“It can’t be…”

Hannah’s chest tightened as she stared at the man’s birthmark. She’d seen it before.

His head snapped up. “What’s wrong?”

His dark gaze locked with hers, the unmistakable cleft in his chin hauntingly familiar. Hannah staggered backward, a bolt of heat engulfing her as if an inferno had burst into flames at her feet.

She recognized this man. She knew him…intimately.

He was the man from her dreams.

Dear Reader,

Happy New Year! May this year bring you happiness, good health and all that you wish for. And at Harlequin American Romance, we’re hoping to provide you with a year full of heartwarming books that you won’t be able to resist.

Leading the month is The Secretary Gets Her Man by Mindy Neff, Harlequin American Romance’s spin-off to Harlequin Intrigue’s TEXAS CONFIDENTIAL continuity series. This exciting story focuses on the covert operation’s much-mentioned wallflower secretary, Penny Archer.

Muriel Jensen’s Father Formula continues her successful WHO’S THE DADDY? series about three identical sisters who cause three handsome bachelors no end of trouble when they discover one woman is about to become a mother. Next, after opening an heirloom hope chest, a bride-to-be suddenly cancels her wedding and starts having intimate dreams about a handsome stranger, in Have Gown, Need Groom. This is the first book of Rita Herron’s new miniseries THE HARTWELL HOPE CHESTS. And Debbi Rawlins tells the emotional story of a reclusive rancher who opens his home—and his heart—to a lovely single mother, in Loving a Lonesome Cowboy.

In February, look for another installment in the RETURN TO TYLER series with Prescription for Seduction by Darlene Scalera.

Wishing you happy reading,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Have Gown, Need Groom
Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the sisters and mamas and grandmamas who hold families together through their family traditions.

And especially to my own mom, who spent numerous hours sewing handmade quilts for each of her grandchildren.

You gave them something to treasure forever—your love in the shape of a blanket to wrap around them and remind them of family.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rita Herron is a teacher, workshop leader and storyteller who loves reading, writing and sharing stories with people of all ages. She has published two nonfiction books for adults on working and playing with children, and has won the Golden Heart Award for a young adult story. Rita believes that books taught her to dream, and she loves nothing better than sharing that magic with others. She lives with her “dream” husband and three children, two cats and a dog in Norcross, Georgia.

My dearest, loving Hannah,

You are a very special granddaughter because you were the first miracle in the Hartwell family. You represented love and hope.

But you are the one who remembers the problems; the one old enough to realize that when your mother walked away she wasn’t coming back. And with your own little heart bleeding, you were the one to square your shoulders, console your heartbroken father and nurture your little sisters. And you never complained. You showed us strength when we thought we had none left.

You are studious and smart, dependable and responsible, but cautious to a fault. Don’t forget how to dream, my dear Hannah. Learn to take chances, laugh and have fun. I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will give you all the joy a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

P.S. Inside the hope chest you should find something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue!

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Okay, who ordered the male stripper?” Hannah Hartwell glared at her two younger sisters, Mimi and Alison, as the six-foot hunk Zorro ripped off his cape and flung it toward the leather side chair. Instead of meeting its mark, the black scrap of fabric snagged the bouquet of condom balloons dangling from the ceiling of her apartment and waved at her like a bat’s wings. The surprise bachelorette party had definitely been a…surprise.

The music accompanying Zorro’s striptease grew louder and the roomful of females cheered. Hannah groaned. Enthralled in the show, her sisters ignored her question. Either that or they didn’t want to ’fess up.

Mimi tucked a wad of dollar bills into the waistband of Zorro’s black tights while gyrating her hips to the beat of the Spanish guitar. Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. If her fiancé, Seth Broadhurst, found out about this evening, he would be mortified. A calm, practical psychiatrist, he avoided attention and wasn’t a jokester like some of the other doctors at the hospital where they both worked. And she desperately wanted to maintain her hard-earned reputation with the ER staff.

Exhaustion pulled at her. She had to get some sleep. Her wedding was only a few hours away, her future teetering on the brink, just like Zorro’s underwear dangling from the edge of her light fixture. Hannah waved her hands and lowered the volume of the music to a soft hum. “This was great, girls. I appreciate all the gifts, but the party’s over.”

A few moans accompanied her statement, but her friends conceded, offered congratulations on her upcoming nuptials, then hugged her goodnight.

Mimi sighed dramatically as the guests left. “Geez, sis, I wish you’d loosen up. Can’t you go with the flow just once in your life?”

Maybe I could if you’d act responsibly just once in your life. “I can go with the flow,” Hannah protested.

Mimi merely laughed, making Hannah feel incredibly boring, while her youngest sister, Alison, escorted the stripper to the door. When Alison returned, she sank onto the sofa beside Hannah.

Mimi’s shark’s-tooth earrings clinked as she gyrated her hips to the music again. “Wow, he had the biggest—”

“Mimi!” Hannah covered her ears with her hands, cutting off her sister before she could launch into a graphic description. So, the man had great muscles and sexy pecs and the biggest—

“Eyes. I was going to say the biggest bluest eyes, but he was well—”

“—proportioned,” Alison interjected.

“—endowed,” Mimi finished with a mischievous laugh.

Hannah leapt from the champagne-sticky sofa, gathering up the empty wine and champagne bottles. Punch cups, wineglasses and leftover hors d’oeuvres covered her clawfoot table, scraps of wrapping paper littered her Queen Anne chair and cake crumbs clung to the plush velvet of her Victorian sofa.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the guy’s moves, Hannah?” A note of pure horror darkened Mimi’s husky voice as she poured herself more champagne.

“He was pretty buff.” Alison’s cheeks flushed to a rosy glow, but her gleaming brown eyes reflected the devil brewing in her thoughts. “Getting married doesn’t mean you’re dead. Lighten up.” Alison snatched the stripper’s thong from the chandelier. “Want to keep this as a memento of your last night as a free woman?”

“You could handcuff Seth to the bed on your honeymoon,” Mimi suggested wickedly as she played with the present she’d given her sister.

“You’re both hopeless.” Hannah pointed a manicured nail as she spoke. “You will drool after anything in pants, Mimi. And you, Alison Hartwell, are still in college. You’re way too young to be thinking such naughty thoughts.”

Mimi shook her long auburn hair free from its jade clasp, running her fingers through the unruly mass of curls. “Are you worried boring old Seth won’t be able to get you excited like that guy did tonight?”

“You know sex is a very important part of marriage,” Alison added.

“And if Seth isn’t satisfying you—”

“I never said Seth didn’t satisfy me!” Hannah howled, wondering if she should admit to her sexless life with her fiancé.

No, her relationship with Seth was perfect. She did not want excitement.

Before she could elaborate, the doorbell rang. “Please, pleeease don’t let that be Seth.” Hannah yanked the condom balloons from the ceiling then struggled to put them in the closet. “Hurry, help me hide all this stuff!”

Alison slid the handcuffs under the sofa cushion while Mimi sauntered to the door and opened it. A tired-looking trucker dressed in grubby coveralls towered over Mimi’s petite five-two. His name tag read Mountain Trucking. Hannah sighed in relief.

“I have a special delivery here from Rose Hartwell,” he said in a mountain drawl. “Would have been here sooner, but my truck broke down.”

An almost reverent silence descended upon the room, obliterating the party atmosphere. At seventy, Grandmother Rose was the matriarch of the Hartwell clan. For years after the girls’ mother had deserted them, Grammy had jumped in to help fill the parental shoes. The girls loved her dearly.

“One of you Miss Hartwell?” The trucker’s gaze landed on the remainder of the decadent cake shaped like a man’s body part, and his gray eyebrows shot upward.

“Yes.” Hannah and her sisters nodded in unison. Alison signed the delivery slip, stepping aside as the man pushed a big box inside. He left with a chuckle.

“I bet it’s the hope chest Mom told me about,” Mimi said. “The grandmother of the Hartwell family traditionally passes on a hope chest to each of her granddaughters before she marries.”

Hannah bristled at the reminder of their mother. She’d finally broken down and invited her mom to the wedding, hoping for a reconciliation, but she had declined, only cementing the wall between them with another foot of concrete—and the realization that her mother hadn’t wanted her. Forcing herself to forget the familiar hurt, she studied the package. Her grandmother tended to be eccentric. What would she have put in the chest? Nothing alive, she hoped…

“Hurry, open it,” Alison said.

Hannah took a deep breath and tore the wrapping, then opened the box, gasping in delight. A beautiful gold embossed chest sat inside. “It’s exquisite.”

“The chests are supposed to be replicas of the one our great-great-great grandmother brought over from England,” Mimi explained.

Hannah ran her finger along the ornate decorative carving. “This chest will look perfect at the foot of my bed.”

“I can’t wait to see what Grammy enclosed,” Alison shrieked.

Her hands trembling with excitement, Hannah slowly opened the chest and lifted a sheet of pale yellow stationery.

My dearest, loving, Hannah,

You are a very special granddaughter because you were the first miracle in the Hartwell family. You represented love and hope.

But you are the one who remembers the problems; the one old enough to realize that when your mother walked away she wasn’t coming back. And with your own little heart bleeding, you were the one to square your shoulders, console your heartbroken father and nurture your little sisters. And you never complained. You showed us strength when we thought we had none left.

