Norah Couldn’t Sleep. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright

Norah Couldn’t Sleep.

If she were honest with herself—something she always strove to be—she knew the real cause of her sleeplessness could be summed up in two words. Elijah Wilder.

She’d made a mistake. More accurately, she’d made several.

First, she hadn’t thought enough past the immediate goal of getting married. When she had considered it, she’d envisioned a civilized, adult arrangement.

She had not foreseen knee-weakening, strength-sapping kisses.

Or disturbing visits to her bedroom.

Or veiled suggestions of more to come.

Most of all, she’d never imagined her own improper reaction.

But then, who would have thought that kissing Eli would be the most frightening, marvelous, exciting thing she’d ever done? That she would enjoy every sensation and every second? That she would be sorry when it ended?

Certainly not her. And even if she had, it did not mean she wanted more.

Did it?

Dear Reader,

MEN! This month Silhouette Desire goes man-crazy with six of the sexiest, heart-stopping hunks ever to come alive on the pages of a romance novel.

Meet May’s MAN OF THE MONTH, love-wary secret agent Daniel Lawless, in The Passionate G-Man, the first book in Dixie Browning’s fabulous new miniseries, THE LAWLESS HEIRS Metsy Hingle’s gallant hero protects an independent lady in danger in the last book of the RIGHT BRIDE, WRONG GROOM series, The Bodyguard and the Bridesmaid Little bitty Joeville, Montana, has more tall, dark and rugged ranchers than any other town west of the Mississippi. And Josh Malone has more sex appeal than all of ’em put together in Last of the Joeville Lovers, the third book in Anne Eames’s MONTANA MALONES series.

In The Notorious Groom, Caroline Cross pairs the baddest boy ever to roam the streets of Kisscount with the town virgin in a steamy marriage of convenience. The hero of Barbara McCauley’s Seduction of the Reluctant Bride is one purebred Texas cowboy fixin’ to do some wife-wranglin’—this new groom isn’t about to miss a sultry second of his very own wedding night, Yeehaw! Next, when a suddenly wealthy beauty meets the owner of the ranch next door, he’s wearing nothing but a Stetson and a smile in Carol Grace’s The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy.

Silhouette Desire brings you the kind of irresistible men who make your knees buckle, your stomach flutter, your heart melt...and your fingers turn the page. So enjoy our lineup of spectacular May men!

Regards,

Senior Editor

Silhouette Books

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 Ene, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Notorious Groom

Caroline Cross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROLINE CROSS

always loved to read, but it wasn’t until she discovered the romance genre that she felt compelled to write, fascinated by the chance to explore the positive power of love in people’s lives. Nominated for a number of awards, including the prestigious RITA, she’s been thrilled to win the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Desire, as well as a W.I.S.H. Award. She grew up in central Washington State, attended the University of Puget Sound and now lives outside Seattle, where she tries to work at home despite the chaos created by two telephone-addicted teenage daughters and a husband with a fondness for home improvement projects. Caroline would love to hear from her readers. She can be reached at P.O. Box 5845, Bellevue, Washington 98006.

To Melinda McRae, for her support and understanding,

and

To Susan Andersen, brainstorming partner

extraordinaire, whose insight and sense of

humor keep me on track.

Sometimes a writer is only as good as her friends.

Thanks for getting me through this book.

One

“Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Bunny-Boo Brown.”

Norah Jane froze on the heat-seared concrete stoop of the Cabin Court Motel’s bungalow number eight and stared, wide-eyed, at Elijah Wilder.

After three days of agonizing about this encounter, she’d thought she was prepared for anything.

She’d fully expected their first face-to-face meeting m sixteen years to be stilted and awkward. She’d resigned herself to the idea that she would be nervous and tongue-tied. She’d been braced for him to use that awful mck-name and she’d even conceded, since she’d seen him around town upon occasion, that he was more heart-stoppingly handsome than he’d been in high school.

But never had it occurred to her that he might come to the door without all his clothes on.

How foolish of her. After all, hadn’t he been the bane of her adolescence and the baddest boy to ever roam the streets of Kisscount, Oregon? So wasn’t it right in character that he was now lounging in the doorway as tall, golden and self-possessed as ever, clad in nothing more than a scanty pair of cutoffs and a mildly inquisitive expression?

Yes, yes and yes.

She took a long, shuddering breath and told herself she was not going to hyperventilate. Careful to keep her eyes fixed on his face, she rubbed her damp palms against the full skirt of her high-necked cotton dress and tried to ignore the way her heart was pounding. “E-E-Elijah. I hope I d-didn’t wake you.” Oh, dear. She was stammering. She hadn’t done that since he’d caught her alone in the hallway after high school graduation and pretended he wanted to kiss her.

“As a matter of fact...” He leaned one broad bare shoulder against the doorjamb as if standing required more energy than he could muster and yawned.

Her gaze took advantage of his momentary preoccupation to slide downward. In a sort of slow motion haze, she registered the solid expanse of his bronzed chest and hard, flat abdomen. A silky arrow of gilded hair started above his navel and led down past a distinct tan line to disappear beneath the unbuttoned waistband of his abbreviated jeans.

She swayed, feeling dizzy.

“Hey, Boo. You okay?”

The warm brush of his fingers against her shoulder jolted Norah. She jerked her gaze to his face, mortified to see the lazy amusement in his hooded eyes. He knew, drat him. He knew the disconcerting effect his near nakedness was having on her. Worse, he was enjoying her discomfiture, just as he had a thousand times in the past. “I’m p-perfectly fine,” she lied.

A ghost of a smile hovered at the edges of his chiseled mouth. “Good.” He eased back and resumed his lazy stance. “What time is it, anyway?”

She glanced gratefully at her wristwatch. “Elev—” Her voice cracked, and she stopped to clear her throat. “Eleven-thirty.”

“Ah.” He yawned again and raked a hand through his thick, sun-streaked, gold-on-bronze hair. “That early.” After an unhurried perusal of the mostly empty parking lot, he brought his gaze back to her. “So... To what do I owe the pleasure? You lost? Your car break down? Or...” He lowered his voice an intimate fraction and his incredible navy eyes got even bluer. “Did you finally realize how much you’ve missed me all these years?”

The businesslike speech she’d practiced all morning deserted her. Trapped in his mesmerizing gaze, she could barely recall her name, much less how she intended to convince him he ought to help her keep Willow Run—her home, her haven, her sanctuary.

Instead, every instinct she had urged her to run. It was only the promise she’d made to young Chelsea Wilder that she’d try to think of a way to aid the child’s father that kept her in place.

A promise, after all, was a sacred trust.

She dampened her suddenly dry lips. “M-may I come in?”

His eyebrows, as elegantly shaped as the rest of his chiseled face, rose fractionally. He shrugged. “Why not?” He stepped back, inviting her to follow with a crook of his hand.

Norah took a deep breath, then stepped cautiously after him, giving a little jump as the door swung shut behind her. There was no foyer and as soon as her eyes adjusted to the gloomy light she began looking around curiously.

On her left was the kitchenette, comprised of a yellow counter, a sinkful of dirty dishes, an oven with a chipped corner and an old refrigerator. A small table and two chairs were set against one wall beside a dingy window. Straight ahead a pair of doors opened onto a small bedroom and bathroom. To her right was the living room, identifiable by the TV bolted midway up one wall and by a scarred walnut coffee table and a squat chair upholstered in a nubby orange fabric. The furniture had been pushed aside to make room for an open hideabed sofa, which sported a thin double mattress and a tangle of limp white sheets. Cardboard boxes, which she assumed were filled with his and Chelsea’s belongings, were stacked around the room.

She turned as Eli swept a jumble of clothes off one of the kitchen chairs, dropped them on the floor and gestured for her to sit. “Excuse the mess. It’s the maid’s day off.”

She sat, grateful for the chance to take the weight off her shaking knees. The bungalow’s interior was warm and stuffy, the air flavored with a faint, acrid odor of smoke. She looked around for a fireplace before it dawned on her that the smell must be coming from the boxes.

