, there was no damage to the heart muscle. She would recover nicely. It was a blessing in disguise, a wake-up call for a healthier life-style.

So if Steve wasn’t here about her mother, he was here because of the wedding. She shot him a suspicious look. “Mother sent you to talk me out of getting married.”

He didn’t deny it. He just glanced around the chapel with its abundance of plastic, the primary decorating motif. Plastic flowers exploded from plastic vases beside flimsy white plastic chairs that looked as if they wouldn’t hold the weight of a pixie. If his expression betrayed his feelings, she couldn’t tell. But she knew what he was thinking. She wasn’t crazy about the ambiance, either. But a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

“This isn’t your style.” His voice was hard as he echoed her thoughts. Worse, there was censure in his eyes.

How would he know what her style was? He’d never given her the time of day, not since she was a child. For Pete’s sake. Why did his indifference still bother her? She pushed that thought aside. She should be mad about why he was here. And she was.

Her parents had a right to disapprove of her decision. They didn’t have a right to interfere—or send a proxy to do it for them.

She knew they weren’t keen on Wayne. The Marchettis had made no secret of the fact that they thought their only daughter could do better. But they found something wrong with every man she brought home. Wayne wasn’t a doctor, a lawyer, or a teacher. In fact, she wasn’t exactly sure how he supported himself. But she liked him. Besides, he had one qualification they didn’t know about. If her luck wasn’t completely down the tubes, they never would.

“I’m getting married. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind,” she finally said, annoyed when the words came out defensively instead of in the cool, dismissive tone she’d been shooting for.

“You’re making a mistake.” He took her arm. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and we can discuss this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She stared at his long, strong fingers curved around her upper arm. When she zinged him a look, he dropped his hand. “Wayne will be here any minute. He had some things to do. One of those errands was a surprise for me. He’s such a sweet, thoughtful man.” She wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince Steve or herself.

“No comment.”

She’d certainly bowled him over with Wayne’s good P.R. “You’d better go, Steve. No one’s supposed to know about the wedding, and I’ve no idea how I’m going to explain your presence.” The truth was she just didn’t want him there when she took her vows.

“If you leave with me, you won’t have to explain anything to anyone.”

Her stomach clenched and she was instantly and forcefully reminded of why she was there. “I couldn’t do that.”

His eyes hardened with anger. “Wayne’s a creep, Rosie. You deserve better.”

“You sound like my parents.” Her fingers curled around her bouquet until her knuckles turned as white as the roses. “They don’t know Wayne the way I do. And neither do you.”

“You got that right.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

No matter that just a few minutes before she had been having thoughts about Steve that no bride about to marry another man should have. Rosie felt obligated to defend her fiancé. She’d had a lifetime of family disapproval and the buttinskis had better get used to the fact that she was calling the shots. She was a grown woman; she knew exactly what she was doing. Steve Schafer had no right to stick his nose in and spoil everything.

“Wayne is not a creep. He’s a wonderful man. He’s thoughtful and kind and generous. And smart. And very good-looking. I’m going to marry him and you can’t talk me out of it,” she finished desperately.

“I was afraid you’d be stubborn.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

Even as she demanded to be told the truth, a bad feeling settled over her. Wayne was way overdue and getting later by the minute.

There was a weary, disgusted look in Steve’s eyes. Deep creases carved his face beside his nose and mouth. Something told her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“Wayne’s not coming.” His voice was flat.

She couldn’t have heard him right. “I—” She stopped and swallowed hard. Numb. That’s what she was. She couldn’t feel anything and there was a part of her desperately grateful for that. “I don’t believe you. H-he said he would meet me here at noon. It’s only a few minutes past—”

“It’s later than that.”

“He’ll be here.” Her hands started to shake. “He has to,” she whispered.

“What?” he asked sharply.

“Nothing.”

“You can wait if you want, I can’t stop you. But I’m doing my best to spare you, Rosie. Trust me. He’s not coming.” There was pity in his expression. It was that more than anything that made her eyes burn with unshed tears at the same time she wanted to deck him. How dare he pity her?

She blinked away the moisture. “What has Wayne ever done to give you such a low opinion of him?”

“Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you back to the hotel and buy you some lunch. We can talk—”

“I’m not leaving here until my groom shows up.”

“I just told you, that’s not going to happen.” He glanced at the watch on his wide wrist and nodded with satisfaction.

“How do you know that?”

“Because he’s a weasel.”

“That’s not true and it’s not an answer.” She shook her head as her eyes widened. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.” He met her gaze until she looked away. “Believe it or not, I’m not enjoying myself. Let’s get out of here, go someplace private so we can talk. We’ll get something to eat, then I’ll take you back to the hotel for your things.”

That was twice in two minutes that he’d offered her food. Apparently he thought the world-famous Marchetti method of eating one’s way out of a crisis would cure what ailed her. But he was so wrong.

She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re trying to break us up. You want to hustle me out of here before Wayne arrives and make him think I stood him up.”

“Your imagination is working overtime.”

“That’s what you’d like me to think. I’m just going to wait. And I don’t need company. Feel free to leave anytime.”

Behind her, the chapel door opened and a man, dressed in a dark suit and carrying a book in his hand, slipped inside. He walked down the carpeted aisle and stopped in front of them. “Finally. This is the tardy bridegroom?” he asked, staring questioningly at Steve’s worn leather bomber jacket, white cotton shirt, and faded jeans.

Rosie shook her head. “He was just leaving, Your Honor. Wayne will be here any minute.”