You are studious and smart, dependable and responsible, but cautious to a fault. Don’t forget how to dream, my dear Hannah. Learn to take chances, laugh and have fun. I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will give you all the joy a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

P.S. Inside you should find something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Hannah wiped tears from her cheeks as she laid the letter aside and gently lifted a porcelain bride doll from the chest. Something new—a new doll for her collection.

Memories of her ninth birthday surfaced, bombarding her with emotions. She’d collected dolls as a child and had received a beautiful storybook Sleeping Beauty for her birthday. But the celebration had been ruined when her mother decided she couldn’t hack married life any more. All of Hannah’s silly childhood dreams had disintegrated when her mother had left, closing the door behind her. Hannah had packed away all her dolls and hadn’t touched them since; didn’t her grandmother remember?

Swallowing back the painful emotions, she searched the hope chest, surprised when her fingers brushed something hard. A plain brown rock, slightly jagged in shape, was wrapped in the hem of the doll’s lacy dress. It toppled into her hands, along with a note. “‘Don’t let the man you marry weigh you down,’” she read aloud. “Why on earth would Grammy write something like that to me?”

“Maybe she thinks Seth is too much of a drag,” Mimi joked.

“Very funny. Seth is a pillar of the community. He’s the most solid, stable man I know, something this family needs more of.” Hannah unwrapped the tissue paper covering her next surprise. “Oh, my goodness, it’s Grammy’s bridal gown. It’s beautiful.”

“Something borrowed,” Mimi murmured as they all admired the lacy dress.

Tiny pearls formed a border along the edge, the lace billowing out in sheer white folds. The neckline curved and slipped off the shoulders for a dramatic effect. Hannah pictured her grandmother wearing the gown at her own wedding, and a warm feeling washed over her. “This is so sweet, but didn’t Grammy realize I already have a wedding dress?”

Mimi laughed. “Grammy must be getting senile.”

“What should I do?” Hannah asked. “Seth helped pick out my dress.”

“Wear it and save this one for your own daughter some day.”

Hannah nodded and removed a pale blue garter from the chest. The girls laughed as she slipped the lacy garment over her thigh.

“Now, something old,” Mimi said. Hannah’s breath caught at the last item—a velvet ring box. She and her sisters exchanged animated smiles.

“I wonder if it’s the ring,” Mimi said.

“What ring?” Alison asked.

“The ring Grammy told us about when we were little,” Hannah explained. “An antique pearl ring with tiny gold leaves on each side—”

“There’s a legend that accompanies the ring,” Mimi cut in. “The legend says that if a woman wears this pearl ring to bed the night before her wedding, she’ll dream about the man she’s meant to marry.”

Hannah slowly opened the box, and all three of them gushed, “It is Grammy’s pearl. Oh, my gosh, the ring is lovelier than I remembered.” She traced a finger over the delicate setting, half afraid to slip the heirloom on her finger. “You guys don’t believe any of those silly superstitions, do you?”

“No, but Grammy Rose does,” Mimi said. “She said she wore the ring and dreamt of Gramps the night before their wedding.”

Alison’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Are you going to wear the ring to bed, Hannah?”

Hannah studied the antique gold band, the tiny diamond chips set inside the rich gold leaves, the perfect pearl. “I don’t know. All that legend stuff is kind of spooky.”

“Don’t be silly, I think it’s romantic,” Alison said.

“Since Seth didn’t even give you an engagement ring, you can wear this one instead,” Mimi said.

“I didn’t want an engagement ring,” Hannah clarified. “We both decided to be practical and opted for simple gold wedding bands.”

“Well, when I get engaged, I want a ring,” Mimi said. “A big gorgeous diamond.”

“Go on, Hannah, try on the pearl, let’s see how it looks on your finger,” Alison said.

Hannah hesitated. “Let me get ready for bed first.” Exhausted, she stood and gathered her things. “You guys can clean up, the bride-to-be needs her beauty rest.”

Her grandmother’s gown swished as she draped it over her arm and carried the satin-lined hope chest to her bedroom. Tomorrow her entire life would change. She’d marry Seth and have the safe, secure life she’d always wanted. She’d become a Broadhurst, a member of one of the most prominent families around, finally free of the crazy Hartwell image.

Their father, Wiley, owned a chain of used-car lots across the country and was famous for his wacky commercials. As a child, Hannah had loved the kooky ads, but when she grew older, her dad’s flamboyant tastes had brought ridicule. His embarrassing advertisements had been one reason her mother had left him.

Hannah gently spread the bridal gown over the chaise in the corner of her room, placed the bride doll on top of the chest, then placed the velvet ring box on the mahogany nightstand beside her bed. Memories of her grandmother’s eccentric but lovable ways filled her thoughts as she brushed her teeth and prepared for bed. Seconds later, she donned a nightgown, then slipped back to the bedroom. Pausing to admire the pearl ring, she silently laughed at the idea of the silly legend. Should she wear the ring to bed and see if the legend came true?

Nah, the legend was just an old wives’ tale.

She turned off the lamp and crawled into bed then closed her eyes. But sleep eluded her and worry set in. What if she didn’t make a good wife? What if she was more like her mother than she’d thought? What if she’d made a mistake in choosing her mate or had trouble committing, like her mother?

She flipped on the light and glanced at the ring. She didn’t believe superstition. But moonlight streamed through her window illuminating the perfect creamy pearl, the tiny diamonds glittering like teardrops in the centers of the leaves. Oh, what the heck.

She stared at her bare left hand, the ringless finger. Maybe she would let the pearl serve as her engagement ring. What could it hurt? Smiling to herself, she lifted the ring and slipped it on her left hand, then crawled under the covers, and pulled them to her chin. Forget the superstitious family legend. Tonight she’d sleep like the dead.

Either that, or, if the legend came true, she’d dream about her future husband. Maybe they’d even be dreams of the hot honeymoon night to come. She closed her eyes—yep, she could already see Seth Broadhurst’s face in her mind.

His smoky gaze and the hunger in his solemn, brooding look was almost painful in its intensity. He swept her back with his hands, not bothering to disguise the tormented longing in the almost animal-like sound that erupted from deep in his throat. Hannah whimpered and leaned into him, unable to suppress the erotic tremors his heated touch drew from her tender skin.

He was her destiny. The man she would marry, the man to whom she would give her heart, body and soul for eternity.

Long, tanned fingers tormented her as he gently glided his fingers along her cheekbone, traced the curve of her chin. He kissed her tenderly, almost reverently, his lips a loving reminder of the words they’d shared only hours earlier when they’d spoken their vows. With a sigh of contentment, he pulled her into his embrace, murmuring heartfelt words of love and need that would forever be imprinted in her brain. Hannah curled into his warmth and strength, savoring the way he clung to her as he carried her over the threshold to their home.

Moonlight danced through the lacy curtains creating a halo around his magnificent form, shimmering streaks of gold through his thick dark hair, highlighting cheekbones etched in granite, a smile that barely made it to his lips, the strong jaw that remained clenched as he fought for control. Her gaze played over his broad shoulders, down his washboard stomach, then he turned to undress and she noticed a small crescent-shaped quarter-moon birthmark on his hip.

Moments later, they consummated their marriage with a passion unlike anything she’d ever imagined. He emanated strength, power; a man who would protect her and take care of her. And when she stared into his handsome, rugged face, she knew that after their honeymoon night together, they would forever be bound as one.

Hannah awoke with a start, streaked with sweat and tremors of unsated desire that shook her to the core. The sheets lay tangled around her aching limbs, the pearl ring glistening in the moonlight, the pillow beside her empty. A frustrated sigh tore from her lips as she realized she was alone, that the passionate union had been a dream.

She touched the unbroken circle of the ring’s band, the silly legend echoing through her mind. If you sleep wearing the ring the night before your wedding, you’ll dream about your future husband.

She dropped her face into her hands and groaned, a ball of confusion knotting her stomach. What was she going to do? She had dreamt all right—only Seth, her fiancé, had not been the man in her dreams.

Chapter Two

“I can’t marry Seth today.” Hannah inhaled a deep breath, but the waistline of her wedding gown was so tight it was cutting off the oxygen to her brain. Why else would she be dizzy?

Because she was having a severe case of cold feet minutes before her wedding.

Making matters worse, her father had pulled another one of his stunts—newspaper reporters and a TV crew had joined the guests to film every second of her ceremony. She had to go through with the wedding. Piano music wafted through the church signifying the seating of the guests.

“Of course you’re marrying Seth.” Mimi gestured toward her pale-green bridesmaid’s dress. “I’m not wearing this hideous chiffon thing for nothing. It makes me look twenty pounds heavier than I already am!”

“You’re not fat and you know it.” Alison rolled her dark brown eyes heavenward. “You have a beautiful hourglass figure most women would die for.”

“Yeah, you’re busty,” Hannah added, glancing down in despair at her own rather puny chest. Even with her new bra, she barely had cleavage. “I’m just not sure about me and Seth,” Hannah confided in a low voice. “What if he’s the wrong man for me? Grammy Rose met Seth last Christmas, what if she knew when she sent me that ring?”

“That’s crazy,” Mimi said.

“You know Seth is the right man for you. In here.” Alison curled her hand into a fist and pressed it over her heart.