With a stab of remorse, she looked over at Eli as he strolled toward the counter, moving with the easy, graceful motion of a well-oiled machine. “I’m sorry about the fire,” she said quietly, her eyes riveted to the long, clean lines of his bare back.

There was the slightest hesitation in his stride. He shrugged, setting off a ripple of muscle. “Stuff happens.”

“At least no one was hurt.”

“Yeah. That’s true.” He turned and propped himself against the kitchen counter.

“I... understand there’s some question about what may have started it.”

Just for an instant, his mouth tightened and he didn’t look quite so benign. “Where did you hear that?”

“I... believe Chelsea may have mentioned it. You do know, of course, that she comes to the library, don’t you? She’s taking part in my summer reading program.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his expression abruptly softening at the mention of his daughter. “She likes books.”

“She’s very bright. And sweet and engaging and...and very creative.”

“Yeah, she’s that, all right.” He was silent for a moment. “So what happened? She try to check out Madonna’s book again? Or hack into some bank accounts with the library’s computer?”

Startled, she sat up a little straighter. “Oh, no. No! I’m sure Chelsea would never dream of doing either of those things.”

“Yeah, right.” That amused look was back on his face as he studied her. “Look, you want something to drink?” He pushed away from the counter without waiting for her answer.

“Why, yes. That...that would be nice.”

He opened the refrigerator, reached in and emerged holding a pair of aluminum cans. He bumped the appliance door shut with his hip, then crossed the narrow space that separated them and offered her one.

She accepted it, unprepared for the inexplicable little tingle she felt as his fingers touched hers. Flustered, she watched through her lashes as he restaked his claim on the counter, popped the tab on his can, then tipped his head back and took a long swallow, ending with a drawn-out “Ahhh.”

Something about that sound warned her. She looked down at her own can. It was beer, she saw with a shock. She opened her mouth to protest, only to hastily shut it as she looked up and saw the anticipation in his eyes.

Gathering her dignity, she set her unopened can on the table and folded her hands in her lap. “I find I’m not that thirsty after all.”

“Ah.” He nodded and took another sip, doing his best to look serious as he regarded her over the top of his own can. “You gonna tell me what this is all about?”

She swallowed. The moment of truth had arrived. “Well, you see,” she began carefully, feeling her way. “Chelsea mentioned that there was a slight problem with your insurance, and I thought I might be able to help.”

“Ah. You know someone at Security-TrustCo?”

“Security-TrustCo?” she said blankly.

“My insurance company.”

“Oh. No. I mean, I might, but that wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

He shifted impatiently. “Listen, Boo, I’m sure your intentions are good. But other than putting in a good word for me at the insurance company, I don’t see what you can do. I don’t take charity. From anybody. Although—” he cocked his head and gave her an assessing look “—I wouldn’t be averse to a little comforting.”

Her stomach did a flip-flop. “It wouldn’t be charity,” she said hastily, focusing on the first part of his statement, since she knew he didn’t really mean the other. Why should he? He could have anyone. He didn’t have to settle for a plain, almost thirty-four-year-old virgin he’d nicknamed “Bunny-Boo” because she reminded him of a scared little rabbit. “The point is, I have a little dilemma of my own, and I hoped—” She glanced down at her skirt, nervously pleating the fabric between her fingers. “I hoped that perhaps we could arrange something...mutually advantageous.”

“You need help?”

“No. I mean, yes. That is—” She gave a quavery sigh, squeezed her eyes shut and told herself impatiently that she might as well just spit it out. “My birthday is a week from Sunday and I have to get married,” she said all in a rush.

There was a deafening silence. Norah waited tensely, then screwed up her courage and opened her eyes.

Her heart plummeted when she saw Eli’s expression. He looked...stunned. Perturbed. And—oh, dear!—annoyed. Clearly she’d overstepped her bounds. She never should have come here, never should have entertained such a far-fetched idea.

“Tell me who he is,” he said grimly, “and I’ll take care of him.”

It was her turn to look stunned. Then heat flooded her face as it dawned on her what he thought. “No. Oh, no, I didn’t mean...I’m not...I’ve never..” She paused, trying to calm herself, only to hear herself blurt out, “It...it’s my grandfather.”

“What?” He jerked upright. “I thought he was dead.”

“Oh, he is! More than three years. But he had very old-fashioned ideas and he left a will and—”

“Norah.” Although he didn’t raise his voice, Eli’s tone stopped her cold. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I have to get married. By a week from next Sunday. Otherwise, if I’m still single when I turn thirty-four, I lose Willow Run.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Hold on a minute. You want to marry me so you can keep your house?”

“Yes. Exactly! I thought.. it’s just...Willow Run is so big. You and Chelsea could live there until you get matters settled with your insurance company. And if you wanted to, you could convert the old carriage house into a temporary garage, so you could get back to work. You’d be able to save money because you wouldn’t have any overhead—”

He shook his head. “It’s nice of you to think of me, but I really don’t think—”

“Please, Eli!” Desperation gave her the courage she needed to continue. “I.. I realize now that Chelsea must have misunderstood and you don’t need any assistance, but I do. I don’t want to lose Willow Run. Surely after losing your own home, you can understand. Besides, this would be a temporary arrangement. Lasting only a few months, or even less, depending on how long it takes the probate judge to sign off on Grandfather’s estate once he has a copy of our marriage certificate. And Willow Run would be a wonderful place for Chelsea to spend the summer. She’d have her own room, and there’s a tree house and a pond and lots of space to play and explore. She could have friends over to spend the night, and you and I, well, we wouldn’t even have to see each other if we didn’t want to.” She looked at him beseechingly as she ran out of breath.

He stared back, his expression impossible to read. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said finally.

“Oh, yes.”

He tapped his fingers against the counter. “But it’s crazy. Damn, it’s worse than crazy, it’s probably illegal.”

Swallowing her surprise that he cared, she shook her head. “No. It was Grandfather’s attorney who suggested it. He was against the provision in the will in the first place. He...he says it’s archaic.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, maybe you should many him then.”

Her heart sank. Clearly he’d already come to a decision, and it wasn’t the one she’d hoped for. “I believe that would be considered a conflict of interest,” she said in a small voice. “Plus, he already has a wife.”

“Bummer. But that doesn’t mean I’m the next logical choice. Think what marrying me would do to your reputation. The entire town would go into shock. We both know I’m not exactly a role model. There’s got to be somebody more suitable.” He thought for a moment. “I know. How about Ken McDonald?”

“He got married last week.”

“Ian Koontz.”

“He moved to Portland in April.”

“Joey Carmicheal.”

“He’s living with someone.”

“Then how about Matt Winfrey?”

Norah plucked listlessly at her skirt. “That’s who Joey’s living with.” She told herself she shouldn’t feel so devastated. She’d known Eli was a long shot. At least he hadn’t thrown back his golden head and laughed at her. It wasn’t his fault she was out of options.

Swallowing her misery, she climbed to her feet. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”

“No problem.” Eli hesitated, then said slowly, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure.” She started toward the door. Some sixth sense warned her that he was right behind her, but for once she didn’t care. “I guess I could speak to Nick Carpetti....”

“Nick Carpetti? I thought he was in jail.”

“He’s out on parole,” she said absently.

“Yeah, but still...I don’t think that’s a good idea, Boo.”

She shrugged dispiritedly. “There isn’t anyone else. Unless—” She stopped and turned to look up at him. “Will you just think about it? Please, Eh?”

He was silent, his perfect mouth pursed as he considered her plea. Finally he blew out an exasperated breath. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it. But that’s all I’ll do. Don’t get your hopes up. You need to consider some alternatives.”

“Oh, I will I promise.” He was going to think about it! She couldn’t contain a tremulous smile. “I’ll call you, okay? Or you can call me. Or...or come by the house or whatever you choose.” Filled with renewed hope, she reached for the doorknob, anxious to escape before he changed his mind. She tugged, only to give a little squeak as he caught her by the arm and gently spun her around.

