# Tall, Dark and Cranky

Kate Little

Lovely physical therapist Rebecca Calloway might not actually be residing with a fire-breathing dragon, but at times it seemed that way.For corporate mogul Grant Berringer, who'd once possessed the golden touch in business - and with women - had seemingly lost it in a tragic accident. And Rebecca's assignment was to bring back his physical powers, on the assumption that his other gifts wouldn't be far behind….Grant Berringer knew that he needed someone not only to help him get out of bed in the morning, but to make him want to. Yet was Rebecca really the right one for the job? Because with her on his case, bed was looking more and more appealing all the time….

## Grant Lifted His Hand To Cup Her Cheek.

He met her gaze and stared deeply into her eyes. He seemed as if he wanted to say something more. Something important.

But, finally, it was Rebecca who broke the silence. “I need to go now. I’ve stayed way too long….”

He looked sorry to hear she wanted to leave, but his expression quickly turned to one of resignation.

“Yes, of course. You’d better return to your own bed. If anyone finds you here, they might get the right idea about us.”

“The wrong idea, you mean,” she corrected him.

“Oh, right,” Grant said, as he leaned over and kissed her softly. “The wrong idea. Yes, that’s what I meant to say.”

Dear Reader,

Escape the winter doldrums by reading six new passionate, powerful and provocative romances from Silhouette Desire!

Start with our MAN OF THE MONTH, The Playboy Sheikh, the latest SONS OF THE DESERT love story by bestselling author Alexandra Sellers. Also thrilling is the second title in our yearlong continuity series DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS. In Maternally Yours by Kathie DeNosky, a pleasure-seeking tycoon falls for a soon-to-be mom.

All you readers who’ve requested more titles in Cait London’s beloved TALLCHIEFS miniseries will delight in her smoldering Tallchief: The Hunter. And more great news for our loyal Desire readers—a brand-new five-book series featuring THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB, subtitled THE LAST BACHELOR, launches this month. In The Millionaire’s Pregnant Bride by Dixie Browning, passion erupts between an oil executive and secretary who marry for the sake of her unborn child.

A single-dad surgeon meets his match in Dr. Desirable, the second book of Kristi Gold’s MARRYING AN M.D. miniseries. And Kate Little’s Tall, Dark & Cranky is an enchanting contemporary version of Beauty and the Beast.

Indulge yourself with all six of these exhilarating love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Enjoy!


Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

## Tall, Dark & Cranky. Kate Little


## KATE LITTLE

claims to have lots of experience with romance—“the fictional kind, that is,” she is quick to clarify. She has been both an author and an editor of romance fiction for over fifteen years. She believes that a good romance will make the reader experience all the tension, thrills and agony of falling madly, deeply and wildly in love. She enjoys watching the characters in her books go crazy for each other, but hates to see the blissful couple disappear when it’s time for them to live happily ever after. In addition to writing romance novels, Kate also writes fiction and nonfiction for young adults. She lives on Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter.

## Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

## One

“Your recommendations are impressive, Ms. Calloway. In fact, they were positively glowing. One of your former employers even called you a miracle worker,” Matthew Berringer said.

“I love my work and I’m good at it,” Rebecca said in her usual straightforward fashion. “But I’d hardly call myself a miracle worker.”

“You wouldn’t, eh? That’s too bad, because I’m not sure that anything short of a miracle will restore my brother Grant, to his former life. To any sort of productive life at all.”

She saw instantly that her reply had dampened Matthew Berringer’s enthusiasm, and Rebecca wondered if she should have been more…diplomatic. She could have soft-soaped her answer a bit. She’d been warned that her pungent honesty was sometimes a shortcoming. Rebecca bit her lower lip. She needed this job. But she wouldn’t be hired on false impressions and she would never make any false promises.

She knew how demanding, physically and emotionally, a home assignment like this one might be. From what she’d heard about the patient, she wasn’t sure she’d succeed in rehabilitating him, much less getting him up and about his business by the summer’s end, which was Matthew Berringer’s explicit request. She wasn’t sure anyone could. From what she’d seen in the medical records, the problem wasn’t so much Grant Berringer’s physical condition as his attitude.

Miracle worker, indeed. All the Berringers’ money and then some couldn’t buy a miracle. And Rebecca knew she couldn’t live up to such high-flown accolades…and didn’t want to break her heart trying.

“Mr. Berringer, your concern for your brother is very touching. He’s fortunate to have someone so involved in his recovery—”

“Your kind words seem to be leading up to something, Ms. Calloway.” Matthew Berringer interrupted her. “Perhaps you should just say it?”