Trouble was, she didn’t know. Hannah had long since forgotten childish dreams of love and romance. Her marriage to Seth was based on friendship, a mutual, almost business-like agreement they’d decided on months ago, thinking their professional relationship made them a suitable match.

Hannah gulped. Her brain whispered she’d be a fool not to marry Seth, he’d give her the stable, secure life she’d always dreamed of. But her body screamed for more: the heat, the raw hungry looks, the frantic, urgent coming together—the dark, virile man in her dreams. And her heart confused her even more, whispering that the man in her dreams was her soulmate. Foolish nonsense. She and Seth were soulmates, weren’t they?

She rubbed her temple where a headache had started pulsing. They were definitely…friends. And they’d almost made love a couple of times, but she’d backed away, claiming she wanted to wait until they were married. What if the real reason she’d held back was because there’d been no spark, no sizzle? What kind of marriage would they have together without passion? Without true love.

“Last night I dreamed I was making love to a stranger,” Hannah admitted in a strangled voice. “Why would I dream about another man when I’m marrying Seth?”

Mimi threw her hands in the air dramatically as she spun around to face Hannah. “Because Seth isn’t the kind of man who conjures up erotic fantasies.”

Alison narrowed her eyes at Mimi in a warning, then laid a comforting hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Hannah, everyone has crazy dreams. They don’t always have to mean something.”

“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” Hannah asked.

“I think anyone getting married is a mistake,” Mimi replied dryly.

“Just because Mimi is anti-marriage doesn’t mean you can’t be happily wed,” Alison said softly. She handed Hannah her bridal bouquet, a huge assortment of white lilies with rose-colored satin ribbons streaming from the center. Hannah sniffed at the arrangement, the fragrance so sweet it made her eyes water.

“But what about the dream and the legend of the ring?” Hannah’s chest tightened. “I was supposed to dream about the man I was going to marry.”

“Maybe it was your way of having one last fling before you’re tied down to Mr. Boring,” Mimi offered with a devilish smile

Alison sent Mimi another warning glare and straightened the lace on Hannah’s neckline. “Silly folktale.”

Still unconvinced, Hannah remembered the dream kiss and knew in her heart she couldn’t hurt Seth by marrying him if she really didn’t love him. Her mother’s parting words rose to haunt her. I only married you, Wiley, because I was pregnant. A real marriage needs more…

Her parents had married because of her. Hannah definitely wasn’t pregnant, but had she agreed to marry Seth for the wrong reasons? For security, not real love. “Go tell Seth to come here.”

“But it’s bad luck for him to see you before the ceremony,” Alison argued.

“I don’t care. I have to talk to him.”

Mimi nodded and rushed out while Alison fanned Hannah’s face to calm her. Seconds later, Seth bobbed his sandy-blond head in, his expression perplexed.

His face fairly faded in front of her eyes, the shapely square jaw and chiseled face of the man from her dreams invading his space like a surreal sci-fi movie—Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Like a flash of heat lightning, the vision disappeared and Hannah gaped at Seth, wondering why he fell vaguely short of her erotic fantasy. A woman’s toes should curl and her blood should boil when the man of her dreams kissed her, right? A woman should burn at a man’s touch. Maybe that passion was what her mother had been missing with her dad. She couldn’t marry Seth and repeat her mother’s mistake. She had to know now.

“What is it, Hannah? Did you forget something?” Seth asked.

Hannah framed Seth’s face with her hands and kissed him fervently on the mouth. Her toes would curl, her blood would sizzle, the passion would come, the hunger would surge. Magic would happen just like she’d dreamed when she was a little girl.

She kissed him harder.

Burn, baby, burn.

But her toes didn’t curl. Didn’t even twitch.

Her blood didn’t boil. Didn’t even bubble.

Darn.

At best, she was lukewarm.

The startled gasp that erupted from Seth’s throat when she finally ended the kiss didn’t sound like hunger or passion or even surprise. And her bright-red lip-prints streaked his mouth.

“I—I have to know something, Seth,” she whispered, near panic. “Do you have a birthmark on your b-behind?”

Seth stumbled backwards, his eyes dilating. “What?”

“A little quarter-moon?” She pointed to his left hip. “Up here, on your left cheek?”

Seth’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, steam practically oozing from his ears. “No. What’s come over you, Hannah? You’re acting odd.”

An overwhelming sense of panic hit her. “Seth, tell me why you want to marry me.”

His eyebrows narrowed. “What?”

“Please, just tell me. Why do you want to marry me?”

He ran a hand through his hair, spiking the ends. “We talked about this before. We make a good match, Hannah. We work well together. Have the same goals. We’re both doctors.”

“What about passion?” Hannah asked, desperate for something to cling to.

His face flushed. “I…I thought we decided sex could wait. That passion wasn’t really important.”

No, but love was.

“Seth, do you love me?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I…I care about you…”

“But you don’t really love me,” Hannah finished for him.

“We’ll have a good life, Hannah. We work well together, we’re compatible—”

“I’m sorry, Seth.” Tenderly, she laid her palm on his cheek. “Maybe we were wrong. Maybe passion is important.”

He shook his head. “Can’t we discuss this later? The guests are here, the preacher. We have cake, we have a schedule….”

Typical, all business, no emotional response.

The vision of the other man appeared again, briefly but intensely, and she blinked Seth back into focus, a sickening knot balling in her stomach. Yes, Seth was the wrong man for her— No toe-curling or blood-boiling kisses. What if she married him, had children, then discovered they’d made a mistake? She never wanted to put a child through a divorce—not after the pain she’d experienced. And if she didn’t love Seth passionately, it wouldn’t be fair for her to marry him. He deserved better.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you, Seth. You’re a wonderful guy, but you deserve a woman who loves you with all her heart and soul. And I deserve a man who feels the same way. I…”

Hannah spotted her sisters hovering at the door. “I’ll go tell Dad,” Alison whispered.

“I’ll tell my parents,” Seth said tightly.

Hannah reached for Seth’s hand. “No, I’ll do it.”

Raising her head up high, she snatched the tail of her dress and marched to the church entryway. Cameras, guests, her father, Seth’s parents—all stared back at her. The organist’s eyebrows shot up as if to signal it was time for the wedding march. A reporter started running toward her, his camera angled to catch her face. On his heels, a half a dozen others seem to come out of the woodwork, camera lights flashing.

Hannah panicked and blurted out the announcement, “I’m sorry, everyone. We’ve called off the wedding.”

A gasp rumbled through the room, Wiley shot forward, Mrs. Broadhurst jumped up and shrieked, and Hannah swung around and stumbled toward the back door, searching for an escape. Alison and Mimi stood at the side door, waving her forward. She darted past Seth, who scowled at her, and jogged outside, scanning the parking lot for her car before remembering she’d left it at her house. Mimi had driven her over. The honeymoon getaway car, a white Cadillac convertible complete with clanking cans and streamers, winked at her in the sunlight. Hannah darted toward it.

The last thought she had before she climbed inside the plush white interior was that later that night she would see herself on TV. Everyone had black sheep in their family, but the Hartwells had a whole flock of weirdos grazing the southeast. Uncle Elroy had served a stint in prison, Aunt Betty-Jo was a kleptomaniac, cousin Wally claimed he’d been an ostrich in a former life…the list went on and on. She’d spent her adult life trying to overcome her infamous family image.

But now her worst nightmare had come true—Hannah Hartwell, respected doctor and hater of public scenes, had just become another Hartwell spectacle.

DETECTIVE JAKE TIPPINS was having a terrible, no-good, very rotten day. As paramedics lowered his gurney from the ambulance to the ground outside Sugar Hill General, a camera flashed and he ducked his head. Damn. He couldn’t even hide his humiliation. He’d been shot in the butt, the EMTs had shredded the seat of his jeans, exposing his backside for the whole world to see, and now the media had jumped on the bandwagon, wanting the story. Thank God the hospital banned the vultures from entering the ER. They might blow his cover at Wiley’s.

He scrubbed a fist over his stubbled jaw, then dropped his forehead on the gurney as the EMTs quickly pushed him through the doors and wheeled him toward one of the exam rooms. Pain shot from his hip down his leg like a razor blade. Still, he reached behind him to try to cover his wound with his hand. A man had a right to a little privacy, didn’t he?

“BP high. One-fifty over ninety. Respiration twelve and even. Pulse eighty-eight and steady,” the EMT called.

The nurse pulled the sheet down around his knees and lifted the bandage. A gust of cold air hit his backside. “Still bleeding.”

He gritted his teeth as she applied more pressure to his wound, then tried to cover himself again. To think that the day had started out so simple. Most of the employees at Wiley Hartwell’s used-car lot had taken off early to attend the wedding of Wiley’s oldest daughter, Hannah. Wiley lived and breathed for his kids. He had boasted nonstop about his daughters ever since Jake had come to work for him, so Jake felt as if he knew them. But he didn’t get that whole hoopla about family stuff himself; he’d grown up being shuffled from one place to another, without a mother or father to speak of, and he was used to being alone. Weddings to him signified the death of a man’s bachelorhood, his whole identity. No wonder the groom partied the night before and wore black to the ceremony.