“There’s just one more thing,” he said.

She stared up at him, her heart thumping as she saw the glint lighting his eyes. She wet her lips. “What’s that?”

“I just want to say that I appreciate the proposal.” He planted his hand against the door frame only inches from her head. “I always suspected you had the hots for me. Now I know.”

“Oh, no.” She tried to lean back, but there was nowhere to go. “I don’t! I mean—” Her eyes widened in horror as she realized she’d just unintentionally insulted him. “I mean, I like you, but not that way....” Her assurance died a quick death as his mouth slowly curved in a wicked smile.

“You one hundred percent sure about that, Boo, honey? Maybe we should find out.”

“Oh, no. I don’t...that is—”

He dipped his head, so close that she could smell the clean, slightly musky scent of his skin.

With a frantic squeak, Norah did what she’d always done in the past where Eli was concerned. She pushed him away, yanked open the door and fled.

Eli stood on the stoop and watched Norah’s panicky escape. Since she was on foot, as usual, he had a few minutes to reflect on their encounter before she finally turned the corner at the end of the block and disappeared from sight.

He shook his head. Good old Bunny-Boo, with her wide gray eyes and her stick-straight, mud-colored hair in that oversize bun. Not only did she look the way she had in high school, small, earnest and pale, with her body swaddled in one of her trademark lace-collared granny dresses, but she was just as easy to rattle. A little provocative innuendo and whammy! Faster than you could say Peter Rabbit, she’d regressed into her adolescent run-for-cover routine.

Not that he’d been much better, he admitted ruefully, knowing he ought to be ashamed of his less-than-gentlemanly behavior.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from his face. The instant he’d realized who was. on his doorstep he’d felt sixteen again, consumed by the old need to see what it would take to shock Norah—to set off her stammer or make her eyes widen or turn her cheeks pink.

Eli raked a hand through his hair. Okay, so he’d behaved badly Hell, what else was new? It was a natural talent, one he’d had thirty-four years to practice. He was good at it. It wasn’t his fault there was something about Norah that had always gotten to him.

In any event, it was his first real transgression in a three-week stretch that could best be described as hellacious. Things had started to go downhill the night he’d awakened to the smell of smoke and found his house and adjoining auto repair shop on fire. Although he and Chelsea had gotten out unscathed, the house and most of their belongings had been destroyed. So was the business he’d spent three long years building up. And thanks to an insurance company that was dragging its feet about paying out, his savings were quickly diminishing. Despite what he’d told Norah, he was going to be flat broke by the end of the month at the rate things were going.

So that makes it all right to give her a bad time? What are you going to do for an encore? Steal candy from babies? Roll little old ladies for their Social Security money?

Well, hell. It wasn’t as if he’d meant any harm. He’d just been having a little fun. He was only human, after all. And though women of all ages, shapes and sizes had been tossing propositions his way for most of his life, none of their offers had a thing to do with marriage. He was entitled to be a tad off balance when someone he hadn’t seen in sixteen years proposed to him. Particularly when that someone was Bunny-Boo Brown, voted by their high school classmates as the girl most likely to enter a convent—even though she wasn’t Catholic.

His mouth quirked. He still found it hard to believe she’d actually found the courage to ask him to marry her. He supposed it was rather flattering...in a weird sort of way. Not that he was actually considering the scheme. Like he’d said, he didn’t take charity. He’d been on his own for most of his life and he’d done all right. One way or another, he’d get through this, too.

More to the point, he had a daughter to consider. Unlike Norah, who’d grown up in a big house with her wealthy, ultrarespectable, ultraresponsible grandfather, Chelsea had been through a lot in her short span of years. While he couldn’t do a thing to change the past, he sure as hell intended to provide his daughter with a steady, secure, stable future. As far as he could see, that ruled out a temporary marriage—no matter how sorry he might be that Bunny-Boo was probably going to lose the family mansion.

So why had he waffled there at the end?

He pondered the question as he walked back into the kitchen, surveyed the dirty dishes in the sink, then swung into action. First, he poured out what was left of his beer, unable to suppress a brief smile as he recalled Norah’s horrified expression. Then he put the stopper in place, squirted in some soap, turned on the faucet, picked up a dishrag and dug in.

Maybe his behavior had been a temporary aberration due to sleep deprivation. God knew, he was tired enough to qualify. thanks to his new habit of lying awake nights worrying.

Then again, maybe it had simply been a knee-jerk reaction to his general frustration. Lately, all he seemed to do was collect job rejections, fight with the insurance adjustor and play Susie Homemaker. As hard as it was to believe—and, God knew, he was as shocked as anybody—he actually missed having a business to run and a job to go to every day.

Which just went to show how bizarre the world had become. First Bunny-Boo Brown proposed, then the next thing he knew, he was hankering for his lost responsibilities. Shaking his head at the irony, he placed the last spoon in the drainer and dried his hands. He’d just finished folding the towel when he heard the familiar slap of rubber sneakers on the cement stoop. He turned and a second later the door flew open and the small bundle of pure energy that was Chelsea launched herself into the room.

“Hey, Eli, guess what?” The nine-year-old tossed a battered backpack on the floor, tucked an unruly golden curl behind one shell-like ear and snatched a cookie out of a package on the counter, talking the entire time. “Sarah’s cat, Ma Barker, had babies! She had ‘em in Sarah’s closet and there’s six in all and Sarah got to watch and she said it was gross ’cuz they came out all slimy, but then Ma licked it off and she wanted to barf—Sarah, not Ma.” She waved one delicate hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter, though, ’cuz now the kittens are all clean and fluffy and soft, only, did you know they can’t see anything? But Sarah’s mom said that pretty soon they’ll be able to, and when they’re old enough I can have one if it’s okay with you, so can I? Please? I really, really want one.” She took a long-overdue breath, wolfed a large bite of the cookie and regarded him hopefully with her big blue eyes.

Eli noted the imploring expression on her face, which was a smaller, feminized version of his own, and knew he was sunk. Since she so rarely asked for anything, there was no way he could turn her down. Still, he didn’t want to spoil her. At least, not too much. He wanted to be the sort of steady, responsible parent that he’d never had. “You’d have to take care of it. Feed it. Brush it. Probably change a litter box—”

“Oh, I will! I will. I promise!” She flung herself at him, gave him a quick hug, then sprinted to the phone. “Wait till I tell Sarah!”

“Chelse, hold on.”

“But I’ve got to tell Sarah it’s okay right away, so they don’t give the one I want to somebody else. He’s orange with stripes and he’s got a kink in his tail. I’m gonna call him Oliver Twist!”

“You can call Sarah in a little while.”

“But Eli—”

“Trust me. There isn’t going to be a crowd lining up to claim those kittens,” he said dryly. “And right now, I want to discuss something else.”

She reluctantly set down the receiver. “Like what?”

“Like you telling people we’re having a hard time.”

Her expression went from puzzled to indignant in the blink of an eye. “I didn’t!”

“Not even to Miss Brown at the library?”

She flushed. “Oh, that.”

“Yeah. That.”

“But it doesn’t count,” she protested. “Not really.”

“How do you figure?”

She rolled her eyes. “‘Cuz Miss Brown’s different. She’s really nice. And she really listens when you tell her stuff, but she never gossips. And she likes me for me—not so she can be friends with you. Besides, the only reason I said anything—at least at first—was ’cuz I needed to know how to spell something. You can’t look it up if you don’t know how to spell it,” she finished earnestly.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, more than a little taken aback by her obvious regard for Norah. “Just out of curiosity, what was the word?”

For the first time, she looked uneasy. “Bankruptcy,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“Bankruptcy? Where the hell did you hear about that?”

“Oooh. You swore.” She stuck out her hand. “Pay up.”

“Chelsea,” he warned.

She pouted. “Pay up or I’m not saying another word.”

Silently cursing the weak moment when he’d agreed to her scheme to cure him of using profanity by charging him twenty-five cents for every expletive, he stalked across the room, snatched up the jeans he’d worn the night before and tossed her two quarters. “Okay. Now answer the damn question.”