Rebecca was taken aback, then found his frankness refreshing. There was something more she wanted to say.

“You can’t will your brother to get well again, to resume a productive life, if he doesn’t want to. You can hire a hundred therapists. Even some that will promise you miracles. But no one can snap their fingers and give your brother the will to fight his way back. He has to want it. He has to want it very badly.”

He stared at her, looking angry at her words, she thought. Or at least greatly irritated. Then, without replying, he looked at her résumé and letters of reference again, as if reviewing the pages for final questions.

She’d blown it totally, Rebecca realized. She wasn’t going to get this job. She could always tell when the interviewer started studying her résumé in the middle of everything. She predicted he would soon lift his head, bestow a dismissing smile and send her off with some polite comment that would let her know she was low on the list.

Rebecca glanced at her surroundings. She’d been so intent on answering Matthew Berringer’s questions, she hadn’t taken much notice of the room. Sunny and spacious, it appeared to be a library or study. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the furnishings were large, comfortably worn pieces upholstered in leather and tapestry fabrics. There were many framed photos. Some looked quite old. Most looked like family groups.

Area rugs in traditional designs covered the polished wooden floor, and an impressive carved oak desk stood in front of glass doors that led to a covered terrace. The doors stood ajar, allowing the spring air to fill the room.

When the interview began, she’d expected Matthew Berringer to take a seat behind the big desk. Instead, he’d sat on a couch across from her and offered her coffee from a silver service. The gesture, though small, had helped put her at ease.

She took a moment to raise her china cup and take a sip. The coffee was cold, but at least it gave her something to do.

In the tense silence, Rebecca could hear the ocean, just steps away from the terrace of the beachfront property. The steady rhythm of the waves was soothing and helped her relax.

It was a pity she wasn’t going to work here. The Berringer mansion—merely Grant Berringer’s summer home—was so beautiful, the kind of grand old place she’d so far only admired from a wistful distance. Earlier Matthew Berringer had told her a little about the estate, which was set on ten acres of ocean-front property. The twelve-bedroom mansion, designed in the style of a French Norman manor house, was built in the 1920s for a wealthy oil magnate, part of New York’s aristocracy. The stones had been shipped from Europe, as well as the craftsmen who had put the place together. The carved stone architectural details included gargoyles with all too human faces. With its wide, rambling structure, courtyards, slate roof and turrets, the place looked more like a miniature castle, Rebecca thought, nestled in a grove of woods near the sea. The decor within was fit for royalty, as well.

Not only did she need a new job, but she and Nora, her six-year-old daughter, needed a new place to live by the end of the month and an apartment in one wing of the huge house was part of the deal, in addition to a generous salary. Matthew Berringer had already shown her the rooms, which were lovely. Certainly enough space for her and Nora for the summer. If Grant Berringer required her services for longer than the summer and Nora had to return to school, Rebecca had told Matthew Berringer some other arrangements would be necessary. But he hadn’t seemed put off by that potential complication. He’d stated that he’d be happy to hire a tutor for Nora or enroll her in one of the fancy private schools nearby. Rebecca felt satisfied by his reply. Although she had read Grant Berringer’s medical records and discussed his condition with Matthew, she still needed to see him with her own eyes to gauge how long he would need her help.

Living on the beach for the summer, in such luxurious surroundings, no less, would have been heavenly. But…she’d blown it all with her irrepressible need to be honest.

Well, she wasn’t really sorry. She’d only told Matthew Berringer the truth. People always say they admire honesty. In theory, perhaps, but not in actuality, she’d noticed. Not in her case, anyway. Perhaps she’d helped him, in a way. He’d be wary of the next applicant, who might claim to be able to have Grant Berringer behind his desk in no time flat.

Finally, Matthew Berringer looked at her. The irritation in his expression had disappeared.

“I know what you’ve told me is true, Ms. Calloway. I know the real motivation has to come from within Grant. I just don’t want to believe it, I guess. I keep wishing I might find someone who could snap their fingers and make my brother well again,” he admitted.

“I understand. I really do,” she sympathized. “Just about everyone I meet who is caring for a loved one feels the same.”

“But my brother’s case is different from most you’ve had in the past,” Matthew Berringer said. “He has had an extraordinary loss. Many people use the word tragedy when they’re describing a sad but not necessarily unusual event. My brother, however, has lived through a tragedy, a devastating event that cost him…everything. And left him with an impossibly heavy burden of guilt, in the bargain.”