To avoid the uncomfortable formality, he’d volunteered to man the car lot during the wedding, hoping to take advantage of the opportunity and sneak into Wiley’s office. But after Wiley’d left, some punk kid had tried to steal a sports car right off the lot, and when Jake had tried to apprehend him, the black-leathered twerp had shot him. The reporters had dogged him from the site of the shooting at breakneck speed, calling him a hero.

A heavy-set nurse began to fire insurance questions at Jake, taking his medical history. A second nurse checked the bandage, tsking under her breath. “I need to get you another IV, sir.” He nodded as she left the room, then lifted his weary head and glanced through the glass-topped doorway on the opposite side of the room. He could swear he saw a beautiful blonde streak right past the window then dart into the room across from him—wearing a full-length wedding gown. She looked like an angel. Or maybe a princess.

Nah. No princesses or fairy tales in the real world. He closed his eyes, giving in to the fatigue. He must be seeing things.

Hell, he might even be delirious.

HANNAH BREATHED a sigh of relief to find the locker room empty. She quickly shed her wedding dress and crammed it into her locker. It actually felt good to pull on fresh scrubs and her lab jacket. That gown had felt like a straitjacket.

She grimaced. Her wedding gown shouldn’t have felt confining; it should have felt magical. She fought the tears, but they trickled down her face anyway. What in the world was wrong with her? She wasn’t the emotional type. She hadn’t cried since she was nine, not since that awful birthday when her mother had left.

Maybe she’d suffered some sort of breakdown, a post-traumatic reaction to her parents’ divorce. Maybe she needed therapy. First she’d deserted Seth. And now she’d shown up at work where she would have to explain why she wasn’t at her wedding marrying him. Why the heck had she come to the hospital?

Because it seemed like the safest place, she acknowledged silently as she searched for a tissue. Her family would be calling or dropping by her house to check on her, and Seth might show up demanding to talk. She wasn’t ready to deal with any of them.

Besides, she had heard the news of a car crash on the radio while she’d been driving around in circles trying to decide what to do. There’d been a shooting mentioned, also, although she’d only caught the tail end of that story. The hospital probably needed her. Work was the one place she’d be able to forget about her messed-up personal life and feel responsible again.

She leaned against the locker, trying to collect herself as the shock of her own actions settled in. She hoped her sisters would have explained to their father….

Finally gaining control of her emotions, Hannah inched open the door and winced at two reporters still hovering in the hallway like starved lions sniffing out their prey, ready to pounce for the kill. She hadn’t expected them to follow her to the hospital. Sometimes she hated living in a small town—the reporters would have a heyday with the story, the traditional wedding gone awry, prominent doctor jilted at the altar. She pictured the headlines and groaned—Wacky Wiley’s Wacky Wedding.

She loved her father, but he was a sucker for publicity. Unlike her, he thrived on attention and had probably already twisted the entire fiasco into a scheme to sell more cars. Poor Seth. Guilt dug into her conscience like a razor-sharp scalpel. She would never forgive herself for hurting him. He must absolutely hate her.

And his mother would probably sue her if the story appeared on the society page, tainting their blue-blood family name. As for her family, she’d simply fallen into footsteps already molded by other Hartwells. Twenty years of trying to overcome her roots down the drain because of a thirty-second decision.

She closed her eyes and allowed the regret to flow, along with the heartache she assumed would follow from losing Seth. Even if she changed her mind and crawled back on her hands and knees groveling, his family would probably never forgive her. Oddly, heartache for Seth never came—only sadness for embarrassing him. And the ball of fear that had lived within her since she was a little girl swelled inside her again. She’d inherited her mother’s blond hair and fair skin. Maybe she was like her mother in other ways, too.

Disgusted with herself, she sniffled and dried her cheeks with the hem of her jacket, reasoning the only way to avoid the press was to throw herself into work. She peeked through the door again, grateful the reporters had disappeared.

A surgical scrub hat pulled over her hair for disguise, she fielded her way to the nurses’ station. Tiffany, the big lovable nurse who ran the floor, paused near the curtained partitions and sent her a gap-toothed smile.

“What are you doing here, Dr. Hartwell? I thought you were getting married today.”

“I canceled the wedding,” she said, striving for a confident voice.

Tiffany’s chubby face reddened in surprise.

“You mean you’re not marrying Dr. Broadhurst?” Susie, one of the physicians’ assistants, hesitated over a tray of medicine. “But he came by this morning on the way to the church.”

“I know,” Hannah said. “It didn’t work out.” She shrugged and hurried over to Tiffany, unable to think of an explanation that sounded rational. “I heard about the car crash and thought you might need some help. How many victims?”

“Six.” Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “But if you’re upset, you don’t have to stay, we’ll manage. We’ve already marked you off the calendar for the next week.”

“I’m fine.” Hannah shifted uncomfortably. “I’d really like to work.”

Tiffany nodded, tactfully choosing not to press the issue. “All right. Doctors Bentley and Douglas are with the car victims.”

Hannah tried to steady her voice. “What else do we have?”

“A gunshot wound in three. Man was shot in the posterior. I paged Dr. Hunter but he’s in surgery with a ruptured spleen.”

“Oh, yes, I heard about the shooting on the radio, too.” Hannah reached for his chart. “What are his vitals?”

“Blood pressure’s a little high. EMTs applied a pressure bandage, started a drip. His name’s Jake Tippins.” Tiffany quickly recited his other vital signs. “I suppose you’re aware the shooting occurred at your daddy’s car lot.”

Hannah’s gaze swung up in shock. “No…what happened?”

“Someone tried to steal a car. Our patient caught him.” Tiffany gestured toward the outside waiting area, wiping a pudgy hand across her forehead. “The reporters are calling him a hero. I had to chase ’em away from the ER.”

Hannah silently groaned, felling empathy for the man. The six o’clock news tonight would be full of Hartwell happenings. “Has his family been notified?”

“Man claims he has no family. Didn’t want us to call anyone.”

Once again sympathy for the man filled her. “Okay. I’ll take care of him.”

Tiffany nodded, checking the other charts. “I’ll assist you in a minute.”

Hannah headed to the exam room, then slipped inside. The man lay face down, his head propped on his left hand, his breathing steady as if he’d fallen asleep. Or maybe he was unconscious. She scanned his chart and noted that his vitals were still stable. He’d lost some blood, so he’d probably given in to fatigue. She studied his back, her gaze traveling the length of his long body to where his toes hung off the end of the gurney. He was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen. Thick black hair covered his head, and his wide shoulders and firm, muscular arms attested to the fact the man worked out. Probably lifted weights, or maybe he was a body builder…when he wasn’t selling used cars.

He’d been wearing jeans, but the seat had been cut away. A sheet lay draped across the lower part of his body, and his hand clutched it over his buttocks. She fought a chuckle. Even in sleep, the man still clung to his dignity.

She inched the sheet down and her gaze slid lower to assess his wound. He roused slightly. “Sir, I’m Dr. Hartwell. I’m going to examine you now.”

He mumbled something incoherent, still half asleep. Even so, his fingers momentarily tightened around the sheet. “Relax, Mr. Tippins, I’m not going to hurt you.” She slowly pried his fingers from the material. The paper-thin elastic gloves popped against her wrists as she prepared to do a preliminary exam. Striving to be gentle, she pushed his denim shirt out of the way, removed the pressure bandage then dampened a cotton swab with antiseptic.

He moaned and stirred, his hand swinging around to cover his wound once more. She shook her head as they played tug-of-war with the sheet.

“Mr. Tippins, just lie still please. I have to examine you.”

His head bobbed up and down in concession, but the way his shoulders straightened signaled he’d braced himself for more pain. And his hand tightened around the covers jerking it over his backside again. This was getting ridiculous.

“Uh, Mr. Tippins, I can’t help you if I don’t examine the injury.”

He made a noncommittal noise which sounded faintly like a swear word, then slowly released the back of the sheet and buried his head in his arm. Hannah almost laughed, but caught herself. Poor man, if he was shy, she certainly wouldn’t make things worse by making some silly comment about the location of his injury.

She pressed the area around the bullet wound to measure how deeply it was embedded, putting pressure at different points. The bleeding had stopped, the skin yellow…

“Ow.” He flinched.

“Sorry, Mr. Tippins. I’m almost finished.”

His head bobbed again, and she patted the area with the cotton swab, wiping away the dried blood.

“Great place to get shot, wasn’t it?” His voice rumbled thick and low, almost gravelly. “I feel like Forrest Gump.”

“I can’t think of a good place to get shot,” Hannah said dryly, a smile twitching at her mouth.

“Think I’ll make it?”

He was joking, a good sign. “You’ll be fine.” She tossed the cotton swab into the trash.

“You’re going to have to put me under the knife, aren’t you?”

Hannah sighed. Men could be such babies. Even the big muscular ones. “If you’re asking if the bullet will have to be removed surgically, then yes. It’s embedded a good four to five inches.”

“Will you do the surgery?”

“Yes. If they’re short in surgery I’ll probably assist. We’re a small town facility here.” Hannah heard his sigh and her defenses rose. “Do you have a problem with female doctors, Mr. Tippins?”

“No,” he muttered. “Not as long as they know what they’re doing.”

She stiffened. Was he insinuating she didn’t? “I can assure you I’m well trained. I completed a surgical rotation last month before I joined the ER. I’ll be gentle, too, I promise.”