She sent him a reproachful look but complied. “I heard it from you. You were on the phone talking to Uncle Joe. Usually I don’t pay attention ’cuz it’s just about cars and engines and sports and stuff, but this time you sounded so worried...” Her voice trailed off. “I never heard you sound like that.”

And here he’d thought he was doing such a good job shielding her from the gravity of their situation. “Ah, Chelse. You should have said something.”

“I couldn’t! I didn’t want you to think I was ease... eades—”

“Eavesdropping?”

“Yeah. Plus I know you think I’m only a kid and you don’t want me to worry. But then Sarah’s mom told Sarah we might have to move, and Sarah told me, and I don’t want to. I like it here. I don’t want it to be the way it was...before. So I thought...maybe, if I told Miss Brown about it, she might help.” She cocked her head consideringly. “How come you know I talked to her, anyway?”

“Miss Brown—” he felt strange referring to Bunny-Boo so formally “—came to see me.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Does she want to give us some money? She said she’d try to think of a way to help, and everybody knows she’s got lots.”

Eli stared at her, at a loss for words. “No,” he managed finally.

Chelsea’s thin shoulders slumped. She glanced dejectedly at the toe of one small sneaker. “Oh.”

“And even if she did offer money, I wouldn’t take it, baby. Things are a little tough right now, but we’re going to be all right. I promise.”

She didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway. “Okay.” Her brow creased. “But...what did she want?”

He hesitated, not quite certain how Chelsea would take the news. “Believe it or not, she wanted us to get married.”

Her head snapped up. “Really? Wow! That’s awesome! So are you going to do it?”

He stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“But why not?”

For a split second he was tempted to blurt out the truth. Because I’m not the marrying type. And even if I was, the last person on earth I’d pick for a wife would be Bunny-Boo Brown, whose idea of a good time is probably rearranging a card catalog.

Yet one look at Chelsea’s trusting blue eyes made him realize the need for a little diplomacy. He cleared his throat. “Because,” he explained, “Miss...Brown and I don’t love each other. Heck, we barely even know each other. And it’s not like it would be a real marriage. It would only be a temporary one, for the summer—”

“That’s okay.” Chelsea gestured expressively. “Lots of my friends’ parents are divorced. And this way I wouldn’t feel bad when things were over ’cuz I’d know what was going on. And we’d have a really neat place to live this summer, with a yard and trees for Oliver and—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No. And that’s all there is to it.”

She gave him her offended look and fell silent—for all of ten seconds. “Eh?”

“What?”

“How come Miss Brown asked you? I mean...I know why we should marry her.” The look she flashed him was eloquent. “But why does she want to marry us?”

He shrugged. “It’s a legal thing.”

“What kind of legal thing?”

“It has to do with her grandfather’s will.”

“What about it?”

“She has to get married or she loses her house,” he admitted reluctantly.

“But that’s terrible! Poor Miss Brown! She must feel really awful. Willow Run’s so cool.”

He felt a flicker of surprise. “You’ve been there?”

“Sure. Me and Sarah go visit sometimes. Miss Brown likes us to come. She’s all alone, you know.” She stared at him meaningfully. “Remember how lonely you were before you had me to keep you company?”

Great It wasn’t bad enough that until a few minutes ago he’d been totally ignorant of a significant part of his daughter’s life. Now he was supposed to feel guilty about Norah’s solitary status, too. “Maybe we could get her a kitten,” he murmured.

“Eli!”

“Let it go, Chelse,” he said, starting to get exasperated. “Miss Brown is planning to ask someone else, so there’s no reason to get all worried.”

“But, Eli! I don’t think she’s ever even been on a date. What if she picks somebody awful?”

The specter of Nick Carpetti rose up to haunt him. He pushed it away. “That’s not any of our business.”

“But she’s my friend,” Chelsea said stubbornly. “And you always say that if you want to have a friend, you have to be a friend.” She squared her deceptively dainty shoulders and stood even straighter. “As Miss Brown’s friend, I think we ought to marry her.”

Eli shook his head. “No way.”

“But you always say—”

“Forget it, baby. No matter what I said, I’m not getting married.” He made a vow then and there to keep his mouth shut in the future.

Chelsea gave him a long, indecipherable stare, then slowly transferred her gaze to the floor. “Okay,” she said sadly. In a gesture strikingly similar to Norah’s earlier one, she let her shoulders slump before she turned and began to walk dejectedly away.

“Hey.” He followed as she trudged to the minuscule bedroom. “Where are you going?”

She sighed. “To lie down. I don’t feel very well.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about the kitten? Don’t you want to call Sarah and give her the good news?”

“I’ll call her later. I don’t feel like it now.”

“Now listen, Chelse—”

“It’s okay. I know you’re only doing what you think is best. But it just wouldn’t be right for me to be happy when poor Miss Brown is going to feel so bad.” Refusing to look at him, she picked up her one surviving teddy bear and curled up on the bed with her back to the door.

Eli’s heart squeezed, even though logic warned that she was playing him like a violin. “Aw, jeez. Come on, baby. It’s not like she’s going to be homeless or something.”

Chelsea shrugged. “I don’t know...she is all alone in the world, you know.”

He was not going to let her make him feel guilty. After all, despite what his daughter seemed to think, he was not some sappy romantic hero who had nothing better to do than marry women to keep them off the street. Not that Norah was in danger of having to live on the street. No way. Although if she was, he supposed he would at least have to consider—

He caught himself. “Forget it,” he said loudly. “It’s not going to work.” I’m not marrying Bunny-Boo Brown and that’s all there is to it.

He sounded so convincing he almost believed it himself.

Two

“Well, my dear, I’m afraid that does it.” Ezra Lampley, the patrician old gentleman who was Norah’s attorney, closed the file on his desk with a look of intense regret. “I’m sorry there’s been no word from Mr. Wilder. You’re certain there’s no one else you might ask?”

Norah shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“You looked through the personal column in the Sunday paper as I suggested?”

“Yes.”

“And you looked at your school yearbook, as well as the library cardholder list, and still couldn’t come up with anyone?”

She gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s...a small town.” She saw no reason to mention Nick Carpetti. After all, Mr. Lampley had looked frail ever since his mild heart attack last winter. Why upset him by revealing that her only other candidate was out of the running because his parole had been revoked?

The attorney sat back in his big leather chair, his thin face pensive. “Then we’re truly out of options. Which means,” he said heavily, “that sometime next week, Judge Martin will issue a decree and soon after that, Willow Run will go on the market.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Norah tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach. “It’s all right. Really. I know you did your best.”

His narrow mouth lifted in a caustic smile. “My best? I don’t know about that. It seems your grandfather has won after all.”

Norah was silent. After a few seconds, though, she hesitantly gave voice to the thought that had been bothering her for weeks. “Perhaps he was right,” she said quietly. “Not that women, in general, are incapable of taking care of themselves,” she hastened to add, “but that I’m not suited for such responsibility—”

“Nonsense.” The attorney wagged his finger at her. “Don’t forget who was really making the decisions the last few years of your grandfather’s life—and who did a fine job of it, I might add. No, my dear. This is merely another example of Arthur’s pigheaded insistence on having his own way, no matter who it hurt. And I, for one, think it’s a damn shame.”

“Yes, but...it is—or was—Grandfather’s property, to do with as he wished. And it’s not as if he’s left me penniless—”

“Hah! A trust. As though you’re a child, instead of a fine, responsible young woman who has turned out far better than the old coot deserved.” Lampley shook his head. “Don’t start making apologies for him, Norah Jane. Not after all the years you took care of him. And don’t sit there and try to make me think you don’t mind losing your home. I know very well you never would have agreed to my idea of an expedient marriage if it didn’t matter to you a great deal”

Norah bit her lip, not bothering to deny it. She did care. Yet she also knew that in his own way, her grandfather had trusted her to do the right thing. He might not have thought she was as competent as a man, but he’d expected her to be as honorable as one.

