Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt1

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Excerpt2

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

Adam looked from her to the child in his arms. “I still can’t believe what you did.”

His accusation shattered the reverence of the moment. “Well,” Evie said, “I guess I’ll just have to learn to live with that.”

His eyes snapped toward her. “You’ll be moving back into the house, then,” he said. His words weren’t a question, but rather a command.

“My plans haven’t changed. I’ll be taking the baby back with me.”

His voice was quiet, but his words were edged in steel. “I don’t think so. You’re not taking my little girl away from me again.”

Dear Reader,

What makes a man a Fabulous Father? For me, he’s the man who married my single mother when she had three little kids (who all needed braces) and raised us as his own. And, to celebrate an upcoming anniversary of the Romance line’s FABULOUS FATHERS series, I’d like to know your thoughts on what makes a man a Fabulous Father. Send me a brief (50 words) note with your name, city and state, giving me permission to publish all or portions of your note, and you just might see it printed on a special page.

Blessed with a baby—and a second chance at marriagethis month’s FABULOUS FATHER also has to become a fabulous husband to his estranged wife in Introducing Daddy by Alaina Hawthorne.

“Will you marry me, in name only?” That’s a woman’s desperate question to the last of THE BEST MEN, Karen Rose Smith’s miniseries, in A Groom and a Promise.

He drops her like a hot potato, then comes back with babies and wants her to be his nanny! Or so he says…in Babies and a Blue-Eyed Man by Myrna Mackenzie.

When a man has no memory and a woman needs an instant husband, she tells him a little white lie and presto! in My Favorite Husband by Sally Carleen.

She’s a waitress who needs etiquette lessons in becoming a lady; he’s a millionaire who likes her just the way she is in Wife in Training by Susan Meier.

Finally, Robin Wells is one of Silhouette’s WOMEN TO WATCH—a new author debuting in the Romance line with The Wedding Kiss.

I hope you enjoy all our books this month—and every month! Regards,

Melissa Senate,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Introducing Daddy
Alaina Hawthorne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As always, eternal thanks to Pat Kay,

Heather MacAllister, Marilyn Amann and Carla Luan.

For Julian Staehely.

ALAINA HAWTHORNE,

a native Texan, has been writing fiction and nonfiction since she was a teenager. Her first Silhouette Romance won the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award for Best First Book. She lives in Houston with Sallie, her rottweiler, and loves hearing from her readers. Write to Alaina at P.O. Box 820342, Houston, TX 77282.

Adam Rabalais On Fatherhood:

Dear Juliette,

Words cannot express how much joy you have brought into my life. I didn’t realize that working eighty hours a week meant nothing without someone to come home to. And now that you and your mother are back in my life, I vow to become the perfect daddy.

I’ve been reading up on fatherhood, little girl, catching up on those months I missed. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to hold you right after you were born, or that I wasn’t there for your first smile. But I do promise to be there for your first word, your first step. We’ll go for walks in the park. I’ll come to all of your ballet recitals. Together we’ll be the best father-and-daughter team around.

Remember, you are the most precious gift I’ve ever received.

All my love,

Daddy

Chapter One

Sheets of rain sluiced against the windows of the shop, and every so often thunder boomed in the distance and rattled the panes. Through the gray rivulets Evie Rabalais could just make out the waists of Houston’s skyscrapers; the tops of the buildings were plunged into the clouds that had hovered over the city for days. The radio said the bayous were jumping their banks. Beneath the streets the storm drains roared with brown foamy water. Evie stood by the front door, arms crossed and motionless, and watched the traffic—wheel-deep in water—crawl miserably down Westheimer. Her mood matched the bleak weather.

Edward and Frank, both of the part-time delivery drivers, had called in saying they couldn’t make it into the shop because of the flooding. Evie wondered if that was really true. She scowled and sighed. Not that their absence would make much difference. This type of weather was terrible for business. There wouldn’t be any foot traffic at all today, and gloomy weather also seemed to affect human generosity: there were always fewer orders when it rained.

When the phone suddenly jangled, Evie flinched and crossed quickly to the desk. She wanted to catch it before the ringing woke Juliette. The baby had fussed all night. Since it was too soon for her to be teething, Evie assumed the infant had sensed her unhappiness and responded to it. All the books she’d read said babies were sensitive to moods.

She lifted the receiver. “Something Different. This is Evie, may I help you?”

“Um, yes, I think—well, I hope so.”

The woman’s voice was high-pitched and tentative. A nervous type, Evie thought. This might take a while.

“Um, are you that place that makes those gift baskets with all kinds of, you know, different stuff?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Evie replied. “We make gift baskets and boxes for all occasions. Our slogan is Why Just Send Something When You Can Send ‘Something Different.’“ Evie winced. It sounded stupid today. But then, she thought, it could just be the way she was feeling.

“Oh, good. Let’s see, well, I’m not really sure what I want. I mean this may not be appropriate. I…well, it’s—you see, there was a picture in yesterday’s paper. A business associate of my husband’s. The caption was about some sort of charity thingie…”

Ah, of course, a charity thingie.

“…but the caption hinted that she might be getting engaged, too.”

Getting engaged, too? Surely it can’t be… Evie choked, but the woman apparently didn’t hear her.

“It’s not for sure, you see, so I don’t really know if it’s appropriate to send, you know, congratulations. The paper implied it was just a rumor, you know, but Betsy’s never wrong. She knows everyone and everything. Like God.” The woman cackled at her own joke. Evie wrestled with the urge to slam down the phone and run from the room.

“Anyway, so Vic, my husband, he wants to be the first to send something if there really is an engagement. Nothing too obvious or flashy, you know. Kind of a two-way gift—mostly for the award, but with something about the engagement, too. Something in the two-hundred-and-fifty range. What do you think?”

I think I’m going to start screaming. For one panicstricken instant Evie considered saying that they were closed—going out of business even. She didn’t want to scour her favorite shops and bookstores for beautiful, thoughtful gifts. But the woman had said “the two-hundred-and-fifty range.” The shop had suffered over the past week. Olivia would be thrilled to hear someone wanted to spend more than two hundred dollars. Evie swallowed and tried to sound normal. “Do you know any of her interests? If you give us a couple of days I’m sure I can—”

The woman gave a little scream of protest. “Oh, no, no, no. It has to be delivered today. Before noon, in fact. You can do that, can’t you?”