“Oh, your hands are great, Doc, it’s not that.”

Hannah shook her head, exasperated, finally deciding the pain must be affecting his brain. “Then what is it, sir?”

He exhaled, his body rumbling with his breath. “I just don’t like hospitals, that’s all.”

“Not very many people do,” she said sympathetically. She spotted an unusual-looking bruise and leaned closer to examine it. “Hmm.”

“I hate it when doctors go ‘hmm.’”

Hannah chuckled. “Sorry. It’s nothing really. I noticed a small dark spot. Thought it have been an exit wound but it’s not.”

“Probably a bruise, I went down pretty hard on a tire iron when that creep shot me.”

She peered closer, contemplating thanking him for what he’d done for her father, but suddenly realized the bruise was a small birthmark. A crescent-shaped, quarter-moon birthmark. Right on the arch of his hip.

Her chest tightened—she’d seen that birthmark before. “It can’t be,” she whispered.

His head snapped up. “What’s wrong, Doc?”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud.

He angled his head slightly to look into her eyes and for the first time, Hannah saw his face. “It can’t be what?”

His dark gaze locked with hers, the pupils of his eyes slightly dilated, the unmistakable cleft in his chin hauntingly familiar. Hannah staggered backward, a bolt of heat engulfing her as if an inferno had burst into flames at her feet. She recognized this man. She knew him…intimately. He was the tall, dark handsome man from her erotic dreams.

His heavy-lidded, dark-brown eyes paraded over her, a sliver of need sizzling in the luminous depths. The room began to spin crazily, and the day’s events crashed to a sudden mortifying halt.

Jake Tippins moaned, and she quickly glanced back down to see if he was okay, but the room rocked sideways. Hannah clutched the bedrail to steady herself, but her legs faded into numbness and the spots that danced before her eyes emerged into one big black hole. She’d never fainted in her life, but she recognized the symptoms. Just before she passed out, she tried to warn her patient to roll out of the way.

Chapter Three

What the hell?

Jake gritted his jaw in pain when the dreamy looking woman suddenly staggered and reached for the gurney. He twisted sideways to catch her, but the IV limited his movement, and she collapsed beside him on the floor.

“Help! Someone help me! Nurse, hurry, the doctor passed out!”

His gaze zeroed in on her name—Dr. H. Hartwell. He’d thought that’s what she’d said, but he’d been so sleepy he’d figured he’d heard wrong. Hannah Hartwell was Wiley’s daughter. What was she doing in the ER? She was supposed to be at her wedding. “Someone get a doctor!” he yelled again.

Impatience flaring, he climbed awkwardly from the gurney, grappling with the IV pole as he knelt to take her pulse. Thank God she was breathing. A sprig of baby’s breath protruded from her surgical cap, and her eyes looked slightly red and swollen. He pushed off the cap, revealing wispy blond hair. Yep, it was the same woman he’d seen in the wedding gown. So, he hadn’t been delirious.

“Dr. Hartwell, wake up,” he whispered, panic hitting him. Had Wiley heard about the shooting and ordered Hannah from her wedding to take care of him? Was that the reason she’d been upset?

Her cheeks seemed pale, long blond eyelashes lying on her creamy skin like thin layers of cornsilk. And her slender body was way too still for comfort.

Suddenly the nurse appeared, her eyes widening in dismay. “What in the world…?”

“She passed out,” Jake explained. “I’ve been yelling for help.”

A tall, older physician with a scowl on his face stormed into the room. Jake watched helplessly as they settled Hannah Hartwell onto a gurney and wheeled her away.

“I…WHAT happened?”

“You passed out on us, Doc,” Tiffany said. Hannah tried to get up, but Tiffany pressed a gentle but forceful hand on her arm. “Relax. You need to lie still and let us check your vitals again.”

Hannah bit back a moan, mortified. “I’m fine, really, Tiff. I just need something to eat.” And to figure out what’s happening to me today.

The chief of staff frowned. “Dr. Hartwell, I don’t understand what you’re doing here, or why you dragged all these reporters along—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for them to follow me,” Hannah said weakly.

Dr. Porter pursed his thin lips. “Need I remind you this is a hospital? We’re here to treat patients, not flaunt our personal escapades.”

Hannah opened her mouth to respond, but he silenced her with a lethal look. “We can’t allow anything, especially our personal lives, to affect our work here or to jeopardize the safety and health of our patients. Is that understood, Dr. Hartwell?”

The seriousness of his words brought a wave of shame to her. “Yes, perfectly,” Hannah whispered.

“Then I suggest you go home until you’ve had time to recover, and let this…this circus you’ve created die down.”

Hannah nodded, biting her lip as her superior turned and strode from the room. Tiffany patted her arm sympathetically. “We’ll get you something to eat, Doc. You’re not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.”

Hannah’s heart squeezed at Tiffany’s unusual show of concern. She’d witnessed the woman mothering some of the young nurses but had never been on the receiving end of such treatment. Hannah had always been the caretaker. She didn’t like this vulnerable feeling. “I’m fine, really, Tiffany. I need to see about that patient.” Worry assaulted her. “Please tell me I didn’t pass out on top of him.”

Tiffany laughed. “No, on the floor.”

“Thank God.”

“But Mr. Tippins climbed down and took your pulse while he yelled for help.”

“Great, the patient doctoring the doctor.” Hannah put her hand across her forehead. “I hope he didn’t injure himself further.”

“Mr. Tippins looked like a pretty tough man to me. I think he’ll be all right.” Tiffany checked her watch. “Dr. Hunter should be removing the bullet just about now.”

Hannah accepted the juice Tiffany offered, deciding she’d rest for a few minutes, but only until Jake Tippins made it to recovery. Then she’d visit the man, apologize and beg his forgiveness. And she’d find out if she’d been hallucinating when she’d examined him. He simply couldn’t have a birthmark like the man in her dreams.

Because bizarre things like this didn’t happen to her.

Mimi, maybe.

But not stable, secure, hardworking, levelheaded, mature Hannah.

“WELL, that just about covers it.” Hannah avoided Jake’s hard gaze as she instructed him on activities to avoid during recovery. “Do you understand, Mr. Tippins?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice slightly slurred from the medication.

Tension knotted Hannah’s shoulders. “On behalf of my father, I want to thank you for catching that thief. And I want to apologize for fainting on you.”

“It was no big deal.” Still lying on his stomach, he propped his face on his hand and looked up at her, a goofy grin on his face as if he sensed her awkwardness. Either that or the pain medication had affected his brain.

The chief of staff’s warning rang in her ears. “Well, I truly am sorry.”

“No problem, Doc.”

But she did have problems. Somehow she had to forget that she’d seen this man’s naked backside in her dreams. And that the very reason she’d canceled her wedding and jilted her fiancé at the altar was because of the erotic dream she’d had about him.

Back to business. She had to salvage her reputation. She might have lost Seth and the Broadhurst name, but she couldn’t lose her job. And if she didn’t start acting more professionally, she probably would do just that. “How are you feeling now, Mr. Tippins?”

“Just peachy,” he said in a deep drawl. “How about you?”

Hannah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling. “I’m fine.” Just coming down with a case of the Hartwell crazies.

“Your color’s looking better.”

Hannah averted her eyes, lifting the bandage slightly to check his incision. “Are you in pain?”

“I was earlier, but you distracted me.”

Hannah resisted the urge to pinch him and wipe that cocky grin off his face. “That wasn’t my intention, I can assure you. It’s been a hectic day, and I hadn’t eaten anything. I’ll definitely be more careful from now on and watch my blood-sugar level.”

He rolled his shoulders in a slight shrug. “Ahh gee, and here I thought I was special.”

The man was incorrigible.

Ignoring him, she said, “Get some rest tonight. We should be able to release you tomorrow.”

He must have been exhausted because he simply nodded and smiled tightly. His only sign of pain—the muscles in his cheeks clenched when she retaped the bandage.

Hannah swallowed, stunned by the sudden hot sensations weaving through her. Maybe her hormones were out of whack. Coupled with nerves, an imbalance could cause hot flashes. She should check her estrogen levels, although she was way too young for—

“Doc?”

She signed off on his chart. “Get some rest now, Mr. Tippins. I need to check my other patients.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?”

Hannah paused, absentmindedly tapping the chart with her pen. “How did you know I was getting married?”

“Wiley let everyone at the dealership off early to attend your wedding. That’s the reason I was working by myself.”

Right, he worked for her father; how could she forget? Maybe if there’d been someone else working with him he wouldn’t have been shot.

Something else for her to feel guilty about.

His fingers brushed over her knuckles. “Did I say something to upset you?”

Hannah pulled her hand away, her eyes glued to his long tanned fingers. “I…er, I didn’t get married today.”

His dark eyebrows lifted slightly over high cheekbones. “I could have sworn I saw you in a wedding dress. Must have been hallucinating from the pain.”

“No, I was wearing one when I arrived,” Hannah admitted, figuring he’d hear the news from the car-lot grapevine. “I called off the wedding.”

A streak of surprise lit his sleepy, bedroom eyes. “That’s too bad.”

She arched a brow at him. He didn’t sound as if he thought it was bad at all. And he was a stranger; she didn’t owe him an explanation.