And up until last week she had been. She’d resisted Mr. Lampley’s advice that she marry now and divorce later. She’d been resigned to losing her home, had even convinced herself that it was probably for the best—until Chelsea’s disclosures about the Wilder finances made her think that a marriage of convenience might be justified if it helped someone other than herself.

Not that it mattered now, she thought with a sigh.

The sound was echoed by Mr. Lampley. Then, as was happening more and more often lately, the attorney’s eyes took on a distant look. “Arthur always was difficult, you know, even when we were boys. Brilliant with money, of course, but so stubborn, so autocratic, so full of himself. He had no talent for people. He got lucky when he married your grandmother, who was a truly exceptional woman. But when he lost her and Clayton and Jeanine in that auto accident, it soured turn for life. He was never the same. And you, dear child, have unfortunately paid the price.”

Norah nodded. She’d heard the tragic tale so often that sometimes it was almost as if she could remember the grandmother and parents who’d died when she was still an infant.

The lawyer suddenly straightened and sent her an apologetic look. “Forgive an old man, my dear. When one gets to be my age, the past sometimes seems more real than the present. And I must say, as much as it galls me to see Arthur win, it’s probably for the best under the circumstances. Despite your assertion to the contrary, Mr. Wilder was hardly a suitable marital candidate. I’m sure I’m not the only one who remembers the uproar over his relationship—” he grimaced with distaste “—with that teacher.”

“Nothing was ever proven,” Norah said earnestly.

Mr. Lampley made a tsking sound. “Need I remind you that both of them left town right after graduation? Proof enough, I should think, of their guilt.”

“So it would seem. On the other hand, there was no reason for him to stay. Not after his uncle threw him out.”

“Be that as it may, it hardly speaks well of his character that he returned to Kisscount without a wife but with a child.”

Norah couldn’t help it, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree,” she said quietly. “These days, so many men simply walk away from their responsibilities. I think it’s...admirable that Elijah has his daughter with him. It can’t be easy for him, even though Chelsea is a wonderful little girl. And she adores him, so he must be doing something right.”

The old man’s face softened. “You’re too kindhearted by far, my dear.”

“Oh, no. Not really.” Embarrassed that she’d revealed such intimate feelings, she glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, look at the time. I really should get back to the library.”

“Very well.” Mr. Lampley cleared his throat. “However, I would like to say that I know the next few weeks won’t be easy for you. If there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Norah summoned a smile. “Thank you. But you’ve already done so much. Unless...” She bit her lip, wondering if she dared to ask.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering...that is...” She took a deep breath. “Do you think you could call Security-TrustCo Insurance and see if anything can be done to expedite the Wilders’ claim?”

He frowned. “Well, yes, of course I can. But are you sure? You certainly don’t owe it to Wilder, and it might take some tune, which could prove expensive.”

“That’s all right.” It wasn’t for Eli, she told herself. It was for Chelsea. But Norah didn’t explain, unwilling to reveal her private fear that she’d gotten the child in trouble by telling Eli that they’d talked. She knew how angry her grandfather would have been if she’d ever confided family business to an outsider; she would have been confined to her room for months.

And she was painfully aware that Chelsea hadn’t been to the library for summer reading sessions since she had been to see Eli last week.

Norah swallowed. As much as she dreaded the idea, she’d already decided that after work she’d go apologize to Eli—and Chelsea—for putting them in such an awkward position. Her request to Mr. Lampley was simply another way to make amends.

“Very well. Is that all?” the attorney said, interrupting her troubled thoughts.

“Actually, I...I would prefer to remain anonymous, if that’s possible.”

The attorney gave her a searching look, then nodded. “Very well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lampley.”

The old man nodded, they said their goodbyes, and minutes later Norah found herself out on the sidewalk in the bright afternoon sunshine.

Despite her philosophical words to Mr. Lampley, her heart was heavy as she set off on the three-block walk to the library. She took no pleasure from the bright awnings and cheerful window displays that were the hallmark of Kisscount’s cozy downtown area. Instead, as she walked along the tree-lined street, her attention was focused inward, on her own uncertain future.

She would just have to be brave for a change, she told herself sternly, as she considered leaving Willow Run. People moved all the time, and not just to a different house in a different neighborhood, but to new cities and states and even countries. And though many probably did it because they wanted to, an equal number no doubt did it because they had no choice. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she ought to be grateful that she had a good job and didn’t have to worry about money.

Besides, this might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps being torn away from her comfort zone would force her to become more like the bold, self-reliant heroines in the books she adored. Maybe she would finally be able to become the woman she longed to be deep down inside: kind but confident, not afraid to stand up for what she believed in, the sort of woman who wasn’t afraid to wear red, or take vacations alone, who had a man’s name tattooed on her thigh, who lived instead of merely existing—

Reason returned with a crash as she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. Her gaze went from her severe hairstyle, to her skinny body in its demure, calf-length dress, cotton anklets and sensible tennis shoes.

She sighed. Who was she kidding? A tattoo? Not likely.

She resumed walking, surprised to realize that she was almost at the library, a large single-story building on the edge of the downtown business district. Although done in post-Modernist style, with low, angled walls and vast expanses of glass, the interior was surprisingly homey, with many unexpected nooks and crannies.

It was not the library’s architecture that endeared it to Norah, however; it was the central role it had played in her life for almost as long as she could remember. As the only place other than school where her grandfather had allowed her to hang out, she’d spent hours here as a child. Happily for her, she’d loved to read, and the books she found had opened up an entire new world of ideas and adventures

She stooped to pick up a candy wrapper that someone had tossed in the flower bed, then rose and pulled open the heavy glass door, feeling a sense of homecoming as she was enveloped in the familiar hush.

Andrea Rand, the young blonde who had taken over for the summer while Norah’s regular assistant librarian was on maternity leave, looked up from the fashion magazine she was reading. “Thank goodness. You’re back.”

Norah swallowed a sigh as she saw the other woman’s mournful expression. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s just so dead today.” Andrea gave a sigh. “Nobody wants to be in here when they can go to the pool or he in the sun or do something fun.”

“Nobody” clearly included Andrea, Norah realized as she came around the end of the counter and saw the pile of books the other woman had haphazardly tossed on the return cart. Not for the first time, she wondered what on earth had possessed Andrea to apply for the job when she was so obviously unsuited for it.

“Now that you’re finally back, it seems silly for both of us to be here,” the blonde went on. “It’s certainly not as if we’re overwhelmed with customers. And the thing is...” She dredged up an ingratiating smile. “Don called, and we made plans to celebrate the two-week anniversary of our first date tonight. So I was really hoping I could leave a little early so I’d have time to stop by McGuire’s and see if I could find a new dress....”

Norah thought guiltily about the stack of paperwork waiting for her in her office. “How early?”

“Well, actually, I thought I’d leave now. You don’t mind, do you?”

Norah knew she should. After all, Andrea had already left early eight times in the past two weeks, leaving Norah with enough work for...well, for two people.

“What about the returns?” Shelving them was supposed to be one of Andrea’s daily duties.

The blonde gave a sad little sigh. “My wrist hurts. That’s another reason I ought to leave. I’m sure you wouldn’t want it to get worse.”

Norah knew she should put an end to this conversation right now. Yet she really wasn’t in the mood to endure an entire afternoon of Andrea moping, which was what would happen if she said no. And the library was her responsibility ..

Coward

“How about if you left in about an hour? That way, I could get some work done on the budget—”

“Oh, pooh. Can’t you work on it at home tonight? I mean, it’s not as if you’re likely to have a hot date or anything.”

Although Norah was sure Andrea didn’t mean to be cruel, her thoughtless words stung. She swallowed. “Well, yes, that’s true—”

“Great!” In her first show of energy since Norah had arrived, the younger woman snatched up her purse, bounded around the end of the counter and bolted for the door. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Oh, but—”

“By the way, Mrs. Carpenter called about the library fund-raiser. She said to tell you they’ve finally settled on a date—August first—and she’s looking forward to seeing you.” With that, Andrea yanked open one of the heavy doors as if it weighed nothing, bolted through the opening and disappeared from sight.