Evie swallowed hard. It wasn’t so much that she had to make a suitable presentation from the available inventory—there were plenty of beautiful things in the shop. But there would be no one to deliver the basket. Except her.

“I see. Yes, of course, we can do that. Well, how about a nice Burka hamper with a book of poems and…champagne and flutes. We can also enclose a gift certificate for a day-long session at La Paradise…” For what seemed an eternity, Evie made tasteful suggestions, understated suggestions. No matter how outraged and betrayed she felt, she knew she would have to choke back her anger. The basket would be elegant; nothing ostentatious or overwhelming. She was very good at her job.

Her client clucked and exclaimed gleefully over each recommendation, and in less than twenty minutes every item had been approved.

“Thank you so much, Edie,” the woman gushed. “I know she’s going to love it—”

“It’s Evie.”

“And you’ll guarantee she’ll have it before noon. We don’t want anyone to beat us to the punch. Oh, and the card will have to say congratulations or something. Only not the word congratulations. I think that’s too masculine, don’t you? And you should see her, she’s such a gorgeous girl. I just hate her.” The woman hooted at her own humor. “Now, it’s for Kimberley Van Kyle at Van Kyle Oil. Van Kyle is two words, capital V and capital K.”

“Yes, I know.”

Evie had also read the item in the Sunday Metropolitan section of the paper. “Kimberley Van Kyle Receives Nighthawk Award.” Besides, Evie had known how to spell the name Van Kyle for years. After all, Van Kyle Oil had been instrumental in the disintegration of her marriage. She’d even met Kimberley three or four years ago at a Christmas party at the Van Kyles’ River Oaks estate.

That was long ago. Yesterday’s paper was the first time Evie had thought of Elvin Van Kyle’s daughter in years. Olivia had seen the article, too. She’d stayed up with Evie well past midnight listening to her cry and rail against the beautiful heiress and her ruggedly handsome companion. In the photograph, just to the right and behind the stunning redhead stood Kimberley’s escort for the charity gala, Adam Rabalais. Evie hadn’t even known he was back in the country. She recalled the almost physically sickening sensation of seeing the photograph-the exuberant, smiling faces. She had stared at the picture with the same fascinated horror a patient regards a terminal X ray. She had no idea how many times she’d read Betsy’s chatty tidbit.

And who’s the tall, silent hunk escorting Kimmie? Mizz Van K’s not spilling any beans, but folks in the know have mentioned wedding bells…

Evie jerked herself back to the present and tried to concentrate on her customer’s voice. She repeated the address, which she already knew. Van Kyle Oil occupied six floors in One Shell Plaza, smack in the middie of downtown Houston. Evie nearly shuddered. She hated downtown.

“And you will guarantee the basket arrives before lunch?” The woman now sounded peevish.

“Yes,” Evie replied quietly. “Before lunch. I’ll take care of it myself.”

Evie set the receiver quietly in the cradle. Why, she wondered, why, of all the places in Houston to call would she have to call us? It was probably the advertising, Evie reasoned, not some cruel twist of fate. Lately Olivia had taken out a couple of ads in the downtown tabloids and shoppers’ guides. Evie dropped her forehead on her arms and let a few hottears slip out.

She willed herself not to cry anymore. It was so odd, she almost never cried, but last night she’d boo-hooed so hard her face was as swollen as if she’d stuck it in a beehive. This morning her puffy, reddened eyes defied her attempts to camouflage them with makeup. She eventually gave up and washed the mess off. Or most of it.

Rings of stubborn mascara still circled her eyelids, since the baby’s hungry demands had superseded her attempts to scrub it away. Besides, she hadn’t planned on leaving the shop all day. No one here gave a damn if she looked like a raccoon.

But now she was going to have to go downtown. What if she had to come face-to-face with Kimberley? With Adam? She took a calming breath. That would never happen. She wouldn’t go near the executive floors. She’d make up the basket, hustle downtown and drop it off with the receptionist. No fuss, no muss. In and out. After all, she’d done it a hundred times in buildings all over the city. But despite her efforts to be brave, Evie felt a deepening of the pain in her torso.

This is why they call it a heartache—it really hurts. I can’t stand this feeling. How long does it last? Months? Years?

She bit her lip. Maybe Olivia could make the.but no, Olivia never made deliveries. After all, she owned the shop, and besides, she was past seventy and too frail to wrestle with the cantankerous transmission of the van or lug around heavy gift baskets. Evie glanced up at the clock. Nine forty-five. She mentally calculated the amount of time it would take to fill the order. An hour to put the basket together. Twenty minutes to make it downtown in the rain. Another fifteen to park and get up to the thirtieth floor. If she got right to work she’d make it just in time.

Twenty minutes later Olivia came down the stairs from her apartment over the shop. Evie’s quarters took up the back half of the top floor of the giant old Victorian house.

“Is that an order?” she asked, obviously pleased.

Evie nodded, but couldn’t hold her friend’s gaze for long. The minute she saw sympathy in those warm, gentle eyes, she knew she would start crying again. Still, there was no hiding her feelings from Olivia.

“What is it, honey? Are you still…?”

Evie shrugged and gestured toward the order pad.

“Two hundred and fifty dollars?” Olivia exclaimed. “But why the long face? This is wonderful. Praise the—Oh. Oh, dear. I…what did you say?”

“What could I say? I promised to have it there before noon as requested.”

“Evie, I’m sorry. Call her back. Tell her we can’t—”

“No way. We need the order. It’s been a crummy week.”

Olivia opened her mouth to protest but slowly closed it. The shop hung on by a tenuous thread at the best of times. “Maybe I could take it.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Thanks for offering, ‘Liv, but downtown’s horrible even when you know your way around.” She sighed. “Besides, this thing’s gonna weigh a ton. Would you look at the size of it? You’d be doubled over for a week.”

Frown lines creased the older woman’s forehead. “I’m going to murder Ed and Frankie. If I find out they’re somewhere goofing off I’ll…”

Evie gave her friend an attempt at a smile. “Oh, well, we were young once, too. I used to love to goof off on gloomy days, didn’t you? Hot chocolate, good books or an old movie. Maybe even a fire. Or best of all…” Evie’s voice was beginning to shake.

Adam had loved rainy days. Years ago when they were first married, he’d worked construction to put himself through grad school, but. every rainy day meant the work stopped. Back then Adam always seemed gleeful to have a day alone with her.