So far, Rebecca had only learned that Grant Berringer had been in a car accident. She’d heard that he’d been the driver and there was one passenger involved who had died instantly. Grant had escaped with multiple injuries the most severe to his right hip and leg. Those were the basic facts, but obviously there was more to the story.

“Why don’t you tell me everything about your brother’s accident? Everything you think is relevant to his recovery, I mean. I do need to know the complete details in order to evaluate the case.”

Loss was something she knew about. She could empathize with Grant Berringer. But at the same time, she had been through so much in her life, Rebecca wasn’t sure she had the resources to handle an unusually demanding assignment.

Matthew Berringer’s cool blue-eyed gaze met hers, then he looked away. It seemed he was gathering his thoughts. “I’ll try to keep this brief and to the point,” he said. “My brother was engaged to be married. He and his fiancée, Courtney Benton, were returning to the city after spending the weekend at the country home of one of my brother’s clients. It was bad weather, a sudden heavy rainstorm, and my brother apparently lost control of the wheel. The car skidded off the road and crashed into a cement wall. Courtney was killed instantly. My brother was in a coma for two weeks. When he woke up and learned what had happened, he barely had the will to go on living.”

“Oh, dear…that is heartbreaking,” Rebecca said softly. She had heard many sad stories during her career, but this was one of the saddest. That poor man. She couldn’t imagine his grief…or his guilt.

“And to complicate matters even further, my brother has some memory loss. He can recall events leading up to the accident. Leaving the home they were visiting and such. But he can’t remember anything that happened right before the crash occurred. He can’t even remember if he and Courtney were trying to pull over and wait out the rain.”

Matthew Berringer sounded amazed but somewhat frustrated. “The doctors say he may never remember.”

“They may be right,” Rebecca agreed. “I have heard of such situations before. It’s a reaction to extreme trauma or stress. It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself from memories that are too painful to relive.”

“Yes, I understand all that.” As Matthew Berringer nodded, a lock of his smooth brown hair dropped across his brow, and he impatiently brushed it back. “But I often suspect that if Grant could remember all that happened that night—no matter how distressing those memories might be—perhaps he’d be able to move forward, to work through his grief and rebuild his life.”

“Yes, it might help him a great deal. But it’s a catch-22 of sorts, isn’t it?” she added. “He will get stronger if he remembers. But he’ll only be ready to remember when he gets stronger.”

“It’s a riddle inside a riddle.” Matthew shook his head, and Rebecca could sense his frustration and sadness. Matthew had also experienced a loss, she realized. The loss of a brother who was once vital and strong, an equal in friendship and camaraderie, for it was clear that the two were quite close.

Rebecca did not know how to reply and thought it best to say nothing. Sometimes it helped people to talk, even if she couldn’t supply an easy answer. She sensed that Matthew Berringer needed to talk right now to someone he thought could understand not only his brother’s dilemma, but his own, as well. “So you see, if he’s fallen into some dark pit of despair and is reluctant to return to the land of living, I believe, that after all he’s been through, it’s an understandable reaction.”

“Completely understandable.” Rebecca nodded and looked at her hands, which were folded in her lap.

Now that she knew the tragic story, she could see why Matthew was looking for a therapist who might be part superhero, part saint. The question loomed even larger—was she the right person for this job?

“I know the will to return must come from him,” he added, echoing her earlier words, “but I was hoping—praying, if you must know—that I could find the right…messenger. Someone who understands such matters and is willing to go down into that dark place and convince him to come back to us.”

His voice, which had been calm, increased in emotion, so that finally, Rebecca was quite moved by Matthew Berringer’s caring speech.

He was an uncommonly good man, she thought. A kind man. The type who would never give up on someone he loved. Rebecca admired that. Yet, despite his striking good looks and admirable qualities, she did not feel the least bit attracted to him.

It was funny how that worked, Rebecca reflected. The chemistry was either there…or it wasn’t. In this case, it clearly wasn’t. Not for him, either, she suspected. She could tell these things by now. Though he seemed to respect her professionally and to like her well enough in a friendly way. Which was all for the better, she thought, if he was possibly to be her employer.

“I’d like you to meet my brother. Will you come with me now and talk to him?”

“Yes, of course.” Rebecca was surprised at the invitation. Then pleased. She usually wasn’t asked to meet the patient if the interview was a total loss. Perhaps there was more hope of being hired here than she thought.

Besides, she was curious to meet Grant Berringer. It would help them both to decide if she was right for the job.