Norah’s shoulders drooped as Andrea’s last shot hit its mark. Could it possibly be time for another library fund-raiser? She gave a little shiver. It was the one part of her job—other than dealing with difficult assistants—that she disliked. Not only because she never seemed to know what to wear, or what to do with her hair, or even how to let loose enough to drink a glass of champagne, but because she always seemed to wind up either standing alone in a corner drinking punch, or listening politely to someone else talk, afraid to offer her opinion. As for taking a turn on the dance floor—forget it.

Still, her presence was expected, and the fund-raiser was some time away. And when compared to losing Willow Run, it did seem like a minor inconvenience.

Sighing, she went to get her paperwork from the office.

At least Andrea had been right about one thing. It was quiet Over the next hour, only a handful of people came in, and Norah was able to get a surprising amount of work done. By the time she finally looked at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was only half an hour to closing time.

She stretched, then set about organizing the day’s returns, knowing she would feel better if the books were back on the shelves when she came in tomorrow morning.

Twenty minutes later she had only two books left on the cart. Both belonged in the travel section, so she picked them up and walked to the appropriate aisle, snagged a rolling stool and climbed up. She was just sliding the volumes into place when a low, familiar voice sounded close behind her.

“Hey, Boo. Need some help?”

She gasped, twisting around so fast she nearly fell right off the stool. “Eli! What are you doing here?”

With his usual look of lazy amusement, he reached out to steady her. “It is a public library,” he said mildly “And I do know how to read.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean...that is, I did, but it was merely a figure of speech—” She stopped and bit her lip, mortified that she was making a fool of herself, as usual. Hoping some distance might help, she stepped sideways off the stool, only to find she had a better view of him.

She couldn’t help but notice how his loose black tank top emphasized the tan on his muscular shoulders. Or the sinful way his age-whitened jeans clung to his lower contours. Or how attractive his bare feet looked in their plain leather sandals—and she’d never thought of feet as appealing! Unnerved, she glanced up and got yet another shock when she saw that he had a small diamond stud in one ear.

An odd, inexplicable quiver went through her. She took a deep breath, only to find she’d made a major mistake when she was inundated with the decidedly male scent of his aftershave.

“What’s the matter?” Eli asked curiously.

“Nothing. I... was just wondering about Chelsea.” Perhaps if she focused on his role as a father, he wouldn’t seem quite so intimidating. “I’ve missed seeing her lately. She’s not ill, is she?”

His glorious blue eyes turned enigmatic. “No. She’s just been a little...preoccupied...lately.”

“Oh.” Unable to help herself, she let out a sigh of relief. “I was worried,.”

“About what?”

She gathered her courage. “I thought perhaps you were...angry with her.”

“Angry?” He said the word as if he’d never heard it before. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because she told me about...about the problem with your insurance. I’m afraid I may have given you the impression that she confides in me on a regular basis. But she doesn’t.”

An indecipherable look flashed across his face.

Certain it was disgust—she’d never been a good liar—she amended hastily, “Yes, well, m-maybe she does. But not usually about you. Or your private business. Mostly we discuss books. And places we’d like to see. If you’re angry with anyone, it should be me—”

“Relax, Boo. I’m not mad at you, and I’m not mad at Chelsea. And even if I was, I wouldn’t forbid her to come to the library.”

“You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head. “Nope. In case you haven’t noticed, forbidding things isn’t exactly my style.”

Her gaze automatically slid toward his earring. “Oh. Oh, of course not.” Obviously she wasn’t thinking clearly.

“I came by to tell you that if you still want to get married, I’ll do it,” he added casually.

She could feel her jaw go slack. “You will?”

“Yeah.” His manner was so laid-back they might have been discussing the weather. “That is, unless you’ve changed your mind or found somebody else?”

“No.”

“Well, okay, then.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets and rocked back on his heels. “When do you want to do it?”

“Sunday is my birthday,” she said automatically, her thoughts whirling. Her prayers had been answered. Willow Run was hers.

So why did she suddenly have a sense of impending disaster?

“Sunday it is, then.” Eli glanced over at the clock on the wall and straightened with the same effortless grace he did everything. “Look, I hate to run, but I’ve got a date. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll work out the details, okay?”

He had a date? “Oh-okay.”

“Hey, Boo?”

“Wh-what?”

His voice dropped to an intimate murmur. “Relax. There’s no reason we can’t have some fun with this.”

Fun? Norah thought dazedly as he walked away. Somehow, she didn’t think so.

“I can’t believe we’re going to live here,” Chelsea said excitedly. “It’s so-o-o pretty.”

Pretty didn’t begin to describe it, Eli thought, as he pulled his ancient Corvette onto the verge of Willow Run’s big circular drive, switched off the engine and took a long look around. “It’s okay,” he said neutrally, not about to confess that he felt as if he’d driven onto the set of Gone With the Wind.

He had to admit he’d forgotten how imposing the place was. Situated well off the street in its own private park, the house rose three full stories and looked like a transplanted Southern mansion. He supposed there was some sort of fancy name for the style—Georgian or Palladian or Edwardian—and he wished he could say it was ugly or pretentious or something. But it wasn’t. Instead, with its gleaming white paint, sweeping stone terraces and country garden landscaping, Willow Run could best be described as old-money-meets-good-taste classy.

For some reason, he found himself thinking about the small collection of water-stained belongings stashed in the trunk. Just for an instant, the idea of hauling them out and carrying them inside this ritzy home made him feel embarrassed and ashamed—the way he had as a kid when he’d had to get his school clothes from the charity bin because Uncle Leo had spent all their money on booze.

His reaction irritated him. After all, this situation was hardly the same. He wasn’t the needy one here. Norah had come to him. And the only reason he’d agreed to the scheme was out of concern for Chelsea’s health—and his sanity—after it had become clear that nothing he said or did was going to convince his darling daughter to give up her “Poor, poor Miss Brown” campaign.

Still, he’d resisted for close to a week, until late one night when he’d found himself wondering why. Why shouldn’t he marry Norah Jane? As long as Chelsea knew the score, what was the harm? Both he and Boo were unattached, well past the age of consent. It wasn’t as if he would be making a real commitment...or that his reputation could get any worse. Heck, it could even be viewed as a sort of atonement, a way to make up for the way he had teased her in high school. Not that he owed her anything. It wasn’t his fault she’d been a wallflower back then, any more than it was his responsibility to watch out for her now.

Although when it came to looking out for herself, Boo definitely could use some help. That had become clear when he’d heard through the grapevine that despite his warning, she’d tried to arrange a meeting with Nick Carpetti. Lucky for her, Carpetti had been unavailable. Still, she just didn’t seem to understand that someone unscrupulous could take advantage of her offer.

Not that he cared or anything remotely close to that. It was just...irritating. Their nonexistent prenuptial agreement was a case in point. It was a toss-up whether he or old Mr. Lampley, her attorney, had been more taken aback when she refused to even discuss one. Not that Norah had noticed. She’d been too busy plucking at her skirt in that annoying way she had to notice their dumbfounded expressions when she announced that she trusted him to do the right thing.

If that wasn’t proof the woman could use a keeper, he didn’t know what was. He didn’t even trust himself that much.

“Come on!” Chelsea’s enthusiastic exhortation put an end to his musing. Unhooking her seat belt, his daughter threw open her door and clambered off the seat, then turned to regard him impatiently as she yanked down the hem of her dress. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Speak for yourself,” he murmured, climbing out of the car and coming around the hood to where she stood, fidgety with anticipation. He gave her a chiding look. “For a kid who couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed just a few days ago, you sure made a miraculous recovery.”

“Yeah, I know.” She grinned as they crossed the drive and started up the wide, shallow stairs of the portico. “Aren’t you glad?”