“Steve Schafer,” Steve said, holding out his hand to the justice of the peace.

“Charles Forbes.”

After they shook hands Steve said, “There’s been a change of plans. Miss Marchetti won’t be getting married today after all. We’re sorry to have inconvenienced you, Your Honor.”

“Not so fast, buster,” Rosie said. “I’m not sure what he’s trying to pull, Judge Forbes. But if you’ll be patient for just a few more minutes, my fiancé will be here.”

“He’s very late.” The judge gave her a look, puzzled, but definitely sympathetic, too. “We can wait until my next couple arrives. But I’ve a busy schedule this afternoon. I squeezed you in today, Miss Marchetti, remember?”

She winced at the “Miss.” It should have been “Mrs.” by now. “How could I forget? Just a little longer. Please. He’ll be here. I’m sure of it.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s no point in wasting the man’s time, Rosie. Wayne’s not coming.”

“How can you know that for sure?” she asked again. She was really afraid he would answer the question this time, and her desperation increased in direct proportion to her groom’s tardiness.

Steve glanced at the judge, then down at her. “Let’s go outside—”

“No. I’m not budging one step until you tell me, right here, right now, how you can be so sure Wayne’s not coining.”

Steve’s mouth thinned and he looked down for several seconds. Then he met her gaze squarely. “I know because I gave him a lot of money and a plane ticket as far away from you as he could get without a passport. Then I drove him to the airport and waited until his plane took off. Wayne’s not coming to marry you today or any other day, Rosie.”

Steve tipped the room service waiter and shut the door to Rosie’s hotel suite. She’d been in the bathroom ever since he’d brought her here from the chapel. It had been almost an hour and if she didn’t come out soon, he’d have to break the damn door down. One corner of his mouth lifted. You could take the kid out of the gutter, but apparently you couldn’t completely leave the gutter mentality behind.

He knocked softly. “Lunch is here, squirt.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I ordered a bottle of wine.”

“It’s not even close to happy hour,” she said. The door between them did nothing to muffle her sarcasm.

He knew he should be grateful she wasn’t in the same room with him. An angry Marchetti was a formidable sight. When her shock wore off, he would be in for it. Unless he could mellow her out with a glass of wine.

“It’s the kind you like. I figured it was the least I could do.”

“You figured wrong. And how would you know what I like?”

He knew. For years he’d covertly watched Rosie at family gatherings and carefully filed away every detail he’d observed about her. Oh, yeah, he knew damn well.

After a few moments she said through the door, “Just go away and leave me alone.”

Steve turned his back, trying to shake the feeling that he’d slam-dunked a kitten. He ran a hand through his short hair. He’d done the job he’d been sent here to do. He was the hatchet man, not Dear Abby. He didn’t have to stay; the cabin was waiting. The Marchettis had offered him the use of the family vacation home in the mountains. He hadn’t gotten away in years and, after today, he was looking forward to the isolation more than ever. There was a good chance of snow since it was the middle of January. Holidays were over. Tourists would be gone. He could hardly wait. But he couldn’t walk out on Rosie just yet. Not until he got her the hell out of that bathroom and home to her mother.

He looked around the hotel suite, taking in the elegant understated decor. Matching cherrywood furniture polished to a perfect shine decorated the bedroom, parlor and dining area. The sofa, love seat, and accent chairs in shades of blue, green and mauve striped and floral patterns had been expertly coordinated by an interior designer. Expensive Stiffel brass lamps held court on all the tables. Who’d have guessed that a guy like him could even get into a place like this? The years had smoothed away the rough edges of the skinny, dirty kid he’d once been.

A kid who’d never laid eyes on his father. A kid whose mother had dumped him at a downtown L.A. bus station never to be heard from again. He’d wound up in the county home with other kids just like himself, angry and bitter. The odds said he should have gone to hell.

He heard a faucet running in the bathroom. Rosemarie Teresa Christina. Marchetti. He smiled. He’d beat the odds when a twist of fate had crossed his path with her brother Nick’s. They’d become best friends and the Marchettis had taken Steve under their wing.

He heard her moving around and his smile turned grim. He wasn’t sure which was worse: her self-imposed quarantine, or facing her when she came out. He wasn’t looking forward to the angry third-degree he knew she would give him. There was only one thing worse than that

Seeing her cry.

She hadn’t yet. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t said much, either. That zombie-like calm was so unlike her it made him nervous. As much as he dreaded the inevitable storm, it would be preferable to the silent treatment. He hated waiting for the other shoe to fall—or in this case, the flood of tears he knew was coming. He had to get her the hell home—to someone who could hold her when she cried.

The door behind him opened. He braced himself.

“Steve?”

“What?” He turned.

Her hands twisted together as she stared accusingly at him. She had changed out of her beige silk suit and looked just as pretty, maybe more so, in a denim jumper with a white T-shirt underneath. Her dark curly hair had been done up on top of her head for the wedding and was tumbling down now. He couldn’t help thinking it made her look as if she’d just come from a man’s bed. That thought was followed by a white-hot flash of desire, which he quickly pushed away.

He had learned a long time ago that it was easier if he didn’t think about Rosie that way. Most of the time he succeeded. Then, out of the blue—bam!—those feelings zapped him like a lightning bolt.

Nick had never said the exact words, but he had still made it clear that Steve was to think of her as a kid sister. That made her “hands off.” He had taken his protective role to a new level today, he thought. After what he’d done, she wasn’t going to any man’s bed, including his.

Especially his.

“Why did you do it?” she asked. “You could have said no.”

“To your mother?”