“I arranged this for us,” he’d say. “I just used my magic words—Come on, rain clouds, show your power. Adam wants a shutdown shower.”

He was greedy for her in those days. If it was winter they’d build a fire, and if it was summer they would fill the fireplace with candles and enjoy the colors of the little flames dancing on smooth skin. Adam almost always insisted that they splurge on a bottle of good wine, and they’d take turns reading passages of their favorite books to each other.

After love, it was always the same. He would trace slow patterns on her back. “Guess what I’m writing,” he’d say. “Now, if you win.” Most of the time they skipped dinner and fell asleep curved together on the hearth.

But those times were gone—eroded by years of explosive arguments, hurt silences and the slow, creeping abandonment of two people sharing less and less. Sometimes Evie still couldn’t comprehend exactly what had happened.

“I’ll make us some tea.” Olivia said softly. She had heard most of Evie’s story over the past ten months. The rest she just seemed to understand without being told.

Before she left, she paused to look at the artfully packed basket to which Evie was just applying a few special touches—sheer pastel cellophane and satin ribbons. “Beautiful work as always. Are you sure you can do this?”

“Oh, it won’t be so bad. I’ll just put on Frank’s slicker, pull the hood over my head and duck behind this big thing.” She smiled. “Besides, there’s nothing to worry about. There’s no way I’ll run into either of them.”

By the time Evie pulled into the underground loading area beneath One Shell Plaza, her nerves were even more frayed than before. Just as she’d been leaving the shop, Juliette had woken up squalling and had refused to settle down. Not even Olivia had been able to do anything to soothe her. Then Westheimer had been flooded at three intersections, and though the van rode high, other cars had stalled and traffic had backed up for blocks.

Finally she’d had to circle around and take the Allen Parkway. The trip that normally took twenty minutes had taken almost three-quarters of an hour. By the time Evie had turned onto Louisiana Street she’d felt the beginnings of a potent and long-lasting headache. Traffic had been snarled around the building, and she’d had to spend another fifteen minutes inching toward the light at the corner of Walker. When she’d finally made the turn into the underground parking, there hadn’t been a single space in the loading dock.

Evie checked her watch. Fifteen minutes until twelve. The tunnel system would be crowded with lunch traffic—dry, smartly dressed, professional people. Evie was soaked just from walking from the shop to the van. Wind had blown the rain almost horizontally. Her hair, which normally fell in bouncy natural ringlets past her shoulders was wildly corkscrewed and unruly from the humidity.

She double-parked next to a courier’s truck and stepped out of the driver’s side into an inch and a half of water. As the brackish runoff soaked into her good running shoes, Evie indulged her temper with a few words she seldom used and went to the back of the van. It took both arms to carry the basket, and she had to peek around it to see where she was going.

She stopped at the security window and balanced the basket against the narrow ledge to sign in.

“Where’d you park?” the attendant asked, not looking up.

“I’m doubled, but there’s plenty of room for the other guy to get around me.”

“Can’t do that, lady. You’ll get towed.”

Evie felt the ache in her chest ratchet up a notch. “But there’s nowhere else. I’m running late and I’ll only be five minutes. I’m just going up to Van Kyle to deliver this.”

He glanced up with unsympathetic hazel eyes. “Suit yourself,” he said. “But if you’re not down in fifteen minutes, it’ll be towed.”

Evie scrawled her signature and bumped the heavy swinging door open with her hip. The blast of airconditioning made her damp skin feel clammy, and the distant murmur of voices echoing through the tunnels sounded spooky and disquieting.

As soon as she passed through the double swinging doors of the service entrance she saw the sea of bodies surging through the narrow underground walkways. She wasn’t really surprised at the crush of people; no one would brave the weather outside today unless it was an absolute necessity.

The knot of people waiting at the tunnel level elevator was at least twenty deep, so she made a quick decision and took an escalator up to the street level. Through the glass walls of the lobby Evie could see City Hall and the dark green oaks that lined the reflection pool. Their crowns whipped in the stiff breeze while the fractured surface of the pool reflected the dark underbelly of the sky.

Across the street the fountains in Tranquility Park gushed water straight up, where the wind immediately tore it away while simultaneously dumping rain back down into the stone-lined ponds. Evie glanced back at City Hall clock. The day was so dark the hands glowed red even at noon. High noon. She was now officially late.

The lobby was choked with people pressed almost up to the glass, some waiting to bolt for cabs as they pulled up on Smith Street, some just eager to leave their desks but not wanting to brave the tunnels or venture far in the wretched weather. A few miserable smokers huddled outside against flanks of the building, obviously unable to wait until after work to indulge in their cigarettes.

Evie thought the people looked as gray and threatening as the sky. The women wore dark power suits, chopped-off hair and sculpted nails, and the men glided among them as smoothly and gracefully as sharks. At least it seemed that way to her.

She shrugged her yellow slicker a little higher on her shoulders and hefted up the basket. On both sides of her face, her wiry hair seemed to be trying to claw its way out of the hood by itself. More than anything Evie wanted to put the damn basket down and shove the ugly mess back under her hood, but there was nowhere to stop.

The One Shell Plaza lobby was a gleaming expanse of white, echoing marble with polished brass appointments and ruthlessly tamed ficus trees standing obediently erect in their architectural planters. The seating edge of the planters didn’t look inviting at all. In fact, Evie wouldn’t dare sit down on one. She had a feeling that there was a ficus guard lurking somewhere who’d leap out, grab her by her collar and make a humiliating example of her in front of all the frostyeyed MBAs and their administrative assistants. No, she thought, best to just hurry up and get this over with as soon as possible.

When the elevator doors closest to her slid open, she practically lunged in. She ignored the disapproving looks and noises from the people she’d shoved past, but this was an emergency. Besides, she told herself, the predatory downtown atmosphere was contagious; here it was every man for himself. God, if she didn’t hurry up and get out of here she’d turn into one of them.

She elbowed the button for the thirty-eighth floor and then pressed herself to the back of the car. In the close quiet of the little space she became aware of noises she hadn’t noticed earlier—the crackle of the cellophane, the squishy noise of her soaked sneakers and the cheap rustle of her yellow slicker. She felt a slight itch, just a tickle really, just alongside her nose.

Somewhere between the thirty-first and thirty-third floors a particularly loud and long roll of thunder rumbled outside. The lights flickered and the elevator car hesitated. One of the passengers groaned.