Her grin was hard to resist Even though he knew it was probably a mistake to be such a pushover, he reached out and gave one of her bright curls an affectionate tug. “Yeah, I guess. Just don’t forget this is temporary,” he stressed. “Once the insurance money comes through, we’re out of here like we discussed, remember?”

She darted ahead to ring the bell. Framed by the massive front door, which was painted a glossy black, crowned by a fanlight and flanked by matching flower-filled planters, she spun around and made a face at him “I remember. Just don’t forget that you promised to be nice to Miss Brown.”

“Hey, I’m always nice,” he protested, doing his best to look wounded.

His irreverent offspring rolled her eyes. “Not hardly.”

“Now, listen here, kid—” He broke off as the door swung open. He had a quick glimpse of a gleaming marble floor, an enormous vase filled with fresh flowers, and a wide staircase that curved up and away before his gaze met Norah’s.

“Hello,” she said uncertainly.

At the same time Chelsea cried, “Hey, Miss Brown. We’re here!”

With an air of relief she couldn’t disguise, Norah looked away from him and focused her attention on Chelsea. “You certainly are,” she replied, her expression softening as she stepped back to make room for them to enter. “And you look wonderful. What a pretty dress.”

“I know. It’s new.” Chelsea skipped inside and twirled, making the soft blue fabric of the skirt bell out. “Most of our stuff got burned in the fire, so I got this and a new swimsuit and some cool shorts and stuff. Eli got some new clothes, too.”

“Oh.” Norah bit her lip, then glanced toward him.

He watched her expression go from surprised appreciation to just plain surprised as she registered that beneath his exquisitely cut tuxedo jacket, he was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and his favorite high-top tennis shoes. He had to give her credit, though. With her better-than-Miss Manners-manners, she only had to swallow once before she managed a feeble smile.

“You—you look nice, too.”

“Thanks.” Amused, he directed a pointed look at his daughter. “See, I told you she’d like it.” He turned back to Norah. “She didn’t think I was dressed up enough,” he confided blandly, one adult to another. “So we stopped by the Riptide on the way over and I borrowed the jacket from a friend of mine. Sorry if we’re a little late.”

She blinked at the mention of the local cocktail lounge.

“It’s all right,” she said weakly.

He looked around, glancing from the thick Oriental rugs to the satiny wood on the banister, to the creamy paint on the walls. The huge entry was comfortably cool despite the sunshine that poured from a bank of windows high above the open staircase. The air smelled sweet and clean, like carnations and sunshine. “Nice place.” No kidding, Einstein. It was definitely a step up from their previous lodgings.

“Thank you.”

As subtle as a boulder, Chelsea nudged him. “Don’t you think Miss Brown looks pretty, Eli?”

He gave Boo a quick once-over. With her old-fashioned hairdo and nonexistent makeup, she looked the way she usually did—except for her dress, a limp, apricot-lace affair that looked as if it might have a secret life as a tablecloth. He opened his mouth to ask who in town disliked her enough to sell her such a thing, only to hear somebody who sounded exactly like him say, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Oh.” Norah’s narrow face lit with startled pleasure. “Oh...thank you.”

Well, hell. She didn’t have to act so surprised. It was no big deal.

She turned and took a few steps, then turned back and motioned them to follow, obviously flustered. “If you’ll come this way...” Once more she started down the wide, airy hallway. “Judge Orter and Mr. Lampley are already here. They’re waiting in the study. I guess we can just go ahead and get started. That is, if that’s still all right with you, Eli?”

Eli shrugged. They’d been over this already, the day they’d gone to get the license and see the attorney. Although he wasn’t wild about the judge—he’d had a few run-ins with Orter during his teenage years—a civil ceremony made far more sense than having one of the local ministers come in. “No problem.”

“But you don’t like the study,” Chelsea protested, frowning at Norah’s back.

“It’s not my most favorite place in the house, that’s true,” Norah agreed, “but the judge felt it was the most appropriate.” Her footsteps slowed. Gesturing them to precede her, she ushered them into a long, rectangular room.

One look around was all it took Eli to understand her reservations. Although expensively furnished with walnut paneling, navy leather furniture, burgundy carpeting and heavy brocade draperies, the room was dark and oppressive. He’d been in morgues that were more uplifting. Nor was the ambiance helped by the larger-than-life-size portrait of Norah’s grandfather that dominated one wall. From what Eli remembered, the artist had ably captured Arthur Brown’s remote, intimidating manner, he could practically feel the old guy’s oil-painted eyes burning a hole between his shoulder blades as he moved forward to greet the two men standing at the far end of the room.

The elderly pair looked like mismatched bookends. Although both were dressed in navy three-piece suits, Judge Orter was tall, heavyset and balding, while Attorney Lampley was short, thin and had a full shock of white hair. Their reactions to his attire as he approached were almost identical, however. Each gave a start, then a sniff, then acquired a distinct air of disapproval.

Eli inclined his head. “Judge. Lampley.”

“Wilder,” they intoned in unison. There was a strained silence.

Norah stepped into the breach. “Ezra, Judge, I don’t believe either of you have met Elijah’s daughter.” Laying a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, she urged her forward. “This is Chelsea. She’s going to be in fourth grade next year, and she’s one of my very best helpers at the library.”

Chelsea smiled her most charming smile. “Hello.”

Both men’s expressions lightened as they took turns shaking her hand. Once that was done, Judge Orter quickly returned to type, however. Drawing himself up, he glanced pointedly at his wristwatch, then said to Norah, “Now that Wilder is finally here, I think it’s time we get started. If the two of you would step forward—”

“Could we have the ceremony outside?” Chelsea interjected. “Please? It’s kinda gloomy in here. It’s sunny outside, and we could at least see some flowers, since poor Miss Brown doesn’t even have a bouquet.”

Poor Miss Brown? Eli considered his daughter’s guileless expression and decided it was time to draw the line. But before he could say a word, Orter intervened.

“Don’t be ridiculous, young lady. As I’ve already explained to your soon-to-be stepmama, a wedding is a very solemn occasion, even this questionable affair. Although neither you nor she appear to appreciate it, I insist we do whatever we can to retain at least a semblance of dignity.”

Chelsea frowned. “But it’s not your wedding.”

Orter stiffened. “Norah Jane! Tell this child to behave, if you please.”

“I don’t think so, Judge.” Up until that moment, Eli hadn’t really cared one way or the other where they held the ceremony. And though he’d duly noted Norah’s stricken expression and the way she nevertheless stepped in front of Chelsea as if to shield the child from the judge’s wrath, he was quick to assure himself that he wasn’t moved or otherwise affected. He just didn’t like Orter’s insistence on behaving like the Voice of Authority. “Chelsea’s right. I think we’d all feel better outside.” He gave a nod to his delighted daughter, who promptly let loose a very unladylike whoop and dashed toward the French doors, which she threw open after shoving aside the heavy draperies. Planting a hand on Norah’s shoulder, he turned her around and gave her a nudge in the right direction.

“But the judge...” she protested faintly, looking back at him with a cunous combination of relief and anxiety.

“He’ll live,” he said, ushering her out into the bright sunlight.

It was a definite improvement Even though it was early in the season, the gardens were filled with color.

Lampley and the judge appeared moments later. With a sour expression, Orter took a look around, then strode toward the nearest trellised archway, where he turned and stared hard at Eli. “Now may we begin?” he demanded peevishly.

Eli glanced at Norah, who nodded. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Wait!” Chelsea rushed over and thrust a handful of pansies at Norah.

“Oh, Chelsea. Thank you.”

The child beamed. “You’re welcome.”

Orter glanced at the limp bouquet, harrumphed, but motioned them closer. Assuming a most solemn expression, he pulled a small leatherbound book from his pocket and opened it to a place marked by a crisp gold ribbon. He drew himself up. “Friends,” he intoned, his expression making it clear he considered them anything but. “We are gathered together to unite this man and this woman in lawful matrimony.

“Marriage is an honorable affair, not to be entered into lightly. As such, I must ask if anyone here knows of any impediment to your joining? No? Then let us proceed.

“Do you, Elijah Rose Wilder, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Eli’s voice was calm and cool. “I do.”