Matthew led her through the elegantly decorated mansion, and Rebecca quickly peeked through doorways and admired her surroundings. The house was furnished with a mixture of antiques and traditionally designed pieces, with sumptuous drapery, original artwork and interesting porcelain and statuary. Yet the decor didn’t look at all stuffy or museumlike. The rooms retained a fresh, light-filled look Rebecca found inviting.

“Grant has a few rooms upstairs, but when he was released from the hospital, the doctors advised me to set him up on the ground floor. I fixed a suite of rooms for him in the west wing of the house, including an exercise room with all types of equipment for his therapy. I’m in the city during the week, but I’ve hired a private nurse to take care of him during the day. A young man named Joe Newton. He’s been great with Grant, very patient.”

While most health-care professionals needed to extend patience to their charges, Rebecca sensed Grant Berringer required an extraordinary effort in that respect. Not a good sign.

“Our housekeeper, Miriam Walker, lives in,” Matthew continued. “There’s an intercom system throughout the house, so Grant can call her if there’s any need.”

Rebecca listened and nodded. It sounded as if Matthew had thought of everything. They had passed several large main rooms—a banquet-size dining room, an impressive parlor and a huge kitchen stocked with professional-looking cooking equipment. Lured by the view, Rebecca couldn’t help but slow her step to glance inside the doorway.

“Great kitchen,” she remarked when Matthew turned to glance at her.

He smiled. “You must like to cook if the sight of all those pots and pans and gadgetry turns you on.”

“I do. When I have the time.” She thought of the tiny, ill-equipped kitchen in her apartment in the city. It was a challenge, but she still managed to turn out some great meals for dinner guests or for herself and Nora when she had the time and inspiration to experiment. What a treat it would be to cook in a kitchen like this one.

“It’s a very relaxing hobby, I hear,” Matthew said. “Never caught my interest, though. I much prefer to work out my frustrations on a golf course…then visit a good restaurant for dinner,” he joked. “But my brother loves to cook. He had just had the kitchen redone before the accident. He was quite a chef. He had so many interests—tennis, sailing, skiing, traveling to the most exotic places. He played hard and worked hard. He’s known on Wall Street, too. Notorious, in fact, for being tough, even ruthless, some say. Grant is a successful, self-made man who knows how to live life to the fullest. Or did, before the accident,” Matthew added. “You couldn’t guess it, though, to see him now.”

“He could be that way again,” she said optimistically. “In time.”

“Yes, I suppose,” he agreed with a heavy sigh. “But it’s hard to believe when you see him now.”

They had arrived at double doors at the end of a long hall. Matthew knocked once, and a male voice answered. “Just a moment.”

A young man with short dark hair answered the door. Joe Newton, the private nurse, Rebecca assumed. He smiled at Rebecca in greeting. He had a kind, gentle manner, she thought, if first impressions were any clue. He looked quite strong, as well. Was Grant Berringer so incapacitated that he required a weight lifter’s aid? From what she’d read of his injuries, it shouldn’t be as dire as all that.

Matthew led her into the room and made some quick introductions.

“How’s Grant doing this afternoon?” Beneath Matthew’s casual tone, Rebecca could sense his concern.

Joe shrugged a hefty shoulder. “About the same, I’d say. I persuaded him to go out on the beach after breakfast, then he wanted a nap. He refused to do any exercise today. Said his hip hurt too much,” Joe reported with a frown. “He’s been resting for some time now. I was just about to try to get him up.”

A nap, in the middle of a day like this one? His depression was deep. While she had a degree in psychology as well as one in physiotherapy, she wondered if she was professionally equipped to treat this man.

“Let me go into him alone first,” Matthew said.

Matthew disappeared into the adjoining room and Rebecca was left alone with Joe. “Are you interviewing as a physical therapist?” he asked her.

Rebecca nodded. “Have there been many others here so far?”

“Matthew has hired plenty. But they don’t last very long. Grant scares them away,” Joe replied with a laugh.

Matthew Berringer had neglected to add that tidbit of information during their talk, Rebecca realized. Perhaps her chances of getting this job weren’t as bad as she thought.

“I don’t scare easily,” Rebecca told Joe with a smile.

“He’s tough,” the nurse assured her. “I try to help him as much as I can. To get his strength back and such. But he prefers me to be more of a glorified baby-sitter.”

“Matthew said you were patient with him. He appreciates that,” Rebecca confided.

“I try to be.” She could see that the compliment had touched him. “Grant’s a good guy underneath it all. I’d like to see him get back to his old self.”