“No. Xena, Warrior Princess. Of course, my mother. When she asked you to submarine me, you could have told her you wouldn’t stoop that low.”

She was right. But he couldn’t manage to summon the guilt he knew he should feel. He had absolutely no regrets. He’d built a booming business and had made a lot of money by giving his corporate clients all the information they needed to keep from making a mistake. He’d never taken as much satisfaction from a job well done as he did now.

Rosie was a one-in-a-million woman.

She didn’t know it now, but she was better off alone than she would have been married to that twotiming jerk. Confronting Wayne without laying a hand on him had been one of the hardest things Steve had ever done. He’d wanted to punch Wayne’s lights out, especially when he’d started spouting lies about Rosie.

“Look, squirt, you know why I couldn’t say no.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head. “It’s easy. You open your mouth. It’s one tiny syllable. ‘No.’ Simple.”

“I owe your parents more than I can repay in a lifetime.”

“You already paid off the college loan,” she said. “With interest.”

“It’s not about money.”

“Okay. It’s about how when you were a kid my father caught you stealing from his restaurant and instead of calling the cops, he made you work.”

“You got it.”

She put her hands on her hips. “That doesn’t make you my parents’ lackey.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “‘Lackey’? Rosie, you’ve been reading too many books in that store of yours.”

“I’m serious, Steve. Maybe you like the word ‘flunky’ better? My folks gave you a helping hand. You don’t owe them your life’s blood forever. Your success is the only reward they want.”

He owed them everything. “I know they don’t expect anything.”

“But you sided with them.”

“I didn’t take sides, and it’s not a you-against-them situation.”

“No?” She caught her full bottom lip between her teeth.

The longer she talked, the more he thought maybe she’d already gotten the waterworks out of her system. He studied her. She didn’t look as though she’d been crying. Her turned-up nose wasn’t red. No blotches on her face. No wadded up tissue in her hand. Nope, the storm was still gaining momentum.

She looked troubled. And angry. Hell, why shouldn’t she? He’d just busted up her wedding. She would get over it. He took heart from the fact that when she’d listed everything she liked about Wayne, she’d never said she loved him. Although he didn’t like to think about it, she wouldn’t be alone for long. He hoped she chose the next guy more wisely. A girl like Rosie deserved the best.

“You’ve ruined everything,” she said, taking her makeup case from the bathroom and setting it on the love seat.

He stuck his hands into his jeans pockets. “It may seem that way now, but give it time. You’ll see—”

“All the time in the world won’t change what you’ve done. You’ve destroyed my life,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed resentment and simmering panic. “You and my mother.”

He wanted to say he’d saved her life, but she wouldn’t see that now. He almost wished he had come up empty when he’d checked out her fiancé. What he’d found was worse than he’d expected. In fact he’d kept the sleazy information to himself for a hell of a long time, hoping he wouldn’t need it.

Then Mrs. M. had called him last night and told him about the wedding. He’d had to show her what he’d discovered. When she saw the information, paying Wayne off had been her mother’s idea. The lesser of two evils was still evil, and he reminded himself that Rosie must be feeling pretty bad right now.

He tried to be gentle with her. “Your mother was concerned.”

“My mother thinks Prince Albert wouldn’t be good enough for me. You know that.”

“She loves you, squirt. Your whole family does. They want the best for you.”

“Who gets to decide what the best is? Shouldn’t that be me? And when do I get to start calling the shots? I’m twenty-six years old. It’s about time they stand back and let me alone. If I fall on my face, so be it. It’s my face!”

And a nice face it was. But he couldn’t tell her that. He didn’t know what to say. Something positive. “They’re proud of you, Rosie.”

She shook her head. “In a pig’s eye.”

“Look at the bookstore. They’re pleased at the success you’ve made of it.”

“That doesn’t count. They couldn’t force me into the family business and I used my trust fund to open the store. We’re talking about interpersonal relationships here. My parents don’t trust me, Steve. It’s as simple as that. You don’t interfere if you believe in someone.” Her eyes turned accusing. “And you of all people—I thought you would support me. You were the only one who didn’t think I should go into the restaurant business with my brothers.”

She was right. He did a lot of work for the Marchettis. If she’d followed her brothers into the family operated restaurant chain, he’d have had to see her more than he could handle. He’d supported her desire to start her own business, but his motives had been selfish.

“I’m sorry you’re upset,” he said. “But this is for the best. You’ll see.”

“I’ll never see that. And you helped do this to me.” Her eyes got bigger—and angrier, if that was possible. “You checked out Wayne, didn’t you? You investigated his background.”

He nodded. “When you first started seeing him.”

“Why? My mother?” Her face was composed, even though she was mad.

“No one trusted him.”

Evasion. It was better than the truth. No way would he tell her that no one had asked him. He’d done it on his own. She would want to know why and he wasn’t sure he even knew the reason.

“I don’t understand.”

“Little things you said. No visible means of support, vague references to stocks and investments. He pushed his advantage with you at the speed of light.” He was too slick, too smooth, too evasive. Too damn charming.

“So what did you find out?”

“Do you want to see the reports?” When had he learned to bluff so well? He prayed she would say no because he’d left them with her mother. Besides, he wouldn’t show her everything. That info would devastate her. He’d agreed to do the dirty work, but he wouldn’t destroy her in the process.

“Just tell me what you found,” she answered.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “He lives off wealthy women.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Why would I lie?”