“I’m sure my dad will come by to thank you for your heroics,” she said, reverting back to their earlier conversation.

A brooding expression tightened the lines at the corner of his mouth. She’d run out on a good, stable man because she’d dreamt of this stranger?

Forget hormone pills. She should call the men in the little white coats to come and haul her away. Maybe she needed to see a psychiatrist. Except Seth was the best psychiatrist in town and she had a feeling he wouldn’t be sympathetic.

She suddenly felt dizzy again.

“Tell your dad he doesn’t need to come by,” Jake mumbled in a low voice.

“What?”

“I’m no hero, Dr. Hartwell. Catching that guy was a freak thing.”

Hannah frowned, confused by the intensity of his words. She needed to get away from this man, and fast. Something deep and troubled lurked in the depths of his eyes. Something dangerous and dark that called out to her.

Something that scared the life out of her.

“I need to see those other patients now.” Without waiting for a reply, she backed toward the door, fighting the urge to touch the man’s broad shoulders and remind him he was a hero. But the memory of the erotic dream floated around her, the warmth in her belly sending a sliver of uneasiness up her spine. She must have seen Jake before, probably at her father’s dealership. Subconsciously she’d found him physically attractive and conjured him in her dream. Simple.

End of story.

The dream wouldn’t come true. Even though the man was sexy as homemade sin, she’d never ever in a cajillion years become involved with a used-car salesman. Especially one who worked for her lovable but notoriously outlandish father.

JAKE GROANED, his brain foggy from the sedatives the nurses had administered, his thoughts registering the fact that Hannah Hartwell had canceled her wedding. There had to be a story there; one Wiley would probably embellish when he dropped by to visit. Had the woman’s poor fiancé cheated on her or done something equally heinous to make her dump him? If so, Wiley would be ticked.

Like a vision, she glided out the door. Her lithe figure disappeared just as a plan formulated in his mind. Wiley had boasted about Hannah’s intelligence, and Joey DeLito, Wiley’s top salesman, commented that she’d helped him with his books a few times. Perhaps she knew something about her father’s business that could aid his investigation. He’d been searching for a way to embed himself in the Hartwell family. Her sister Mimi was dating Joey, so he couldn’t move in on her. And her youngest sister was too young for him. But Hannah wasn’t married now or engaged; he’d use Hannah to find out more about Wiley.

Exhausted, he closed his eyes, deciding his plan to see her had nothing to do with the fact that lying face-down with a bullet hole in his backside and an IV in his arm he was rock-hard from wanting the woman.

No, it had everything to do with his job. And he’d do anything he could, use anyone he had to, to solve the case and get out of this little sleepy backwards town. He had to get transferred back to the city where he belonged. Where he could get lost in the endless crowds. Where he could simply exist as a number. Where he could live in peace and die the same way, without having to explain himself to anyone. He was a loner. And he always would be.

Hell, he’d learned the hard way about untrustworthy females. And obviously Hannah Hartwell fitted that description well—she’d just jilted her fiancé at the altar. He’d rather take another bullet than get personally involved with a woman like her.

Chapter Four

She must be losing her mind.

It was the only plausible reason for her to have such intense feelings about a silly dream—and such a strong attraction toward a strange man who differed so drastically from the men she normally dated.

Hannah Hartwell had always been predictable and cautious and rational—she never did anything erratic or spontaneous or…or emotional.

Until that dream.

She’d let that silly legend destroy her sensibleness and dictate her choice in marriage. Which meant she either needed to see a shrink or to find out if some cursed psychic power she didn’t know existed ran in her family.

The answer lay with Grammy Rose.

Hannah’s fingers trembled as she punched in her grandmother’s phone number. Please let her be there, she prayed, her stomach lurching when the phone rang at least a half-dozen times.

Finally, on the seventh ring, her grandmother answered. “Hello.”

“Grammy?”

“I said hello. Speak up now, my left ear’s full of dust. Herman Whitewall’s been plowing up my garden and I can’t see three feet in front of me or hear my own self think.”

Hannah laughed. Her grandmother must be getting senile. Herman Whitewall had passed away three years ago. “Grammy, it’s me, Hannah.”

“Oh, hello, dear. How was the wedding? I wanted to be there so badly but the doctor made me stay in bed with that cold, ’fraid I’d get pneumonia. I told him nothing could get this old lady down.”

“I didn’t exactly get married, Grams.”

“Really?” Her grandmother’s tone held a hint of amusement, but not surprise.

“No. I…I called off the wedding at the last minute.”

“Decided Simon didn’t light your torch, huh?”

Hannah smiled. “No. And his name is Seth, Grammy.”

“Seth, smeth. I didn’t think that man was right for you.”

“You didn’t?” Hannah’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Why not?”

Her grandmother made a chortling sound. “Woman ought to light up when the man she’s going to marry walks in the room, and frankly, honey, you didn’t. But don’t worry, you’ll make a beautiful bride some day. When the right man comes along, of course.”

Hannah twisted the phone cord in her fingers. “Grammy, I appreciate the hope chest you sent me and all the nice things. Your gown was beautiful, but I have to know—are you psychic?”

“Heavens, no.” Her grandmother chuckled. “I wish I was. I’d win the lottery and buy myself a fancy cane and some new teeth.”

Hannah smiled, mentally adding the cane to her Christmas list. She took a deep breath, and her gaze automatically landed on the pearl ring. “If you aren’t psychic then, I need to ask you about the ring—”

“What did you want to know, dear?”

“Did you wear the ring and dream about Grandpa the night before your wedding?”

Grammy Rose’s soft laughter echoed over the line. “Lordy, did I? Honey, it was X-rated. I woke up in such a sweat I had to go out and buy new bloomers.”

Heat climbed Hannah’s neck. Her father had definitely inherited his outrageousness from Gram—maybe senility and eccentricity ran in the same gene pool. “Really?”

“It’s the truth or my name ain’t Rose Hartwell.” Her grandmother paused, lowering her voice as if inviting Hannah to share her confidence. “Did you dream about somebody, Hannah?”

Hannah’s throat clogged. “Uh…yes.”

“The man in your dream wasn’t Seth, right?”

“How did you know?”

“Destiny.”

Destiny? “I don’t think so. He’s totally wrong for me.”

A shriek of laughter burst through the phone. “Heavens, honey, you can’t fight it. Now tell me about this man. How did you two meet?”

Hannah relayed the episode at the hospital, describing Jake’s injury and her fainting spell. Her grandmother listened, occasionally mumbling, “Mmm-hmm.”

“Actually I think I must have seen him at the car lot before, but we weren’t introduced. His face must have gotten stuck in my mind and he suddenly appeared in my dream.”

“Love at first sight.”

“No,” Hannah said emphatically. “If I saw him, I barely even noticed him.”

“When do I get to meet your new young man?” Grammy asked as if she hadn’t heard Hannah’s protests.

Hannah rolled her eyes at her grandmother’s enthusiastic tone. “He’s not my new young man. He’s a used-car salesman who works for Dad. And he’s all wrong for me.” But Grammy Rose continued to ask her questions, and Hannah continued to deny her attraction to Jake. A half hour later, Grammy Rose hung up, sounding as smug and satisfied as if she’d just played matchmaker. Hannah stared at the ring, more confused than ever. She must be losing her mind—her grandmother’s exuberance had almost swayed her into believing the legend might be true.

Ridiculous.

She tugged off the ring and laid it on the table, the diamonds glittering beneath the light. Silly folktales didn’t come true. And she wouldn’t allow it to affect her rational judgment any more than it already had.

She should wear the ring, she thought, with a twinge of nerves gnawing at her. She’d never been a defiant person, but she’d defy the legend.

Determination filling her, she picked up the ring and slid it back on her left hand. There. The room didn’t spin, dishes didn’t start flying off the shelves, no genies suddenly appeared from any bottles.

Feeling relieved, she decided she must be having some kind of temporary meltdown. She’d heard residents, especially ER physicians, suffered from stress. The doorbell rang, and Hannah jumped, confirming her diagnosis.

Mimi rushed in. “Dad’s on his way. I just thought I’d warn you.”

Hannah gripped the door. “Thanks. Was he upset?”

“Not upset, really. Just worried about you, sis. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I think so.” Hannah’s mind reeled with all the miscellaneous wedding details she’d left for her father to straighten out. How could she have been so irresponsible? Not that she thought she’d made the wrong decision in calling off her wedding, but why couldn’t she have seen the truth sooner? “What…what did Dad do about all the food, the cake…”

“You know Dad,” Mimi said with a light laugh. “He invited all the guests to have refreshments anyway.”

“Oh, God. What did Seth’s parents do?”

“They left in a huff,” Mimi said. “Dad said he planned to take the rest of the cake and punch to the car dealership for a commercial, then serve it to his customers. The reporters loved the idea. Josephine—that lady from the Gazette—promised she’d stop by and grab some pictures.”

Hannah laughed in spite of her misery. “Leave it to Dad to find an advertising venue for wedding cake.”

“I suggested he freeze some of the leftovers for Thanksgiving.”

“You’re kidding?”

“It would save us some cooking,” Mimi said, her tone serious.