It seems everyone who knew Grant shared the same hope, Rebecca reflected. Then she heard Matthew’s voice. “Ms. Calloway, could you come in here, please?”

“Be right there,” she replied. She turned away from Joe and began walking to the open doorway.

“Good luck,” he whispered as she passed. She simply smiled in reply. She didn’t know why she felt such a fluttering in her stomach. She was never nervous about meeting prospective patients.

She entered the room slowly. It seemed very dark and stuffy, considering the weather outside. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, then she could still see that the place was a mess, with books and newspapers scattered about, a tray of food that looked barely picked over and an unmade bed in the midst of everything. Considering the appearance of the rest of the house, she could only assume that Grant Berringer preferred his personal area to be left in such a state.

Some distance from the doorway, she could make out Matthew’s tall form, and beside him a man in a wheelchair who she assumed was Grant. His back was turned to her. Not a good sign, she thought.

As she walked toward them, Rebecca’s first instinct was to pull open the long curtains that covered one wall. From the layout of the adjoining room, she guessed the drapery covered glass doors that led to the long deck and framed an ocean view. Some sunlight and fresh air would do a world of good in here, she thought.

But she didn’t touch the curtains. Instead, she continued to approach the two men. Matthew’s voice cut through the tense silence.

“Ms. Calloway, I’d like you to meet my brother Grant.” His tone was so smooth and sociable, Rebecca thought she might have stumbled into a garden party instead of this dark, stuffy lair.

“I would like to meet him,” Rebecca replied, standing just a few feet from them. “If he’d be so kind as to turn around.”

Matthew looked at Grant, a tense expression on his face. But he didn’t say anything. They waited what seemed a long time, though it was perhaps only a moment or two.

Then finally Grant Berringer spun his wheelchair around and Rebecca had her first look at him. His hair was dark and thick. Appealingly so, she thought. She couldn’t tell if he was growing a beard or had just neglected to shave for a day or two. His cheeks had a scruffy appearance that could not detract from his strong good looks. With his hair combed straight back from his forehead and his broad, high cheekbones and angular jaw, his face had a distinctly regal, lionlike appearance.

He was extremely attractive, she thought, though not in a smooth, typical way, the way his brother, Matthew, was handsome.

She’d learned the basic facts of his physical appearance from his medical records—six feet in height, one hundred and seventy-five pounds. At thirty-eight years old, he was almost ten years her senior. Yet the basic facts had not prepared her for some undefinable quality he possessed—his sheer intensity, which was as much a characteristic of the man as the dark eyes that took her in from head to toe.

“You’ll forgive me for not getting up.” He greeted her in a gruff, sarcastic voice.

His eyes, framed by thick brows, looked large and luminous in the dimly lit room. The rugged lines of his face held a serious, almost angry expression.

“No apology necessary,” Rebecca replied lightly. “Of course, considering your condition, Mr. Berringer, you could be out of that chair by now, you know.”

“You think so, do you?” he challenged her. He gave a bitter laugh, then turned to his brother. “Did you find yet another Mary Poppins for the job, Matthew?” His voice sounded weary and vaguely amused. “One would think the supply would be exhausted by now.”

“One would think your brother would be exhausted by now, trying to help you, Mr. Berringer,” Rebecca replied quietly.

She saw Matthew Berringer’s eyebrows pop up at her tart response. But he said nothing. Grant finally lifted his head and stared into her eyes. He seemed impressed. Almost animated. She gave herself two points for that achievement, anyway.

“Well, well…this one’s got some spunk, I’ll give her that much,” he said to Matthew. Rebecca thought she’d noticed a spark of appreciation in his eyes as he gazed at her, then thought she must have been mistaken. His gaze remained flat and dispassionate. “I’ve always preferred a tart, cool taste myself, as opposed to something sticky and overly sweet.”

“None of my patients ever accused me of being too sweet,” Rebecca replied. “More like the opposite.”

“I’m not your patient yet, Ms. Calloway,” he reminded her harshly. “Not by a long shot.”

Rebecca was taken aback, but only for a moment. The wounded lion, cornered in his den, she thought. All he could do was give a loud roar and hope to scare the intruder away.

There was a small chair near his wheelchair, and she walked over and sat in it. She knew that being on the same eye level as the patient—not staring down at them—should help ease a tense moment like this one.

“You’re right. My mistake,” she said simply.

He stared directly at her, and she had her first good look at him, up close and personal. Intimidating was the word that first came to mind. But as she gazed unflinchingly into his dark eyes, she saw his vulnerability, as well, and the wellspring of pain and fear that had driven him to this dark place.