There was a bruised look in her eyes as she shook her head, indicating she didn’t know. “But I’m not wealthy. That proves he cares about me for myself.” She took a step forward, her eyes pleading with him to agree that she was right. “My bookstore makes a small profit, which Wayne encouraged me to channel right back into the business. Does that sound like a man after my money?”

“It sounds like a cheat who’s done his homework.” He walked over to her and nudged her chin up until her troubled gaze met his own. “How could he miss? Your family is well off. If he couldn’t get it from you, he’d get it from them.”

“So Mother commissioned you to cut to the chase.”

He nodded. “He opted for the quick buck. And Flo figured the hurt you’d feel now is nothing compared to what it would be if you’d married that son of a—”

She put a hand over her mouth and turned away.

Here it comes, he thought. He figured action as the best way to deal with the situation. He would hurry her out of the hotel and to the airport and on the first plane back to California.

“It’s time to go—”

“This is awful.” She ignored him and started pacing. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

“Yeah. I do. I got that cheating con man out of your life.”

“I had to get married today. I needed to get married, Steve.”

Something about the way she said “needed” gave him a bad feeling. “I don’t understand. Define ‘need.’”

When she faced him dead on, he didn’t see the anticipated tears in her eyes. Just misery mixed with anger. And full-blown panic.

“I’m pregnant, Steve. I’m going to have a baby.”

Chapter Two

Never say never, Rosie thought. Steve Schafer had finally noticed her.

If only it had been for her ravishing beauty, to-die-for body and irresistible charm instead of her shocking announcement. With all her heart, she wished that she could take those words back. Why in God’s name had she blurted out her news like that? Her excuses lined up like ducks in a row: shock and hurt and anger, mixed with a down-and-dirty desire to shake him out of that damn complacency he wore like a pair of sexy jeans.

And fear. Terror had pushed the words out of her mouth.

She’d had the situation under control. She’d planned to marry Wayne and give her baby a name and a father. She’d been determined to make the best of their relationship. She would have made it work, too. But her well-meaning family, with Steve’s eager cooperation, had raced to her rescue. Now she was out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Above all, Rosie did not want anyone else to know she was pregnant. At least not yet. But she knew she’d get more secrecy from a tabloid reporter than Steve. He’d been dispatched by her mother to take care of her; he would feel obligated to report that she was going to have a baby.

There were two reasons she didn’t want them to know. Number one: she was afraid the shock would send her mother back to the hospital with another heart attack. Number two: she didn’t think she could stand to see the hurt and disappointment on her parents’ faces when they found out their only daughter had messed up so badly.

No. She had enough to handle without taking that on just now. Since she couldn’t rewind and edit, she had to do some serious damage repair. But how?

“You’re pregnant?” he said finally.

“Gotcha!” She pointed at him as she tried her best to grin, the last thing she felt like doing.

But turning it into a joke was all she could think of to do. How else could she make him go away? She needed to deal with the fact that her fiancé hadn’t loved her enough to resist her family’s meddling. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel as if she was going to fall apart, but lately she couldn’t tell. Her hormones were pretty whacked out. If she decided to have a good cry, she wanted privacy. The last person on earth she wanted to witness her breakdown was Steve Schafer.

“You’re trying to tell me that was a gag?” he asked. He didn’t believe her.

“Okay, it’s not very funny. I’m not in an especially good mood. Put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel if I sabotaged your wedding?” Did he know she was lying? She was no match for the man who put the “cyn” in cynical. He could see through anyone. But she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The look of pity on his face at the chapel had nearly been her undoing. If he knew about the baby, there would be a mega-dose of that expression and she would rather walk naked into a hailstorm than see it again.

Tension crackled between them and Rosie couldn’t stand it. “Next time, stay out of my life when my mother asks you to do her dirty work.”

Something crossed his face. A shadow. He almost looked guilty. Well, he darn well should. She was pregnant and not married. Thanks to him she never would be.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the cherrywood desk, looking far too comfortable, as if he were settling in for a heart-to-heart. A long time ago he had turned his back on her, given up his claim to soul-baring chats. He didn’t need her, and she would never need him again. Lord, she wasn’t feeling well. If her stomach decided to rebel, a frequent occurrence of late, she would never get rid of him.

“I’m not going to argue with you, Steve.” How could there be arguing when she was the only one talking? The fact that he didn’t rise to her bait and bicker back was immaterial, irrelevant, and completely unimportant. Not to mention frustrating and annoying. “Actually, I’d like you to leave. Go back to my mother and tell her ‘mission accomplished.’”

“I plan to go. But not without you. I have two plane tickets for Los Angeles, and we’re going to use them. Right after we have lunch. It would be a shame to waste this food.”

“You eat. I’m not hungry.” Why was he still trying to feed her? She folded her arms against her increasingly agitated stomach.

“You’ve got to have something. Since when do you turn down a meal?”

“Since I got stood up at the altar. A broken heart tends to put a girl off eating.”

He tensed. “I wish there had been another way. You know I hate this as much as you do.”

He really did look sorry. In fact, he looked terrible. Tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days. She pushed. the thought away. She’d give the man no quarter, no sympathy.

“You couldn’t possibly feel like I do.” He wasn’t pregnant. And if he was, not only would it be a miracle, but there were any number of tall, leggy blondes who would drop everything to make an honest man of him.

“I wish things could have been different, squirt.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

He looked apologetic, an expression just this side of feeling sorry for her. If he went to the pity place she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions. No jury of her peers—girls from interfering families who’d paid off a fiancé—would convict her for any mayhem she decided to wreak upon his decidedly hunky person.