“I’d rather have one of your specialty desserts from the coffee shop, Mimi. I don’t think I want reminders of today’s events on Thanksgiving. Hey, did you take Alison back to school?”

“I just got back. She—”

The doorbell rang and Hannah tensed. “That’s probably Dad.”

“Good luck, Hannah.” Mimi paused. “And, sis?”

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing today. You and Seth…well, he seems like a nice guy, but you two just didn’t seem suited.”

Hannah brushed a tear from her cheek, thanked her sister, then followed her to the door. She honestly thought she’d done the right thing, too. For both her and Seth.

So why did her spontaneity and newfound freedom suddenly scare the bejeebies out of her? And why had her grandmother sounded so confident, as if the legend was bound to come true?

JAKE CLUTCHED the covers in his fist as he awakened, the sharp sting of his nightmares still fresh on his mind. The drugs maybe?

No. Not this time.

Darkness draped the hospital room in a cloak of loneliness.

He fought off the familiar anger, focusing on the present. Why had the dreams returned from his childhood to haunt him now? Because he was alone?

Hell, he’d always been alone. He liked being alone.

Jake Tippins was a die-hard cop who didn’t need anyone. He’d been on his own since he’d turned fourteen and his father had stalked off in a drunken fit and never returned. Oh, his mother hadn’t been too devastated. She’d been a beautiful blond temptress who hadn’t gotten her kicks from raising a kid. And she didn’t like to be alone.

Ever.

She’d entertained one man after another until Jake had grown sick of being invisible and abandoned and had found his own way—into a life of crime. Stealing cars.

How ironic—now he was a cop assigned to uncover a major car-theft ring, probably based at Wiley Hartwell’s used-car lot. And Wiley’s daughter, the woman he’d decided to use to speed up his investigation, was a beautiful blond princess.

No, not a princess. A beautiful blond temptress. Hell, the woman was sexy enough to make him want to strip off his clothes, with or without a medical exam.

She’d jilted one man today—would she move on to another target tomorrow? The answer had better be yes or his plan would fail.

Jake grimaced as he recalled Wiley’s earlier visit. His boss had stopped by to thank him for being a hero, but Jake had pretended to fall asleep while the man expounded on his heroics. He didn’t want thanks for doing his job, especially when he lied to the man repeatedly. Not only lied, but investigated him.

Sometimes undercover work sucked.

He rolled to his side, groaning, half in pain, half in frustration as he remembered the gentle way Wiley’s daughter had tended to his wounds, the sweet honeyed scent of her shampoo, those pale gold eyelashes fluttering like a curtain over her remarkable blue eyes. For the first time in his life, he felt a nudge of something like hope stir to life.

If everything Wiley Hartwell said about his daughter proved true, her sprint from the altar today had been out of character. He half hoped the good doctor would prove the rest of his theory wrong too, about her and her father. But he knew she helped her father with his books sometimes, giving her the perfect opportunity to manipulate the numbers. And her sister Mimi was so tight with Joey, she might be his accomplice.

If he discovered Wiley was running a car-theft ring, he’d have to arrest him. And if Wiley’s beautiful daughter Hannah or her sister Mimi were involved…

HANNAH STIRRED sugar into her father’s coffee and handed him the mug, aware he’d been watching her ever since he’d walked through the door. She only wished he’d changed from his garish gray tux. Simply looking at his pink ruffled shirt and white patent leather shoes reminded her of her earlier debacle. He’d even managed a manicure, she noted, spying a thin coat of clear polish on his blunt nails.

“Are you sure you’re all right, honey?” Wiley studied her intently over the rim of his cup.

“I’m fine, Dad. So, please stop staring at me like I’m going to break apart any minute.”

Wiley shoved stubby fingers through his curly brown hair, sending the unmanageable strands into disarray. His hair gel had no doubt worn off hours ago, a sign he’d repeatedly done the gesture several times today, a testament to the stress she’d inflicted on him.

Hannah sipped her own hot tea and perched on the armchair beside the fire, wondering if she should take off for a couple of weeks and let publicity die down. Only, with Wiley’s latest statewide ads and her wedding disaster airing on TV, she wouldn’t be able to escape the notoriety of being Wiley’s daughter anywhere she went.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Unaccustomed as she was to sharing her personal feelings with her father, she couldn’t offer an explanation.

He frowned. “You want to talk about the breakup?”

She shook her head.

“Honey, I…” Her father stared into his mug as if the rich dark coffee held the answers. “I know you don’t like to confide in me. I’m not sure why….”

The anguish in his voice startled her. “Dad—”

He held up his hand. “It’s okay, Hannah. I’m not trying to pressure you. And you didn’t embarrass me.” He rubbed at his trouser leg awkwardly. “Heaven knows though, that I embarrass you sometimes, but I don’t mean to. I love you girls. I always have.”

“I know that, Dad.” Tears burned Hannah’s eyes. If only all the kids she’d grown up with could have seen the real man beneath her father’s showy exterior, not the flamboyant TV salesman, maybe they wouldn’t have teased her unmercifully. And if only she could forget the fact that his stunts had embarrassed her, that her mother had deserted the family because of them…

He sipped his coffee, his voice deep and husky. “Just tell me one thing—did Broadhurst hurt you?”

A smile curved Hannah’s mouth. She ached to walk over and wrap her arms around her father, assure him she was okay, but for some reason, she found herself holding back, exactly as she always did when he tried to get too close. “No, Dad. I’m the one who called off the wedding.”

He clenched his hand around his knee as if he wanted to reach for her but knew she wouldn’t be receptive. Hannah had never been the cuddly, affectionate one—that had been Mimi. “You want to talk about it?”

Hannah sighed. “I simply realized we weren’t right for each other, Dad, and I didn’t want to make a mistake.”

“Like I did with your mother?”

The pain-filled words hung between them, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice her thoughts. “Dad—”

He gently took her hands in his and squeezed them. “I’m not trying to make things worse here. I’m behind you, no matter what you decide, honey.”

Guilt suffused Hannah. She wished she knew something to say to alleviate the hurt in her father’s eyes, but they had never been able to talk about her mother.

“I’m sorry I left you to handle all the details,” she finally said.

Wiley shrugged. “No problem. I’m going to try to make good use of the cake,” Wiley said, easing the tension his usual way, with a joke.

Hannah laughed. “I’m glad. I certainly don’t want to have to eat it.”

Wiley picked the newspaper off the coffee table, the small-town paper full of Hartwell happenings. News of the shooting at the car lot occupied the first page, bumping Hannah’s canceled wedding and photos of her running from the church to the third.

“I heard you took care of my salesman at the hospital today,” Wiley said.

Hannah’s fingers tightened around her cup, the vivid images from her dream bombarding her. “Yes. Apparently he caught someone trying to steal a car.”

Wiley nodded. “Yep. Tippins is a good man. A little rough with his sales technique, but he’s learning.”

Great. One day maybe he’d star in one of her dad’s commercials.

Surely he’d be out of her dreams by then.

“I’m glad you saw him at the hospital,” Wiley continued, oblivious to her turmoil. “Odd though, he didn’t want any press about his heroics. Heard he even refused to give an interview for the paper.”

So, maybe he didn’t like a lot of attention the way her father did. That still didn’t mean she and the man had anything in common.

“As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about checking on him when he’s released.”

Hannah nearly spilled her tea in her lap. “What?”

Wiley grinned as if one of his wild brainstorms had just hit him. “Poor guy doesn’t have any family. I stopped by to see him on my way over here, but he fell asleep while I was there. And I have to go out of town tomorrow. We’re taping that early-bird ad for Thanksgiving in Atlanta. Maybe you could give Jake a ride home from the hospital.”

Chapter Five

Jake shifted sideways in the hospital bed, unable to get comfortable. Getting shot in the butt had complicated his life in more ways than one. He might have blown his cover if his picture had appeared in the paper, and now Wiley figured he owed him. Adding insult to injury, he’d probably be sitting on one of those silly foam doughnuts for weeks.

The local sheriff, a tall man in his late fifties with a slight paunch, studied the statement he’d taken about the shooting. “Anything else you can tell me?”

“That’s it. The whole thing happened in a matter of minutes.” Jake glanced out the window at the countryside, frowning at the colorful array of fall leaves twirling in the wind. He’d have to take a few days off to recover, meaning he’d be staying in this little town even longer. He didn’t like to stay in one place for very long, the very reason he’d opted to join the special Atlanta task force that placed undercover detectives in various hotbeds of crime. Not that sleepy little Sugar Hill, Georgia, was a hotbed of crime, but recently the suspicions about the car-theft ring revolved around the town. Stolen cars had definitely been moved through Wiley’s lots.

“Did you question the kid?” Jake asked. “Find out what caused the punk to do something so stupid?” He considered revealing his identity to the sheriff, but decided to hold off.

Sheriff Walker shook his head in disgust. “Bunch of his buddies dared him to take the car for a joyride. Guess he freaked when you nabbed him, so he shot you.”

“Stupid kid,” Jake said, remembering how dumb he’d been at the same age.

“Got the gun from his dad’s drawer at home.” Walker made a clicking sound with his cheek. “His parents are pretty upset. They’re basically good people. Maybe a little jail time will do him good.”