A thin white scar extended from the corner of his eye to his jawline, marring one cheek. Rebecca had read in the medical report that Grant could have easily had the scar erased with plastic surgery, but for some reason preferred not to. Did he keep it to help him mourn his loss? Or as a penance he felt bound to pay?

Her heart was touched by him, moved by him. Not by pity or compassion, exactly, but by some inexplicable urge to restore him, physically and spiritually, to siphon into him some of her abundant strength and will.

She had never felt quite this reaction to a prospective patient before, Rebecca thought with a mental jolt. Why this one?

Then suddenly, Grant’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“I like a person who can admit when they’re wrong,” he said in a low, deep voice.

“I do a lot of that,” she admitted. “Maybe you’ll end up liking me, after all.”

He suddenly laughed, and the deep, warm sound skimmed along her nerve endings, lighting a path in its wake—a reaction that alarmed Rebecca and one she forced herself to ignore. Still, she couldn’t ignore the sudden change in Grant Berringer’s appearance. His smile was like a sudden burst of light exploding in the shadowy room. His face was transformed, softened, making his dark good looks even more appealing, Rebecca thought, as her gaze lingered on the small, attractive lines fanning from the corners of his eyes and deep dimples beside a full, sensual mouth.

Rebecca quickly pulled her gaze away. What was going on here? Was she attracted to him?

No, it couldn’t be. Mustn’t be. She’d been warned about this but it had never happened to her. She tried to find some rational reason it would happen now. It was his sad story, she told herself. Matthew had drawn Grant as a tragic—even romantic—figure. The story had gotten to her. It had to be. She couldn’t compromise her professional standards by taking on a case when she had a romantic interest in the patient.

As if reading her mind, Grant said, “You know, Ms. Calloway, there are women, like yourself, who have come here hoping to bag a rich husband. If that’s your intention, I may as well warn you now, you’d be wasting your time.”

Rebecca knew his insult was merely a tactic, a ploy to drive her away, but it stung nonetheless to hear her ethics—and those of her colleagues—disparaged.

“Grant, please,” Matthew urged his brother. “Why do you have to do this?”

Matthew had been quiet until now. He seemed to think Rebecca and his brother should sort things out, and she was grateful for that. She could hear his frustration and embarrassment for Grant’s rudeness.

“No, it’s okay,” she assured Matthew. She turned to Grant again. “Mr. Berringer, I can promise you, the last thing in the world I’m looking for is a husband, rich or otherwise.”

She watched him blink in surprise, but he showed no other reaction to her words.

“All right, point taken,” he replied. He paused, then looked at her. “My brother says you’re highly qualified. The best he’s found so far. But I want you to give me one good reason I should hire you for this job. Especially when so many others before have clearly failed at it. One good reason, Ms. Calloway,” he added, the note of challenge in his voice growing sharper. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Rebecca sat straight in her chair. She was being tested, like some character in a myth, required to answer the riddle before a magic portal to another realm would open or some treasure would be handed over.

She wasn’t sure what she should say or do, and on a sudden impulse, she stood and pulled open the heavy curtains. Sunlight flooded the room. God, she’d been itching to do that since she’d come in.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Grant Berringer reel back in his chair, one arm raised to shield his eyes from the sudden flash of light. Rebecca ignored his reaction.

“Here, come with me a minute, I want to show you something.” Without waiting for Grant’s reply, she flipped off the brakes of his chair and quickly wheeled him toward the open glass door.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a nice person,’ Rebecca answered lightly as she pushed his chair onto the deck. Inside the room, she could hear Matthew softly chuckling. She pushed Grant’s chair to the middle of the balcony, near the railing.

“That was quite a ride,” Grant said. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“Strong enough to handle you,” she promised.

He grunted something in reply, but Rebecca couldn’t make out any distinct words. The sound of his dismay made her smile.

“So why have you brought me out here, Ms. Calloway? To catch pneumonia, maybe?”

“It’s not that cold,” she countered with a laugh. “It’s not cold at all.”

“Or maybe you plan to push me off the balcony? Put me out of my misery?”

His words were spoken in a jesting tone, but they touched an alarm in Rebecca. She knew his cynical joke came from a deep, frightening place, and she knew with almost utter certainty that Grant Berringer had considered ending his life, perhaps in that very manner. Still, she managed to answer him in a joking tone.