“Not again.”

“Did you hear? Melvin got stuck in the elevator for an hour on Saturday.”

“I’d lose it.”

“We could have taken the stairs.”

“Are you nuts? Forty-some-odd floors?”

While the others swapped elevator war stories, Evie kept her head ducked and counted the minutes. Every time the car stopped passengers changed; some got off, some on. She pressed herself as deeply into her corner as she could and tried not to see the people, not to hear them. She wished she could look at her watch. Had it been fifteen minutes? Did the security guard really mean he’d have the van towed in fifteen minutes or he’d call to have it towed in fifteen minutes?

Again the car stopped and this time the elevator disgorged nearly all its passengers. Before the doors closed two men stepped on—charcoal gray legs and khaki legs. Khaki Legs said, “So, are we on for Wednesday?”

“Wednesday’s good for me.”

That’s all he said. Just “Wednesday’s good for me,” but Evie’s body underwent the same reaction it had the first time she’d heard that voice fourteen years earlier. The hair on her nape stood, and her stomach erupted in a storm of butterflies.

Oh, please, no. Don’t let him see me. Please. I’ll go to Mass, to confession even. I’ll make the nine first Fridays. I’ll join the Altar Society. Hail, Mary, full of grace—

Another boom of thunder seemed to make the whole building shudder, and the lights flicked off for a full three seconds.

“That was close,” Adam Rabalais murmured. “Think it struck the building?”

“Could have,” his companion answered. “Happens all the time.”

Evie held her breath. I’ll stay on until he gets off. I don’t care if I have to ride this thing to the moon.

Something told her he was looking at her, noticing her. But how could he not be curious? There were only three of them in the elevator—two smartly dressed businessmen and one extremely short person who wore squishy sneakers, rumpled, rain-soaked jeans and carried an enormous Burmese hamper. That same person was obviously cowering under an old, yellow rain slicker and had frantic blue-black ringlets of hair crawling out of her hood.

Why? she wondered. Why is this happening? It’s like a nightmare or a horrible movie. Evie bowed her head against the basket. The cellophane crackled maliciously.

When the elevator car creaked to a stop Khaki Legs exited. “I’ll call you Wednesday when I’m on my way,” he said.

“Right. Wednesday, then,” Adam replied. Evie recognized the thoughtful tone in his voice.

She felt bereft. She almost wanted to follow dear old Khaki Legs out but she had no idea what floor they were on. She didn’t dare to look up to check, either. Besides, if she started to get off, Adam would notice that there was still another floor punched. He might speak to her, and if she answered, he’d recognize her voice for sure. And her height. She was so damned short.

Why didn’t I wear tall shoes, she wondered. Oh, right…wet blue jeans and pumps. Just what all the delivery drivers are wearing. What could possibly be more low profile? Please, God, she prayed, please don’t let him talk to me.

“That’s a beautiful basket, but it’s nearly as big as you are.”

You just have to be Mr. Friendly, don’t you? Why can’t you leave me alone? “Mmmm,” she answered, trying to disguise her voice and ducking her head even lower. She wished she could hide her bony little hands and the frenzied hair that refused to stay wadded up inside her hood.

A moment of cold, pregnant silence ensued, during which Evie sent up one more desperate prayer that Adam hadn’t recognized her voice—that he wouldn’t try to make her say anything else and give herself away completely. She swallowed and kept her gaze riveted to the floor. The angle of his gleaming wingtips told her that he’d turned to face her.

“Who’s it for?”

Oh, God, he knows. Evie didn’t answer.

“I said, who’s it for?” This time his voice was peremptory and demanding.

Evie looked up hot-faced and unashamed of the sheen in her eyes. “Your fiancée, Adam.”

For a fleeting instant a look of joyful disbelief flashed across his face, and he stepped toward heralmost reflexively. Then his look hardened.

Evie took a deep breath to make sure her voice was steady. “By the way, when were you planning to tell her that you’re still married to me?”

Chapter Two

Evie’s heart slammed in her chest as Adam nailed her with a cold glare.

“I’m surprised to hear you ask that, Evie. Since when do you care where I go or who I spend time with?”

She glared right back into his eyes. The first time Mrs. Alexander had seen him, she’d remarked, “Gray as rain. Even when he laughs he looks so sad. His eyes are the color of tears.”

Evie raised her chin and tried to make her face hard. “I don’t care,” she said. “I’d just find it a little embarrassing to be married to a bigamist.”

“Well,” he said, “thanks so much for your overwhelming warmth and concern.”

Evie scowled at him, then faced the door. The elevator shuddered, and a deep, faraway rumble told her the storm still churned overhead. I’m not going to look at him. Maybe this isn’t happening. Maybe I’m having a horrible nightmare.

She could feel him staring at her. Waves of hostile incredulity poured through the tiny space. How long had it been since she’d seen him? Nine months? No, ten. And how long before that had it been since they’d looked at each other with anything other than anger and resentment?

The last time she’d spoken to him was more than six months ago when he’d called from Buenos Aires and caught her at her aunt’s house, but that conversation hadn’t lasted long. As usual, it took only moments before one of them started yelling and the other one slammed down the phone. That last conversation had ended on a particularly devastating note. And now, here she was, suspended with him in an eight-by-eightfoot box somewhere halfway up One Shell Plaza.

When thunder boomed again, the car hesitated and the lights flickered. Evie groaned against the feeling of weightless nausea and hugged her basket tighter. No, not this. Not now. Once again they began to rise, but in only seconds, with a hydraulic scream, the elevator car bounced to a stop. Evie heard her breath escaping with a terrified hiss; Adam didn’t even seem to notice they’d quit moving.

He uncrossed his arms but didn’t step toward her, he just rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “I’m sorry, Evie. That’s not what I meant to say.”

She cut him the ugliest glance she could manage and then turned away again. The pressure of furious tears intensified in the back of her throat. Hurry, elevator. Hurry, hurry. She clutched the hamper to her middle and hoped that the huge basket would disguise her weight loss, her pale complexion and her brimming, swollen eyes. I won’t look at him, and that way I won’t cry. And I don’t have to say anything, either. I’ll just deliver my basket and get the hell out of here, and things will go on just like I planned. “What’s wrong with this thing? Is there a phone in here?” What she wanted to do was scream, Let me out.

“It’s okay,” Adam said quietly. “We’ll start up again in a minute. This happens a lot.”