“Why don’t you try to eat? I got your favorites.” In a single fluid motion he straightened and lifted the metal dome from one of the plates on the room service tray beside him. “Steak, potatoes au gratin, asparagus.”

She sniffed and her stomach lurched. Brought down by the smell! She put a hand over her mouth and raced to the bathroom, slamming the door. It didn’t take long to get rid of the small amount of breakfast she’d been able to choke down. When she was steady, she rinsed her mouth out.

She was staring at her chalky-white face in the mirror when Steve knocked on the door.

Her humiliation was complete.

“Ro?”

“Go away.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. Go away.”

“Can I come in?”

“No. Go away.”

The door opened. He took one look at her face, quickly but gently sat her on the side of the tub, and then wet a washcloth. He sat next to her and started to bathe her forehead and the back of her neck.

Even though she had ordered him out, she admitted to herself that the warmth of his body, the support implied by his actions, felt good. Too good. As much as she hated to admit it, this was more consideration than Wayne had given her since she’d told him about the baby. But at least he’d agreed to marry her. Now she had to get used to the fact that she was on her own. Thanks to Steve. She had to make him leave.

And she would. Real soon, she thought with a sigh as her eyelids drifted closed while he pressed the wet cloth to her forehead. “What part of ‘go away’ did you not understand?”

“When’s the baby due?”

Her eyes snapped open and she pushed his hand aside. “What baby? This was just nerves, delayed shock—”

“Look, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, Rosie.” He rested his wrist on his thigh and let the damp washcloth hang from his fingers between his widespread knees.

“And that means—what?”

“Wayne told me you were going to have a baby. I thought he was lying to get more money out of me. You really are pregnant, aren’t you?”

She met his blue-eyed gaze for a few seconds, then nodded miserably.

He put his arm around her, ignoring her token resistance as he drew her closer to his side.

She rested her cheek on his solid, comforting shoulder, torn between wanting to push him away and needing to stay there forever.

“Before you ask, it’s Wayne’s baby,” she said.

“I wasn’t going to ask.” He hesitated, then tensed. “Do you want me to find him? I’ll—”

“No way.” She pulled away from the security, shelter and warmth of his arms and stood. Retreating from him, she leaned against the sink. “It’s just too pathetic. I wouldn’t marry a man who took money from my family to break us up.”

“Okay.” He stared at her for several moments, then asked, “What are you going to do?”

“I thought I figured that out.” She had the satisfaction of seeing him wince. “Now I’m not sure. Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I want this baby.”

He nodded.

“I’m having it.”

“All right.”

“When my mother had her heart attack, she thought she was going to die. She told me how much she regretted not being able to see her grandchildren.”

“She didn’t mean for you to—”

“I know.” She folded her arms across her waist. “I know. And she wanted me to be married. I didn’t plan this, Steve. It was an accident. Sometimes things happen. Life throws you a curve. You can duck, or you can lean into it.”

“You’re going with it.” He wasn’t asking a question.

“I want this baby,” she said again.

He nodded. “When are-you due?”

“Six months.” She knew what was going through his mind. Why hadn’t she made plans to marry Wayne when she’d first discovered the pregnancy? That was none of his business.

But instead he asked, “Isn’t morning sickness supposed to be over by now?”

She shrugged. “Marchettis never do anything halfway.”

He nodded absently as he studied her. He was still sitting on the side of the tub. His intense gaze rested on her abdomen, assessing her for proof of the baby’s existence. She felt like roadkill, but outwardly there was no sign. And she would know. Every day she looked in the mirror at her almost-flat tummy. Part of her couldn’t wait to see how she would look, know what the baby’s initial tiny movements would feel like, experience a good solid kick for the first time.

There was another part of her that hoped no one would notice for a decent length of time. By then she would have been married to Wayne and no one would have started counting back the months. Even if they had, it wouldn’t have mattered because she would have had a husband. And the baby, a father. It had been a lovely fairy tale, one she realized that her shallow fiancé would have destroyed pretty quickly. But if Steve hadn’t been so eager to take orders from her mother, at least the baby would have had his father’s name.

After her parents, her brother Nick would take this news hardest. He had always been protective of her. Steve, too. His gaze lifted from her tummy, past her breasts, to her lips, where it lingered for a moment before he looked into her eyes. She saw an expression—something sad?—that made her want to wrap her arms around him. Before she could name the emotion, it was gone. Just as well. More than once she’d been accused of trying to mother the world. In a matter of a few months, she would be a mother for real. She needed to focus on her baby. His welfare came first.

“Six months isn’t very long.” Steve stood and let out a long breath. He ran a hand through his hair, then checked his watch. As he walked out of the bathroom he said, “The sooner your mother knows about this, the better. Are you packed? We’ve got a plane to catch—”

“You go ahead,” she called after him.

He poked his head back in. “What?”

“I’m not going home.”

Steve stared hard at her as he struggled to tamp down his frustration. Even more than before he wanted to get her to her mother. He wanted the peace and serenity of the Marchetti family cabin in the San Bernardino Mountains. He wanted to forget his part in this mess.

He cursed Wayne for the umpteenth time. If he hadn’t been world-class scum he wouldn’t have taken the bribe and everything would be fine. But the weasel’s cheerful greed had made Steve’s dirty mission easy. He wished for five minutes alone with the jerk right now. But Rosie’s fiancé was gone. Steve’s work here was done. It was over. He could leave. All he had to do was take one of those plane tickets and split—out the door. Hit the road. As quickly as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. No way could he walk out on her. Not now.

Her pregnancy changed everything.