“And do you, Norah Jane Brown, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Norah worried her bottom lip. The marriage ceremony seemed to be going rather...fast. Perhaps she and Elijah had made a mistake when they’d instructed the judge to keep the more flowery parts of the ceremony to a minimum. “I...I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the State of Oregon, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” With a snap, he closed the book.

It was over. A handful of words and she was married. Norah stared down at her bare hands—they’d agreed not to have a ring—and gave an involuntary shiver. Somehow this didn’t seem very official.

“Eli?” Chelsea said in a stage whisper. “The judge must’ve forgot. I’m pretty sure this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss her.”

The child’s innocent assertion brought Norah’s head up. She opened her mouth to protest, but was drowned out by a pair of more voluble comments.

“Nonsense! I most certainly did not forget,” the judge asserted in the same instant that Mr. Lampley objected.

“A kiss? Poppycock! Under the circumstances, I hardly think that’s necessary—”

“She’s right.” Eli’s quiet voice silenced both men.

Norah gasped. “She is?”

He turned toward her. “Sure.” Although his voice was light, his eyes were dark and glittered with some unreadable emotion. “After all, if you can’t live a little on your wedding day—” he stepped alarmingly close “—when can you? Your wedding night?”

Paralyzed by his sudden nearness, it took a second for his meaning to sink in. “Oh. Oh, no. That is, I d-don’t think—”

“Go with that.” With no further warning, he slid his hands up her arms and cupped them around her shoulders.

Oh, dear. To her shock, a jolt of pure pleasure flashed through her. She stared up at him, her heart pounding, her thoughts tumbling wildly. If she found the mere clasp of his hands on her bare skin so unnerving, how would she ever survive the touch of—

His mouth. Oh, my. His mouth was divine. It skimmed her lips, then slowly, slowly, settled in. Hot, slick and certain, it effortlessly matched the shape of hers, coaxing a response she was helpless to prevent.

But then, maybe she didn’t want to. She’d wondered for so long what it would be like to be swept up in a masculine embrace. She’d speculated, theorized and conjectured. She’d read countless books and watched scores of movies.

Now she knew, and it was even better than anything she’d ever imagined.

A haze settled in, fogging her brain. All she could do was feel. And what she felt was the controlled strength of Eli’s hands on her shoulders. The heat of his mouth as it plumbed hers. The unexpected ache blooming low inside her.

He widened his mouth over hers. Something tickled her lower lip. She vaguely realized it was his tongue.

How strange. How shocking. How...exciting.

Her knees turned to water. Instinctively she leaned forward, slid her hands up his chest and pressed even closer.

“Oh!” With a muffled cry, she opened her eyes as he abruptly thrust her away.

She blinked as the sudden blast of sunshine washed away the haze in her brain. She looked around, registering various expressions. Chelsea looked happy, if a little embarrassed. Judge Orter seemed on the verge of swallowing his tongue. Mr. Lampley seemed oddly alarmed. As for Eli—

She forced herself to look up.

In his face, she could see nothing at all. The discovery made her heart sink. Particularly when she realized that just seconds ago she’d been all over him like a clinging vine.

But this was not the time, nor the place, for histrionics.

No matter what her feelings—and, oh, how she wished she could disappear in a puff of smoke or sink through the floor—there were other people she had to consider.

She tried to decide what Emily Post would do.

“Well. Now that that’s done...” She took a deep breath and came up with a shaky smile. “Would anyone care for a piece of cake?”

Three

“Eli!” Chelsea’s excited voice floated down the long upstairs hallway. “Come see! Come see my room! It’s so-o-o-o cool!”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Eli called as he came up the stairs, juggling a pair of boxes. Counting doors, he went into the room that Norah had indicated was his and dumped his burden on the thick ivory carpet. He straightened and looked around.

Decorated in shades of cream, taupe and blue, the spacious room held the usual complement of furniture, plus a couch and a pair of chairs grouped around a marble-faced fireplace on the far wall, at a right angle to the trio of French doors that opened onto a wide terrace.

Like the rest of Willow Run, it was classy. Not to mention comfortable, attractive and a heck of a lot nicer than his previous domicile.

So why did he feel so out of sorts? he wondered as he moseyed over to the windows, twitched back the sheers, and stood looking out at the velvety green lawn bounded by its beautiful banks of flowers.

That was easy. If he had to take a guess, he would say it was because he’d had all the goodness he could take for one day. The room was good. The view was good. Chelsea was being good. Orter and old Lampley, within the confines of their holier-than-thou personalities, had been good.

As for Norah...well, he had to give her credit. Although clearly unnerved by their kiss, she’d done her darnedest to be a good postceremony hostess, serving refreshments, signing papers, anxiously making small talk until Lampley and Orter had finally left. She’d presented him with the keys to the carriage house—his new garage, she explained—and had given him and Chelsea a tour of it, the grounds and the house, as well as the rundown on Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, who came in three days a week to cook, clean and maintain the yard All in all, she’d been so good she probably qualified to have her picture next to the word in the dictionary.

With a disgusted snort, he turned his back to the windows and strolled over to the bed, where he sat and bounced a few times to test the mattress. Great. No lumps, no squeak, no sag. And, hallelujah, it was king-size. There would be no more bumping his head on the wall or having his feet stick into space the way they had on the fold-up bed at the bungalow.

So who cares? Why don’t you drop the prerense and admit what’s really on your mind? Like what the hell possessed you to kiss Boo that way?

He gave a little groan and flopped back on the mattress.

For the life of him, he didn’t know. Or maybe he did, but just hated having to admit that it had been something as stupid as a childish resistance to doing what he was told. One minute he’d been standing there, thinking there wasn’t much to getting married. In the next moment, when he heard Orter and Lampley dismiss Chelsea’s claim that it was time for a kiss, he’d been overwhelmed by the sort of defiant I’ll-show-you response that had gotten him in such trouble as a kid.

Which wouldn’t be such a big deal except he was no longer a kid, he was somebody’s father. And up until a week ago, he would have sworn he’d outgrown such immature behavior. Just as he would have sworn that he was an impeccable judge of women, capable of assessing their attributes—or lack thereof—at a glance.

Yeah? Well, it seemed he was wrong on both counts.

He muttered a curse that would have cost him a bundle if Chelsea had heard it.

All right. There was no getting around the fact that he’d behaved immaturely. He would learn to live with it. But as far as his judgment about women was concerned—now, that really hurt.

Still, he had to admit that for years, his playful threat to kiss Boo had been predicated on certain expectations. Like the notion that her skin would be dry and rough. That her mouth would be tight and prim, and her body bony and shapeless. And that at his first touch, she’d stiffen up like a starched sheet hung out in a hot wind.

Instead, what skin he’d felt had been petal smooth And her mouth, though untutored, had been soft, sweet and shyly eager. Even her scent had been a surprise—a faint, exotic blend of tropical flowers instead of the old-maid lavender fragrance he’d expected.

As for the rest of her—well, all it had taken was the touch of his tongue to her lips to make her melt against him like a punctured balloon. That alone had so surprised him, it had taken him longer than it should have to identify the source of the pressure suddenly nudging his chest.

Eventually it had dawned on him that it was her breasts. Her small, aroused breasts. At which point his mature, discerning, adult response had been to thrust her away at the same time he’d thought, Whoa. When had she grown those?

Eli flinched at the memory, then caught himself. Okay, so maybe he’d been a little less than smooth. That didn’t mean the encounter had been a total disaster. He needed to look at the bright side: he’d always wondered what Boo had hidden under those voluminous dresses.

Now he knew.

“Eee-liii. Come on! You’ve got to come see.”

Sighing, he climbed to his feet. “All right. Hold your horses. I’m on my way.” He shoved the boxes against the wall, then went out the door and down the hall, to where Chelsea stood, waiting impatiently.

The instant he was within reach, she grabbed his hand. “Finally.”

Amused, he let her pull him into her room, only to come to an abrupt halt as he looked around in amazement.

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