For a moment he was quiet, but she felt him looking at her. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for months,” he said. “Nobody will give me your number.”

“Good.” Her voice was definitely wobbling. God, she hated that. And why did she have to look like something the cat wouldn’t even bother to drag in? Not that it mattered. In fact, this was probably better. Adam, of course, looked impeccable in perfectly tailored Savile Row. Evie recognized the suit from one of his trips to the U.K. Last year? No, two years ago. She remembered because he’d been gone for their anniversary. And her birthday.

“Why, Evie? Why won’t you even talk to me?”

She didn’t look at him. “What’s the use? What could we say that we haven’t already said a thousand times?”

“I may have said it a thousand times, but it’s still true. I want you to come home, Evie.”

There was no avoiding it, she had to look at him; talking at the elevator doors was stupid. She sighed. “And where’s home this week? Argentina? Outer Mongolia? And how would you even know if I were home or not? You hardly ever bothered to show up there.” She took a quick breath and her voice lowered. “Half the time I didn’t even know where you were unless your secretary told me. I didn’t know you were back in the country until I saw your engagement notice in the paper.”

He winced. “Damn. I knew you’d see that piece of bull—but it wasn’t an engagement notice. Kimberley and I just went to a company function together because she didn’t have a date.” He paused for a long moment. “And I had no idea how to get in touch with my wife.”

His voice had been growing hard, but then his tone softened. “That was just stupid gossip from a stupid gossip column, you know that. Besides, you know Kimberley. She’s just a kid.”

“We’re the same age.”

He shook his head slightly. “For Pete’s sake, Evie, I’ve known her since she started college, and—”

“You’ve known me since I was in junior high.”

Adam’s mouth closed in a hard line, and with the deepest satisfaction Evie saw that he was losing his temper—that she’d gotten to him. Good, she thought. In the past she had never won any arguments. Adam could always talk circles around her. No matter how prepared she thought she was, she would always wind up ranting or crying, while Adam maintained his maddeningly unflappable calm.

“The point is, Evangeline,” he said slowly, “that I want you with me. I always have.”

“No, Adam,” she countered, “you don’t want me with you. You want someone at home in case you decide to show up there. You want dinner on the table and your errands run. You want an acceptable arm hanger for social functions and someone to see that your family gets Christmas cards and birthday presents.”

“Evie, please, not this again.”

“You started it.”

When she saw the flash of hopelessness cross his face she turned away. Despite everything that had happened between them, she still hated to see him unhappy. Be strong. You know what’s at stake here. If he knew…

“Couldn’t we go somewhere and just talk?”

The ache in his voice wrenched her heart. Part of her—most of her—wanted more than anything to spend hours, years, talking to him. Any second she knew she might drop the basket along with the pretense of anger and fling herself into his arms. Yes, right back into the same situation you were in for the past seven years. But it’s not just the two of you anymore, is it? Think of her. That one thought evaporated her momentary fantasy of a tearful reconciliation.

She looked straight into his gray eyes. You’d better make this convincing. “You don’t get it, do you?” The shock and pain in his face twisted her insides. “Remember the last time that I said ‘This is the last time?’ Well, believe it or not, it really was the very last time.” Her voice was thinning out, and she felt the return of incipient tears. “I think it’s pretty obviousit’s been obvious for years—that we want different things, Adam. Different lives.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I want the life we had together back.”

“Well, excuse me,” she said in a choked voice. “Maybe you want the same old life, but it’s just not good enough for me anymore. I don’t want to live alone. I want a husband and a family. I’m not a talking doll, Adam. Just once I’d like to come first—not second or third or fourth behind business meetings and rig workovers and power dinners—”

“You are the most important thing in the world to me, Evie. You always have been.”

“Am I? What about Christmas, Adam? What about the robbery? You left me to go off on your trip.”

Although it had almost been a year, the hideous images remained fresh in her mind—the drizzling December day, her back seat loaded with packages, carols on the radio as she’d stopped for the traffic light. The impact from the car slamming into her from behind had thrown her into the steering wheel and knocked her breath away. She hadn’t known not to get out; she’d never even heard the expression “bump androb.” Besides, when she’d seen the sleek, luxury sedan behind her, it had never occurred to her that it might have been stolen.

By the time she’d opened her door, they’d already swarmed out of their car and had been waiting to jerk her off her feet and throw her down onto the concrete. The opening at the end of gun had looked enormous—like a black, toothless mouth. Please, God, she’d prayed. Don’t let him…

“I made a mistake, Evie. But what was I supposed to do? The robbery was terrifying, I’ll admit, but you weren’t hurt, and the summit in Mexico was critical. You knew it meant jobs for hundreds of people, and I was the only one who…How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

But he hadn’t been sorry at the time. His office had caught him at the airport that day, and he’d burst through the doors of the Emergency Room, wild-eyed with rage. But he hadn’t canceled his business trip; he’d just put it off for a day.

One whole day.

She’d begged him not to leave. He’d begged her instead to come along with him—the negotiations were unraveling, he’d said. Governments were squaring off and a multinational consortium was on the verge of collapse.

Evie had raised her hands and showed him where the gravel had gouged away the skin. Then she’d pulled up her skirt to reveal the purple bruise on her thigh where one of them had stepped on her.

Still, he’d left the next day.

So had she.

That memory renewed her strength. “Well, here we go again,” she said acidly. “you’ve started with Plan A and since that wasn’t working you jumped directly to Plan C.”

“What? Plan A? What—?”

“You see, Adam, over the past ten months I’ve had some time to figure things out. Whenever you don’t show up or do what you promised, you always do one of three things. Plan A is you deny it. Plan B is you say something like, ‘Okay, maybe I did do that, but it wasn’t so bad.’ If it’s Plan C you say, ‘Yeah, I did that and it was awful, but I’ll never do it again.’ But nothing changes. You always do exactly what you want no matter what you promised.”

The surge of angry strength was quickly spent, and when Evie went on, her voice was almost lost even in that small, quiet space. “You send some little gift—or some big gift—and expect it to make up for any betrayal, any broken promise. But flowers aren’t the same as a phone call, and a new bracelet isn’t the same thing as coming home when you say you will. Material things don’t equal time. Or love.”

Even though she spoke quietly, her words had their own power. “If you loved me so much, why didn’t I ever come first? Why wasn’t I ever number one on your list of things to db? Or even number two? Or three? Our marriage was always the very last thing on your list of things to take care of.”