The situation had all seemed so simple when he’d left Mrs. M. It was all about getting Wayne out of Ro’s life.

Rosie’s baby put a one-eighty spin on everything. She was angry at her family right now. But she needed them. Somehow he had to convince her to go home to her mother. But the stubborn expression on her pale face told him he was in for a rough sell.

“If you don’t go home, what will happen to your business? You have to get back to that. It’s even more important now, with—” He made a vague gesture in the general direction of her stomach.

“A child on the way?” Her mouth turned up in a brittle smile. “Yes, I know. I’m not abandoning my bookstore. It’s covered. I’d planned to take off two weeks for a honeymoon. Jackie is minding things there.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just take some time alone to sort things out.”

“Your mother could help you do that.”

“Then I wouldn’t be alone. Besides, I don’t need help,” she snapped. “I’m a grown woman.”

No kidding. He had tried on numerous occasions to ignore that fact, but her lush curves and unbelievable femininity reminded him on an excruciatingly frequent basis.

“Everyone needs help from time to time,” he said.

“Even you?” she challenged.

“Even me.” The answer was automatic. But the truth was, he didn’t need anything from anyone. Not anymore. If he ever did, there was only one person he would ask. Nick Marchetti.

Their relationship was his most precious possession. He had money now and could buy anything he needed. Nick had been there when Steve hadn’t had a dime to his name. You couldn’t put a price on a friend like Nick. Steve knew how his buddy would take the news of his sister’s pregnancy. Not well.

He kicked himself for not revealing his incriminating information right away, before Wayne had taken advantage of Rosie. Keeping it under wraps had seemed like a good idea at the time. Steve had figured the weasel would trip himself up and she would give him the heave-ho. In fact Nick had told him she’d dumped Wayne. Obviously not in time. Steve knew he would never forgive himself for that. Although he still felt he’d done the right thing in breaking up the wedding. Letting her know Wayne could be bought off had been for the best. Now she would never have to see the damning pictures. But that didn’t change the fact that she was pregnant and not married. Guilt settled on him like a stone. He was to blame for at least part of it.

When Mrs. M. had asked him to stop the wedding, Steve knew he could have said no. Rosie was dead-on about that. If he had, she would be married now. It was his fault that she had no husband to give her baby a name.

He was in way over his head. He had to try just one more time to convince her to confide in her family. “Rosie, you have to tell your mother.”

“No, I don’t,” she said.

Stubbornness and sensibility didn’t necessarily go hand in hand, he thought ruefully. “Sooner or later she’ll have to know. Your dad, too.”

She was pacing in front of the wide, sheer-draped windows. “Then it will definitely be later.”

“Be reasonable.”

“All right. How about this? I’ll go on my honeymoon. When I get home, I’ll tell them Wayne is on a business trip. He’ll just never come back.”

“Your mother knows I paid him off.”

“Good point.” She started pacing again. “You could back me up when I say that he didn’t take the money.”

“Your mother would wonder why the check was cashed.”

“Oh. Right.” She tapped a finger against her lips as she walked back and forth, deep in thought.

“Come on, Rosie. Didn’t anyone ever tell you honesty is the best policy?”

She stood still and met his gaze with her own troubled one. “Whoever said that didn’t have to face Flo and Tom Marchetti and tell them she was going to have a baby without a husband.”

“It’ll be okay. Trust your folks—”

“You don’t know what it’s like.”

“No, I guess I don’t.” He didn’t know what it felt like to face parents, period. “I only had to answer to a social worker.”

“Oh, Steve, I didn’t mean—” She reached a hand out, then let it fall. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “No big deal.”

“It’s just that I’ll have to look my parents in the eye and watch their faces. I can’t stand to see ‘The Look.’”

“They love you.”

“I know. That makes it worse. The Look only works when it comes from the people you love.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“A flogging would be easier. Bread and water for a month would be a walk in the park. The Look is the ultimate punishment.”

“What look?”

“Disappointment” She sighed. “I let them down, Steve. Big time. Nothing I could have done would be worse than this. Their friends, whose sons and daughters have given them legitimate grandchildren, will know that Rosie Marchetti screwed up. My folks will blame themselves, try to figure out where they went wrong with me. They should have been better parents, stricter.”

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

She shook her head. “That’s what I’ll see in their faces. Their daughter, their best and brightest, is pregnant and has no husband. How can I tell them that? I can’t stand to hurt them that way—” Her voice cracked and she clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away.

Here it is, he thought. Here come the tears. He should have known she wouldn’t cry for herself, but her family was something else. And he was still the only one there. He curled his fingers into his palms.

“Rosie, don’t—”

“I’m fine—” She stopped as emotion choked off her words.

“This won’t do any good,” he said.

“I know. I—I can’t help it—” The words were cut off by a strangled sob that shook her shoulders.

“Damn.”

He crossed the room in three strides. He put his hands on her arms and turned her toward him. He felt her reluctance to take the comfort he was offering, then her eyes swam with tears and she covered her face with her hands. She seemed to crumple against him.

Her sweet, soft body snuggling in his arms felt better than he had ever imagined, and he’d imagined it a lot. She was like a sister to him, he reminded himself. He had no right to be aware of her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat that burned through him. He should push her away. How long could he stand having her in his arms without doing more?

He gritted his teeth. As long as it took, he decided. She needed someone now. Fate had put him there. He would just hold her. That’s all.