“I’ve rarely been known to push a patient off a balcony. On purpose, I mean,” she said casually. “And I certainly wouldn’t choose such a low one,” she added, peering over the edge to the beach below. “I’d definitely take you up to the second or third floor for something like that.”

“Thanks, I feel much better now,” he said. Rebecca restrained herself from laughing. “That still doesn’t answer my question, though. Why are we out here, Ms. Calloway?”

“For the view, of course,” she replied, as if he should have guessed. “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”

Rebecca stood straight and took a deep breath. The ocean air was wonderful. And the view of the water and the blue sky above… Well, they reminded her of how great it was just to be alive. Couldn’t he feel that, too?

“Oh, that.” He dismissed her enthusiasm with a sarcastic laugh. “You get used to it. Believe me.”

“I never would,” she countered. She moved around his chair and stood beside him.

He glanced at her, then at the horizon. “Yes, you’re the type who probably wouldn’t,” he said quietly. “But most people do. Besides, you still haven’t given me a reason to give you the job.”

Rebecca felt suddenly nervous, anxious. This wasn’t working out as she had expected. He was tough. Maybe too tough for her?

She stood behind him again, and on impulse covered his eyes with her hands. His skin felt warm to her touch, and she could feel his entire body grow tense and alert. Yet he didn’t roar a protest, as she expected. Or try to pull away. She felt his brow furrow in a puzzled frown. Then his large hands came up to cover hers.

“What are you doing now, playing peekaboo? The woman is mad, definitely,” he murmured to himself.

Rebecca ignored his complaint. “I know you’re used to the view, take it for granted, in fact. But what if you couldn’t see the ocean ever again. How would you feel about that?”

“It wouldn’t matter to me one bit. I don’t really see it now,” he confessed in a flat voice. “I don’t deserve to see it at any rate.”

Her heart clenched at his words. Yes, it all came down to his guilt. He wouldn’t allow himself to reach out for life again. He believed he didn’t deserve it. He was trying to punish himself—and scare off anyone who tried to stop him from punishing himself.

She took her hands off his eyes, yet for some inexplicable reason, her hands floated down to trace the line of his lightly bearded cheeks. With the fingertips of her right hand, she felt the thin ridge of his scar, and a wave of emotion for him washed through her as she lifted her hands.

His hands did not prevent her from moving, but they held her, transmitting a sense that he was reluctant to feel her break contact.

But she did break contact and stood behind his chair with her arms dangling at her sides, her body feeling subtly charged from the brief touch.

“I’d like to say I understand,” she said quietly. “But I’m sure you believe that nobody really can.”

“Very wise. I don’t see how anyone could.”

Standing behind Grant Berringer, she couldn’t see his face. But his voice was filled with emotion, the most she’d heard from him so far.

She paused and took a deep breath. She was losing him. Not just losing her chance at getting the job. But losing her chance to help this man who had mysteriously touched something within her. She suddenly wanted to be the one to help him. She suddenly believed she could succeed where all the others had failed.

She moved to face him. “I took you out here because I thought that the sight of this beautiful day would remind you it’s simply great to be alive. And that’s the best reason to want to recover.”

“Spare me, Ms. Calloway. I’ve heard all these little sermons before.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have. But maybe we’re both right. It doesn’t have to be one way or the other, you know.”

“I don’t quite get your meaning.”

“Well, if what I’m saying is true, maybe you think that means your loss is without value. That what you’ve been through isn’t truly important. But that’s not what I mean at all,” she assured him. “If you allow yourself to look at the ocean, Mr. Berringer, and truly see it again and wonder at the sheer power and beauty of it…well, that’s okay,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t diminish your loss or make your pain meaningless. If you choose to go on with your life and build yourself up again, physically and emotionally, it doesn’t erase the past or make you disloyal to the memory of your fiancée.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then looked away, smoothing his hair with his hand. He seemed disturbed by her speech, and Rebecca braced herself for a tirade. Then he appeared to settle into his own thoughts as he stared at the sea. She wondered what those thoughts were. She couldn’t begin to guess.

He had a strong profile, she noticed, one that spoke of determination, even a stubborn streak. If looks were any indication, maybe he’d make it, after all.

“I’ll take you back in now,” she offered after a few moments. “Unless of course you’d like to stay out here alone for a while?”

“I can get myself back in, when I’m damned good and ready,” he replied curtly. “But is the interview over, Ms. Calloway?” he asked, his tone mockingly polite. “I thought that small formality was the employer’s prerogative.”

Rebecca suppressed a laugh. “My mistake…once again.”