“Evie, you know how—”

The elevator suddenly lurched, and Evie let out a little scream.

“What the hell…?” Adam muttered.

“It’s moving. Thank God.”

In seconds they stopped at the thirty-eighth floor, and the doors slid open. Evie stepped forward, sick with relief to make her escape. When Adam followed her, she stopped so fast he almost ran into her. “This isn’t your floor,” she said.

He almost snorted. “You don’t really think I’m just going to let you walk away, do you?”

She knew arguing was pointless, so she turned and stalked across the elevator lobby toward the glass doors. Adam’s long strides easily carried him past her, and before she reached the door, he stepped in front and grabbed the brass pull.

“Thanks,” she snapped.

“My pleasure.”

The receptionist’s desk sat on an emerald island of plush carpet set in the middle of a vast, marble floor and was flanked by deep leather couches and coffee tables. Behind her, a wall of glass looked north and west over the roofs of the Central Library and City Hall and beyond that to Allen’s Landing and the tangled interchange of Interstate 45 and the Katy Freeway. The heavy sky roiled and glowered behind her.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the stylishly gaunt young woman glanced up. Beneath the curving desk Evie could see that smoke-colored hose covered her shapely legs, and she wore forties-style shoes that revealed scarlet toenails. She gave Evie an assessing once-over, and her eyes registered cool disapproval, but when she saw Adam, her face broke into a radiant, porcelain-veneered smile. “Mr. Rabalais,” she gushed.

“Hello, Lisa.”

She beamed. “It’s so nice to see you.”

The girl’s voice had risen and stretched out melodiously as she spoke to Adam. “So nice to see-e-e you.” Oh, barf, Evie thought, and stomped across the floor so her shoes would really squish. She stopped in front of the desk and set the basket down. A leather desk blotter, a magazine and a nail file were arranged artfully next to a small phone set, and a computer sat blank and silent on one corner of the desk. Untouched by human hands, Evie thought, judging by the blonde’s flawless manicure. “I have a delivery for Miss Van Kyle. Would you sign, please.”

With obvious reluctance the girl tore her enraptured gaze from Adam’s face and looked at Evie. “Of course,” she said, and held out her hand. Her eyes immediately snapped back to their original target. “Is there someone I should buzz for you, Mr. Rabalais?”

“No, but thanks, Lisa. By the way, this is my wife, Evangeline. Evie, this is Lisa Roark.”

The girl’s eyes grew to the size of saucers, and she blushed very prettily and murmured something that sounded like, “It’s very nice to…I-I’m sorry I didn’t realize…”

Evie crimped her mouth into a smile. “Delighted,” she said, and again glared at her husband. When the girl finished signing, Evie tore off the receipt, thanked her and turned. Adam’s movements mirrored hers. Neither spoke until they stepped back into the elevator.

“Thank you for that, Adam.”

“Delighted,” he replied.

She felt him standing just behind her, his gaze boring a hole into her back. Her heart began to pound again and she stared at the ceiling, the door, the back of her left hand. When the doors opened, she practically leapt out. Obviously he planned to follow her to the garage. “What are you doing?” she flung at him over her shoulder. “You can’t follow me. I’ll start screaming. I’ll make a scene, Adam, I mean it.”

“Scream away. I told you before, Evie. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we talk.”

She kept walking, then she stiff-armed the swinging doors to the loading dock and all but ran down the short hallway. “Lots of luck,” she said. “You’re gonna look pretty silly running behind the van.”

He didn’t answer.

The instant she reached the loading dock steps, her heart sank. She looked left. Right. Left again.

No van. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

Evie ignored him and walked to the security window. “My van…”

The guard barely glanced up. “I told you, lady. Fifteen minutes.”

Evie’s chest tightened. “Thanks a lot. Now what do I do?”

He tapped the window with his pencil, and Evie saw the notice. For Towed Vehicles Call…

Oh, great. How much is this going to cost?

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, thank you. I’ll get a cab.” As soon as the words were out, Evie had a sickening realization. And pay for it with what? Her purse was carefully stowed under the front seat of the van. Besides, she couldn’t afford cab rides. Even short ones. And how much was it going to cost to get the van out of storage? She could call Olivia, but then who would watch the baby?

Evie wanted to cry. She’d been gone three times longer than she’d intended—almost an hour and a half. It was time to feed Juliette. The van was gone. Her purse was gone. She had no money. And worst of all, Adam would now know where she worked. All he had to do was read the name on the delivery receipt. Since her apartment was over the shop, he’d know where she lived, too. He’d said he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight until they talked, and she knew he meant it. She’d had plenty of experience with his stubborn streak over the years.

This had to happen sooner or later. Before you get on with your life you have things to settle with him. Now’s as good a time as any. But Evie knew there would never be a good time to do what she knew she had to do. She’d put it off for months, but now events had overtaken her. Maybe it’s best, she thought.

He was bound to find us someday.

Her shoulders slumped. Apparently Adam recognized the disintegration of her resolve. “Come with me,” he urged. “I’m parked on the first level. You know I’ll be glad to take you back to work.”

Evie sighed. “Lead the way.”

She turned to follow him. Mercifully, he kept all evidence of satisfaction out of his expression and just acted like anyone coming to the rescue of a stranded friend.

His car, as usual, was impressive—brand new with all the bells and whistles. Adam always did drive the best. She felt a momentary twinge about plopping her soaking wet bottom down on his plush seats, but there were so many other things to be miserable about, damp upholstery hardly rated a second thought.

For a moment she considered taking off the slicker and dropping it on the floorboard, but then he’d be sure to notice how much weight she’d lost. Instead, she just yanked the hood back. Her hair, freed at last, rose around her face like a curly, black sunburst. The bun wadded at the back of her neck immediately began to tickle in a really irritating way.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

So composed, she thought, so smooth—just like this is the most natural thing in the world. “The name of the shop is Something Different. It’s on—”

“Westheimer. I’ve seen it.” He turned the key, and the engine roused with a smug purr. Evie huddled against the door. Here she was, not two feet away from him. After all these months. After…everything else. She felt as if time had telescoped, as if the months had evaporated and they hadn’t been separated at all.