But he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his hand up and down her back in a comforting motion. He was unable to resist pressing her cheek more firmly to his chest. It felt natural and right for his arms to tug her closer, tuck her softness more securely to his hard length. He took a shuddering breath, then released it. She just needed a shoulder. It was the least he could do. She was his best friend’s sister. But he tightened his arms just a fraction. For himself.

When her crying subsided to an occasional wet hiccup, he said, “They’ll forgive you.”

“I know.”

“They love you.”

“No doubt about it. And I love them.”

“They would want to help you through this, Rosie.”

“Of course they would. But The Look will always be there—in their eyes. I’d do anything—anything—to spare them this disgrace and embarrassment.”

“Anything?”

“Short of murder and mayhem,” she said, nodding miserably. “But there’s no solution to this problem.” She sniffled. “I need a husband. But husbands don’t grow on trees.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not the last time I checked.”

She pulled back a little and looked up at him, a wavery little smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “They don’t fall off turnip trucks, either.”

“Yeah, I try never to do that. It’s not the fall that gets you, it’s the bounce.”

The sound she made was part sob, part giggle, but it was all victory, one that made him feel as if he’d won a marathon.

As he pulled her back into his embrace, her words sank in.

I need a husband.

Then she could face her family and friends without shame. He took half the blame for her situation. He owed her. He owed the family. There was a way to help them all. But it was a huge risk. He could lose the best friend he’d ever had, the only family he’d ever known.

But Rosie was a part of that family. Shouldn’t he help her? She was Nick’s sister. If Nick were in his shoes, wouldn’t he do the honorable thing, the gentlemanly thing? Steve hadn’t hung around the Marchettis all these years for nothing. He’d learned a thing or two. Rule number one: when one of them was in trouble, they were all in trouble.

He wasn’t a member of the family, not by blood. More than once he had wished there was a way to change that. But in this situation, blood lines worked in his favor. He could do something for Rosie that none of the rest of them could. He had a way to get her out of this jam.

“I could be a husband,” he said.

She glanced up at him and her eyes widened. Then she smiled, and her face lit up, and he understood about the glow of a pregnant woman. She looked so beautiful, for a split second his breath caught.

“That’s funny, Steve.”

He frowned. “What is?”

“The idea of you as a husband. Not as funny as the image of you taking a bounce off a turnip truck. But still pretty hysterical. Have you been into that bottle of wine that room service brought up?”

He looked offended. “Why?”

“You’re the world’s most confirmed bachelor. After Nick, of course. But still, I can’t picture you getting married. You’re not very good husband material.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “I’ll forget you brought it up.”

“For Pete’s sake, Rosie. I’m trying to bail you out here.”

She frowned. “You’ve already done enough for me today. Butt out, Steve. Don’t do me any more favors.”

“Hear me out. You need a husband. I’m available. I’m applying for the job.”

“I don’t believe it. You’re actually proposing?”

He released a long breath and nodded. “Yeah, it’s an official proposal. I’m asking you to marry me, Rosie.”

Chapter Three

Rosie knew her jaw fell and her mouth opened. But for the life of her, she couldn’t make any words come out. There hadn’t been many times in her twenty-six years when she was speechless. Off the top of her head, she could remember two. The day the pregnancy test told her she was going to be a mother. And the time she had gone to Steve’s apartment unannounced. She’d been eighteen and certain she’d seen a look in his eyes that had convinced her he was attracted to her. He’d answered the door shirtless, followed by a beautiful blonde wearing nothing but said shirt.

On the one-to-ten shock meter, the proposal from Steve hovered close to twenty. She was completely and utterly stunned. Was he really and truly on the level?

“Say something,” Steve prompted.

She took a deep breath and released it. “At the risk of offending the cliché police, all I can think of is—this is so sudden.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of that going around.”

“You silver-tongued devil. You could turn a girl’s head with flattery like that.”

“Quit joking, Ro.”

“Why? You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s a good one.” She pointed at him and laughed with an edge of hysteria to the sound that even she heard. Those dam hormones were acting up again. “I almost believe you.”

“Believe it.”

“How can I? This is me. And you’re you.”

“And your point is?”

“One of two things. Either you’re trying to cheer me up because you feel bad about what you did.”

“That’s only half true. I will never feel bad about getting Wayne the Weasel out of your life.”

She winced at the derogatory nickname.

“What’s my second choice?” he asked.

“Payback. This is your ‘gotcha’ moment. This is revenge. This is Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown. As soon as I run to kick the ball, you’ll pull it away and let me fall on my backside, or in this case, my face, point and say ‘gotcha!’”

He stood, walked over to the phone and picked it up. “Concierge, please.”

Puzzled, Rosie walked over to him, standing at his elbow while he waited with the receiver to his ear. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to find out about getting a justice of the peace.”

“Now?”

Challenging blue eyes, intense and hard as steel, locked with her own. “Right here, right now.”

Rosie pressed the button to disconnect him. “You’ve made your point.”

“So why did you stop me?”

“Like I said before, this is so sudden.” She looked up at him and her stomach got that fluttery feeling she always got with Steve. “I don’t remember responding to your proposal, in the affirmative or any other way.”

“Okay. Now that I have your attention. Will you marry me?”

“No.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s it? Just no?”

“Thank you, no?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

She did know. He was being very sweet. He deserved an explanation. Unfortunately she didn’t have one. Partly because this was happening way too fast.

“I’m not sure what part of no you don’t understand. It’s a one-syllable negative response. Fairly easy to comprehend.”

He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with a narrow-eyed stare. “I get it. This is my payback for not saying no to your mother, isn’t it?”

“That would be childish. I can’t believe you think I’m that immature.”