Jake frowned. Serving time could go either way—harden the boy to crime and add another dark layer to his attitude or make him want to turn things around. Unfortunately, Jake had bigger fish to fry.

The sheriff headed to the door. “Oh, by the way, my daughter recently got her license. I think I’ll stop by Wacky Wiley’s. Maybe you can cut me a deal on a good used car.” A chuckle reverberated from his chest. “Last year he had all his salesmen dress up like elves for the Christmas specials. Better get yourself healed so you can fit into those little green tights.”

The man’s booming laughter echoed off the walls as he left the room. Jake rolled his eyes, praying he’d finish his investigation before Christmas. Every job had its limits—he’d run through a jungle full of snakes, walk through fire, risk his life to keep the streets safe, but there was no way in hell he’d put on a silly elf suit.

No sooner had the sheriff left, than Jake’s partner and friend, Trevor Muldoon, loped in, grinning. Although Muldoon was in his fifties, Jake admired the older man and his commitment to his job. He was also one of the few cops he’d known who’d been able to keep a family. Muldoon enjoyed dispensing advice, constantly urged Jake to search for a good woman, and bragged about the difference his marriage had made in his life. So far, Jake hadn’t bought any of the malarkey. “Hey, man, how’s the b—”

“Don’t say it,” Jake warned, knowing the older man intended to make him the butt of his jokes.

Muldoon chuckled. “The chief wanted me to find out if this shooting had anything to do with the investigation.”

“I don’t think so,” Jake said. “The local sheriff was just here.”

“Yeah, I saw him take off. I hid in the hall, didn’t want anyone to see me.”

Jake nodded. “Sheriff claimed the punk kid who shot me tried to steal the car on a dare. He’s too amateurish to be the mastermind we’re looking for. I need more time.”

“We’ll follow up on the kid. Chief wants you to tie this thing up before Christmas,” Trevor said. “Says he’ll have to pull you back in soon.”

“I’ll have the case solved by then,” Jake said. He’d step up the investigation, use every available clue and possible resource he had.

The intercom buzzed in the hallway and a voice paged Dr. Hartwell.

Trevor frowned at the announcement. “Your doctor?”

“Yeah. You’d better get out of here, man.”

“Keep me posted.” Trevor slipped out the door, and Jake leaned back against the pillow. He’d been wondering where the elusive beautiful doctor had been this morning. Wiley had phoned first thing to tell him he’d enlisted Hannah to drive him home. Jake had considered telling Wiley to forget it, that he’d take a cab, but then he’d decided why not? The sooner he got to know the doc the better.

HANNAH WAS on her way to answer the page when she saw a man slip from Jake Tippin’s room. Hmm, even though he didn’t have family, at least he had a visitor. Not one of the salesmen from Wiley’s, though. And how odd—she’d noticed the same man earlier—he’d been lurking in the hall. When the sheriff had left Jake’s room, the man had slipped behind a medicine cart until the lawman had disappeared. Who was the stranger, and why wouldn’t he want Sheriff Walker to see him?

The intercom announced her name again, and she shook off the uneasiness, knowing bigger problems awaited her. Having just completed an early-morning rotation in the ER, she was exhausted, but the minute she’d heard the page, adrenaline had kicked in. Adrenaline spurred by nerves. Her stomach clenched as she spotted Seth’s parents enter the chief of staff’s office ahead of her.

The Broadhursts were prominent retired physicians who’d donated scads of money to the hospital. They had power, influence and the backing of the board.

And they most likely hated her.

Why had she been asked to meet them in the chief’s office? Had they listened to the apology she’d left on their answering machine at home and decided to confront her?

She twisted her fingers together as she stared at the closed door. They couldn’t have her fired for what she’d done to their son, but they could make her life hell, could create dissension, could make her want to leave.

Maybe she should simply ask for a transfer. She could move to Atlanta, complete her residency at another hospital, make the situation less awkward for everyone. She’d already heard some nasty rumors floating around—she’d been having an affair, had rubbed it in Seth’s face when she dumped him. In a small town like Sugar Hill where everyone knew everyone else, the gossip about her jilting Seth would linger for months.

Striving for courage, she raised her hand and knocked. Dr. Porter’s curt voice invited her inside. Seconds later, she took a seat in a wing chair facing the chief of staff. Seth’s parents situated themselves on the adjacent navy loveseat. To her surprise, Seth stood on the far side, leaning against the wall, looking grim.

“You’re probably wondering why I asked you join us,” Dr. Porter said.

“I think I have an idea,” Hannah said, deciding to take a direct route. At six-three, the elderly gray-haired Dr. Porter was impressive and intimidating, not only because of his size, but because he had practiced medicine himself for years, had a reputation as a renowned surgeon, and contributed regularly to a major medical research journal. When his wife had died the year before, he’d left a prominent Boston facility to manage this small-town hospital, saying he needed less pressure.

Hannah certainly hadn’t helped his situation any.

Seth’s mother, an attractive brunette in her early fifties, stared blankly at her while her husband’s scowl reflected his displeasure.

“I know I owe you all an apology,” Hannah said, praying she sounded sincere. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed the hospital by my actions. And I’m really sorry for the way I handled things yesterday with Seth.” She gave Seth a wary smile.

Seth nodded, his gaze oddly understanding.

Seth’s mother’s mouth tightened into a thin line. His father arched a bushy brow.

She directed her gaze at his parents. “I never meant to hurt Seth, I hope you two believe that. Seth is really a wonderful guy.”

“And an important part of the hospital,” Dr. Porter pointed out.

“Yes,” Hannah said, hearing the unspoken message, More important than a young resident. “He’s very well respected here and I still would like to think of him as a friend. I honestly believe that I did the right thing, though, by canceling the wedding. I think one day Seth will agree.”

His arched brow said he wasn’t sure, but he was contemplating what she’d said.

“You couldn’t have told my son this before his wedding day?” Mrs. Broadhurst asked with disapproval.

“Or maybe like your father, you simply enjoy public displays?” Mr. Broadhurst snapped.

Hannah winced at the comment about her father, half wanting to defend him, the other half wanting to scream that she hated public displays. Surprisingly, Seth spoke, saving her from commenting.

“Mother, Dad, that’s enough,” Seth said. “What happened between Hannah and myself is our business. Not yours.”

Mrs. Broadhurst bristled while Mr. Broadhurst’s nostrils flared.

Hannah searched for a plausible, rational approach to winning their understanding, but she couldn’t think of one. She remembered the crazy dream, the legend—no, she could not tell them about the legend. They would think she’d lost her mind.

Which, of course, she was beginning to think also. Especially considering how composed and levelheaded Seth appeared in the aftermath of their canceled wedding.

Dr. Porter folded his hands on his desk and cleared his throat, cutting off her thoughts. “That brings me to the reason I asked you all to meet here. The personal lives of my staff are really of no consequence to me, Dr. Hartwell, except where their behavior affects the ethical code and the respect of other professionals. I must admit I’ve heard some gossip about you in the halls, and I’ve seen the newspaper photos.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Porter. I had no idea the reporters would mention the hospital.”

“I’m concerned that this debacle might affect both your working relationships and the morale at the hospital.”

Hannah chewed on her bottom lip. “I can assure you that I’ll remain professional. I know I can work with Seth…” The Broadhursts shot her a stern look, “…um, with Dr. Broadhurst.”

“I certainly have no problem with Dr. Hartwell,” Seth said amicably.

Dr. Porter stood as if dismissing them. “Well, I, for one, thank you for your honesty, Dr. Hartwell. And I will hold you to your word. If not…”

Hannah nodded as he let the sentence trail off, wincing at his silent warning.

Seth’s parents shook Dr. Porter’s hand, Hannah apologized to them again, and the Broadhursts left with a brief thanks, although Hannah sensed they weren’t totally satisfied. Seth’s gaze caught hers, an awkwardness between them that she hated. He forced a small smile for which she would forever be grateful. Maybe they could remain friends. Maybe he would recommend a good shrink….

When the door had closed behind them, the chief of staff caught her hand. “Dr. Hartwell, you are aware how much the Broadhursts’ contributions mean to this hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m asking you to do everything you can to rectify your relationship with them. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

Hannah’s stomach plummeted. She would do everything she could to smooth things over with the wealthy couple, except marry Seth. With a heavy heart, she slipped out the door to follow through on the promise she’d made to her father the night before.

She was going to find Jake Tippins, the man who had virtually seeped unwanted into her dreams and caused her to go crazy for a day and drive him home. And she’d have to do it without letting the man know that she’d seen him naked in her dreams. And that he was the very reason she’d called off her wedding.

JAKE RUBBED his hand over his eyes, trying to block images from his latest dream. After Trevor had left, he’d dozed off, but instead of having another nightmare about his childhood he’d had erotic dreams of sleeping with a blond vixen—Hannah Hartwell.

She’d been naked and hot and writhing beneath him.

Boy, he was in trouble.

As if temptation had his number, the good doctor walked through the door. “Hi, Mr. Tippins, how are you feeling today?”

“Like I’ve been to hell and back.”

Dr. Hartwell lifted a narrow blond brow. “You don’t mince words, do you, Mr. Tippins?”

“No reason to,” he said. “What you see is what you get.” Except for the fact that he wasn’t a car salesman, he was a cop. And that he could lie at the drop of a hat.

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