You’d better tell him before we get to the shop. You know he’s going to come in—if not today, someday soon. At the thought of it her stomach closed on itself and she clamped her arms over her middle.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

They ascended the ramp, and a sheet of rain smacked the windshield as the car emerged into the gray afternoon. Evie became aware of music on the stereo and recognized the song. “Desperate Men Do Desperate Things.” She reached forward and snapped it off.

“I thought you liked Jimmy LaFave.”

“I—I do. I just don’t feel like listening to music right now. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.”

Well, aren’t we Mr. Accommodating.

Although she kept her face turned away she felt him watching her—studying her. He shifted slightly in his seat. “Jimmy’s in town this weekend. At McGonigel’s.”

“Mmm,” she said.

“Have you been there lately?”

“No. I don’t go out much.”

“I went by and talked to Rusty a couple of days ago. Teresa’s pregnant. Twins.”

She gasped. Could he possibly…? No. No way.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah.” She turned toward him. “But you’ve got to admit, Adam. This is pretty awkward. It’s ridiculous to act like things are normal between us.”

“I know. I’m just glad to see you, to be with you. But you seem, I don’t know, really jumpy.”

But she looks the same, he thought. Well, almost the same. Thinner. Pale. And he knew she’d been crying. All night long, judging by the way her eyes were puffed up. It had to be that stupid item in the paper. She’d taken off her wedding rings, too. That hurt. Again, he’d bet it was that thing in the paper. Better not to ask about it right now, he thought.

More than anything he wanted to pull the car over, cup her perfect, heart-shaped face in his hands and kiss her silly. He was completely certain if he tried to, she’d slap his face.

He wasn’t about to give up, though. They belonged together. Damn it, he loved her, and he knew she still loved him. He’d made a serious miscalculation about how she’d felt about going overseas, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t go on like before. He was back now. For a little while. He knew he could convince her to join him. After all, they’d been together for years. They were soul mates. He’d never been as close to anyone as he had been to Evie Beauchamp. He knew she felt the same way.

He remembered the day he met her at the Alexanders’ house. He’d been at Evansville High School for less than a month, and Louis Alexander had already become a good friend. Still, Adam always hated going to someone’s home for the first time—especially the home of someone like Louis Alexander. His father was a doctor and his mother was principal of the elementary school. They were the aristocracy of the small town, and Adam’s family was very far removed from those circles.

When they’d walked in through the kitchen, the first thing Adam had seen was the enormous pot of gumbo bubbling on the stove. His spirits had risen considerably. Right next to the stove, a steaming bowl of white fluffy rice sat on an iron trivet. Loaves of crusty French bread were set out along with slabs of real butter, and there were napkins stacked next to a mountain of bowls and plates. The napkins were cloth—blue-and-white checkered. He remembered vividly everything he saw that day.

When the two of them walked through to the family room, Adam saw at least fifteen people sprawled on comfortable-looking furniture, spilling onto the floor and piled together on beat-up beanbag chairs. Everyone was watching The Wizard of Oz on Dr. Alexander’s new big-screen TV. Adam was introduced around, and though he was able to remember a few of the names—there were five other Alexander children—there were so many neighborhood kids, he couldn’t possibly remember who was who. Evie stood out, though.

She was nearly fourteen then, but could have passed for twelve. Or ten. She sat folded up on the divan like a grasshopper, wedged between Mary Margaret and little Hughie Alexander. Her hair was an untamed, ebony corkscrew mane, and she had enormous, jade green eyes. She was stick thin, and Adam’s first impression was a black-haired Little Orphan Annie.

Louis stood next to Adam; dutifully intoning names.

“…and Heather, and this is my brother Hughie, and this is Evie Beauchamp—she lives next door—and my sister Mary Margaret—”

“Hey,” some fat kid chortled from one of the beanbags. “Adam and Evie. Ha ha ha. Somebody get Evie an apple. Now you’ll finally have a boyfriend. Adam and Ee-vie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—”

The kid might have continued ragging her for a while before the others shushed him, but that didn’t happen. Without a second’s hesitation, Evie launched herself from the couch and flew through the air, bony arms and legs outstretched like a spider monkey flinging itself from tree to tree. She hit the boy squarely in the gut—a flailing whirlwind of skinny limbs—and had to be pulled away. Adam liked her immediately. He admired a fighter.

Later, after the movie, and replete with several bowls of Mrs. Alexander’s spicy seafood gumbo, Adam rose and thanked his hosts. He liked them and he could tell that they liked him, too. They eventually became his surrogate parents, and he lived with them his senior year of high school. But that first night Evie stood up to leave at the same time he did. He knew she’d been watching him during the evening, and had timed her exit to coincide with his. He had smiled inwardly, wondering what had piqued her interest.

He wasn’t amused; he was charmed.

“Well,” she said, standing and stretching her whippet-thin arms, “I’ve got to go feed Snoopy.”

“You’re coming back, aren’t you, dear?” Mrs. Alexander asked. Adam heard the protectiveness in the older woman’s voice and wondered at it.

“Sure,” Evie said. “I gotta go get my stuff.”

“Is Snoopy your dog?” Adam asked.

Evie met his gaze, and he realized her eyes looked more emerald close up. “No, Snoopy’s my pony. I wish I had a dog, though. That’s what I really wanted.”

“Boy was she surprised Christmas Day,” Hughie said. “She named him Snoopy, anyway, ‘cause she’d already picked the name.”

“Wow,” Adam said. “A pony! Your folks must be really generous to give you a pony when you asked for a dog.”

“Not really,” she said evenly. “They’d do just about anything to keep me outside.”

Adam had started to laugh, but noticed just in time that an awkward silence had fallen in the room. Then he noticed the meaningful glances passing among some of the older people.

“Anyway,” she said. “My folks are dead. I live with my Aunt Nila and Uncle Richard. It’s the next house, but you can’t really see it through the trees.”

He noticed that Evie wasn’t as young as he’d first thought; she was just small. Her face was serious, and she had fair skin and a wide, intelligent forehead. Her lips were full and curved up naturally—a perfect Cupid’s bow mouth, his mother would say. He’d never seen hair so thick and shiny. Thick, sooty lashes fringed her eyes, and her eyebrows arched high and fine on her unfreckled skin.

“Well, I think you’re lucky, anyway,” he said. “I’ve never had a pet at all.”

She blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“You want to come see Snoopy?” she asked.