“There’s no way to predict how a woman will respond under the best of circumstances. But after a fiasco like today—”

She sighed. “It’s very sweet of you to offer to do this for me. I appreciate it a lot.”

“But you don’t believe I’m sincere?”

She wasn’t sure what she believed. A state of shock wasn’t the best place to make a decision about putting oneself in a state of matrimony. “This is something I have to handle by myself.”

“It’s about your independence, right?” He looked out the windows for a moment. “You’ve proven that you’re a grown-up. No one questions that. Part of being your own person is knowing when to ask for help, how to know when you can’t do it alone. This is one of those times. You need a husband. I can be one.”

“True. By definition you can be a husband. But have you really thought this through? Let’s forget for a moment what I want or need. This is completely not fair to you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. I know my own mind.”

“Okay, big boy. What are we talking here? Lifetime commitment? Open-ended arrangement? Specific time frame? What?”

He paced to the sofa and stopped to look out the windows as he rubbed the back of his neck. “How about this?” he said, turning back. “We stay together until the baby is born. Then we figure out where we go from there.”

“Renegotiate in six months?” She thought about that. It felt so cold and wrong to consider marriage in the same breath as negotiation, which, as far as she was concerned, was a euphemism for splitsville. The Big D. Divorce. Maybe she was too much of a romantic, but she couldn’t help it. She’d cut her teeth on fairy tales, and that was hard to shake.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I just can’t do this. Not to you.”

“You’re not doing anything to me. It was my idea, remember? This is about you. This is a practical solution to your problem.”

“Practical? Be still my heart.”

“You know what I mean, Ro.”

Yeah, unfortunately she did. She’d always imagined blowing him away with her triple whammy: beauty, brains and body. But over the years she’d seen the women who attracted him and, invariably, they were her complete opposite. Tall, leggy blondes. The night she’d gone to his apartment Rosie had finally gotten the message. She would never be tall enough, or pretty enough, or skinny enough to steal Steve’s heart. And she didn’t even want to get into the hair thing. She didn’t have the time, money, or inclination to make hers straight and golden.

She was what she was. She was okay with being short, curvy and brunette. She’d come to terms with her type. But she would rather face The Look from her parents than marry Steve because it was practical.

Rosie shook her head. “It’s out of the question.”

“You’re still worried about me?”

“Not entirely.”

“Did it occur to you that you would be doing me a favor?”

Her heart gave a little leap. Maybe she had jumped to conclusions. Maybe he did care for her. Maybe this wasn’t merely a sensible solution. He could have feelings for her. Stranger things happened.

“How would this be a favor for you?” she asked cautiously.

“Your parents.”

Rosie felt like a punctured balloon. Deflated. Her tiny bubble of hope collapsed. “What about them?”

“If you have a husband when you tell them about the baby, it will save them anxiety. I’m in their debt, Rosie. If it wasn’t for Flo and Tom, it’s anyone’s guess what my life would be like today.”

“So this is like that thing where you save someone’s life and they own you forever.”

“Sort of. But I don’t feel like I’m their lackey,” he said with a fleeting grin. “This is definitely payback. I owe them more than I can ever repay.”

“If you knew my parents the way you think you do, you would know that they’d never ask you to sacrifice yourself on their behalf.”

Her voice trembled on the last word and Rosie caught her lip between her teeth. She had experienced some low moments where Steve Schafer was concerned, but this had to be the world’s-record, low-down, bottom-of-the-lake, slimy low. She would probably live to regret this, but a girl had her pride. She wanted to receive a proposal that in some way reflected his tender feelings about her. Steve was asking her to marry him for her parents’ sake. It was too humiliating.

“I know you’re sincere. Truly I do. I care about my parents, too. But they’re tough. They’ll get through this like every other crisis they’ve weathered. Together. My answer has to be no.”

“For God’s sake, Rosie, be reasonable.”

“I think I’m being exceptionally reasonable under the circumstances. Let me ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“What about love?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with everything, especially marriage. It should be the reason two people tie the knot, jump the broom, get hitched.”

“I don’t believe this.” He turned away and paced in front of the windows, the same place she’d worn a path earlier.

Suddenly Rosie was exhausted. “Go home, Steve. I’m fine. Your work here is finished.”

He stopped and looked at her. “I already told you, I’m not leaving without you.”

“And I told you that I’m not going home yet.” She practically collapsed onto the love seat as if to say, “And you can’t make me.” That’s mature, she thought.

He sat on the couch at a right angle to her, his knees barely touching hers. Leaning forward earnestly, he rested his elbows on his thighs. It was such a profoundly masculine pose that she felt a tiny catch in her chest, a slight escalation in her breathing.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he said.

“By ‘it,’ I assume you mean marriage?” she asked.

When he nodded, she acknowledged that he must be serious. Would it be easier to believe if he were down on one knee? Then it hit her why she was so adamant about not marrying him. She knew better than to believe for even a second that his motives had anything to do with tender feelings for her. From the time she was a little girl following him and Nick everywhere, she’d believed he walked on water. He had always included her when her brother would have ditched her.

As a vulnerable teenager she’d believed in “happy ever after.” She had imagined Steve Schafer asking her to marry him. He would go down on one knee, take her hand and look longingly into her eyes and “pop the question” because he loved her to distraction. The proposal fantasy had never once consisted of “Yo, babe, let’s get hitched so I can make an honest woman of you.”

Oh, she knew he hadn’t said that. But that’s the way it felt. From the moment he had brought up the subject of marriage, it had been a complete and profound violation of her girlhood dream.

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