“I can’t today, but the next time I come I’d like to.” She nodded, but he could see that she didn’t believe him. He also saw that she accepted it without protest. She was obviously someone who’d grown accustomed to disappointment. At that moment it became vitally important to him not to let her down. He promised he’d go see her pony the very next time he was there. And he’d been true to his word. That time.

Adam sighed. That was ages ago—going on fourteen years. They were so different now. Although Evie looked much the same. She was still girlishly small with enormous green eyes that changed color depending on what she wore. Or her mood. And that hair. She’d tamed her mad curls, and they usually cascaded over her shoulders like a blue-black waterfall, but wet weather gave her fits with it.

He wanted to stare at her, to devour her with his eyes…and hands. After all, he’d been starved for her for months. But the traffic was crawling and the roads were glassy with water. At least she was only a couple of feet away. So close, so close. He wanted to touch her hair and her face, and take her hand in his, but tension rolled off her like high notes on a violin. Something’s really wrong, he thought. Maybe she’s found somebody else…His mind slammed shut on the thought. She wouldn’t. Not Evie. Not while they were still married.

She took a breath. “So, how long are you supposed to be in town?”

Adam swallowed. This was exactly the question he’d wanted to avoid. “I’m not sure.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, and he saw the curve of her lip. She didn’t even have to say it out loud. He imagined she was thinking, Just as I thought.

“How’s the assignment going?” she asked.

Don’t lie, just be smart. “Better than I thought. The refinery isn’t taking nearly as long as we thought to rework. They’ll be at forty percent soon. We hope to be at eighty-five percent in less than six months.”

“So everything’s working out for you. Just like you hoped.”

“No, Evie. Not like I hoped. I want you with me.” He took his right hand off the steering wheel. He meant to reach for hers, but she shrank against the door and hugged herself even tighter than before. God, she won’t even let me touch her hand. Long moments stretched out, measured by the slap of the windshield wipers and the hiss of tires on wet asphalt.

He wanted to get her talking. If only he could capture her interest somehow. God, he’d never felt so awkward—so inept. Surely there was something…“We go whale watching sometimes. You’d like that.”

“Mmm. Whale watching. Sounds fun,” she murmured, but Adam could tell she wasn’t really paying attention. She’d turned away to trace the falling pattern of rivulets on the window with her finger. When she retreated this way she always struck him as somehow childlike. Not just because she was so little, but long ago he had realized that something inside her had just given up and remained somehow suspended.

He saw it at times like this—the way she would just tune him out and go into herself. Maybe it was losing her parents so young, or being raised by that cold-fish aunt and the demented uncle. Seeing her this way—so out of reach—made him want to gather her to him all the more. To hold her. To lose himself inside her.

“So, tell me,” she said presently. “Where are you off to after San Asfallia?”

Adam didn’t answer. For years he’d stressed to her that hardship assignments were a shortcut to promotion. But it was more than that. He’d taken difficult assignments because he liked—no, he needed the challenge. Ever since he was young, his accomplishments—the evidence of his success—had distanced him from the memory of the grinding poverty he’d grown up in.

At first Evie had understood his need to be challenged, to fight the elements in the oil field and the boardroom. She’d known how the gnawing sense of failure that had always seemed to be waiting to devour him could only have been defeated by achievement. That had been the essence of his personality. He’d known that, and Evie’d known that. She’d taken pride in his drive and ambition. At first. Later on it had forced a wedge between them.

It seemed that as soon as they were married, Evie wanted to settle down—right away—and start having children, even though she knew if they had small children, company policy would exclude Adam from the assignments he wanted. This had been the source of Evie’s unhappiness.

God, the arguments they’d had over kids. And after only a couple of years—four or five at the mostshe’d just become so stubborn and had refused to see, wouldn’t be reasonable or even try to understand at all.

“Well are you going to answer me?” She swung around, and Adam recognized the challenge in her posture. She might as well have said it. Was it worth the breakup of our marriage? Or does this mean you’ve decided to come home to stay? “Where to next? Afghanistan? Ghana?”

God, it was like she was clairvoyant. How many times had they laughed about reading each other’s thoughts? But things just weren’t that simple.

“I’m not sure, this assignment’s not over yet, and I won’t know what comes next until we’re done. Like I said, we’re ahead of schedule—months, but it’ll be at least another—”

“I see,” she said, and turned away again.

“Evie…”

“What? You see? Even now, no matter what you say, work comes first, doesn’t it?”

“Why don’t you come with me? Just try it, darling. Argentina’s not beautiful, but we can travel to other places. I need you with…”

“I want a divorce, Adam,” she said. “As soon as possible. Tomorrow. And there’s something else you ought to know.”

She turned to face him, and when Adam saw her eyes, he almost pulled the car over. The way she looked was almost scary—like a cornered animalterrified but ready, almost eager to get on with the fight.

“I have a baby, Adam.”

Chapter Three

Adam hit the brakes, and the car fishtailed dangerously. As they slid into the outside lane, a rain-dappled half-ton pickup drifted into Evie’s peripheral vision, and she cringed in anticipation. Just in time the driver swerved and avoided them, but his horn blared—almost in Evie’s ear it seemed—and she clutched at the dashboard to brace herself. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

Adam didn’t answer, but his knuckles stood out white against his dark skin as he deftly brought the car back under control and maneuvered across the lanes. Nearly expressionless he coasted into the next parking lot they came to without ever saying a word. Evie knew he was dangerously angry.

When the car came to a stop he turned to face her. “What did you say to me?”

“I said, ‘Have you lost your mind?”’

“Don’t be cute, Evie. What the hell is going on?”

She swallowed and looked around. They were just blocks from the shop, and she knew it would only take a few minutes to walk home. At this point she didn’t give a damn if she had to walk in the rain. “I don’t want to stop here.” She popped her seat belt and reached for the door handle. “If you’re not going to—”

She wasn’t even aware that he’d moved until his hand clamped down around her wrist. His expression never changed. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. What about a baby? Whose baby?”

Evie didn’t bother to struggle, instead she faced him square on. “Her name is Juliette, and I’m adopting her. Her mother is—was—my roommate. Don’t worry, Adam, she’s not your responsibility. Nothing is going to stand in the way of your career.”

“Wait a minute. Did you say her mother was…”?

“Yes.” Evie made a point of looking down at her wrist, not only because she wanted him to let go, she also knew she couldn’t look him in the face—not now, not with what she had to say next. “Her name was Marlene Hitchcock,” she said softly. “Marlene’s dead.”

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