“Yes, that’s two. But who’s counting? Frankly, I’m amazed that I’m still interested in hiring you at all.”

“Yes, so am I,” she replied honestly, feeling her heartbeat quicken at his words.

“So…do you want the job or not?” he asked impatiently.

Her immediate impulse was to answer “Yes.” But she restrained herself.

“I’m glad you want to hire me, Mr. Berringer. But I do need to think it over for a day or so. I hope that’s acceptable to you.”

“As you wish. You can call Matthew with your decision,” he instructed.

“All right, I’ll do that,” she replied. Had she hurt his feelings when she didn’t accept right away? He was pouting like a small boy. Well, she couldn’t help that.

“Did I scare you?” he asked suddenly. His black eyes were narrowed in a brooding look that had already become familiar to her. “You hardly seem the timid type.”

“No, not at all,” she called over her shoulder. “You’ll have to try much harder if I come back.”

“Yes, I will try harder. I’ll be absolutely impossible,” he promised. “See, you’ve motivated me already.”

Rebecca met his glance quickly then continued on her way. His brief smile was heart-stopping. Both a good sign…and bad, she thought with dismay. She kept going, through the glass door, through Grant’s messy bedroom to the outer room, where she found Matthew waiting for her.

“How did it go?” Matthew asked eagerly, rising from his chair.

“All right, I suppose. He offered me the job.”

“That’s great!” Matthew smiled, and his blue eyes lit with pleasure. “When can you start?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, I haven’t accepted yet. I need some time to think it over. A day or two, at the most. Your brother told me I should call you with my answer.”

“Yes, call me with your answer as soon as you decide, Ms. Calloway. And if there are any questions, any questions at all—about the salary or living arrangements—please know I’ll do all I can to make the situation comfortable for you.”

Rebecca promised she would call as soon as she came to a decision, and Matthew showed her to the front door, where they said goodbye.

As Rebecca started up her car and drove down the long driveway toward the main road, she wondered why she hadn’t accepted on the spot. While she dithered, the Berringers might interview someone else and offer them the position. The salary they’d spoken of was very generous. As were the extras. It was a plum assignment, really. Except for one thing. The patient.

Grant Berringer hadn’t scared her. But her feelings and reactions to him certainly had.

## Two

Although Rebecca had expected to deliberate over the job offer for at least a day or more, she could think of nothing else during the long drive back to the city. By the time she arrived at the front door to her apartment in a brownstone building on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, she had more or less decided that she had no real choice at all. She felt compelled to accept, despite a niggling, intuitive warning that the job would be a hard one, perhaps the hardest she’d ever faced.

Yet each time she’d pondered turning it down, the vision of Grant Berringer’s dark, luminous eyes and bleak, haunted expression would rise before her, and she’d feel herself swaying again toward a positive answer.

Rebecca had faced some hard cases but prided herself on the fact that she had never failed to inspire her patients to work hard and heal. She had a solid reputation in her field—which was why Matthew Berringer had gotten in touch with her in the first place. Did she dare put that professional reputation on the line for a man she barely knew—and didn’t even necessarily like? If she failed with a well-known man like Grant Berringer—and joined the ranks of his rejected therapists—the word would soon get around. It might make it difficult to find another assignment.

Well then, she couldn’t fail, could she? Somehow, she had to break through the fortress he’d built around his wounded heart and soul. The injuries to his body were serious but irrelevant, Rebecca believed. It was the inner man who needed to recover. And once that began to happen, the rest would follow easily, as night follows day.

Rebecca quickly changed from her interview suit into comfortable, worn jeans and a striped T-shirt. With a tall cold drink in hand, she dialed Matthew Berringer. He sounded surprised to hear from her. But when she accepted the offer, he seemed so pleased and grateful, Rebecca felt she’d made the right choice, after all. She arranged to move into the Berringer mansion the following weekend, which was right after Nora’s last day of school.

Since her stay would be temporary, Matthew insisted on paying her moving expenses and any unexpected costs, such as rent on her apartment or storage for furniture. While Rebecca appreciated his consideration and concern, she had been asked to move out of her apartment at the end of the month to give way to the landlord’s brother. And as for items to put in storage, since her divorce, she and Nora had been traveling light, and Rebecca thought she could fit most of their belongings in the back of her Jeep Cherokee.

“Grant will be very pleased to hear the news,” Matthew said. “He was impressed by your meeting.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Rebecca replied, smiling. “The same way a bored cat is impressed with a particularly feisty mouse.”

“Well…that, too,” Matthew conceded with a laugh. “But I think he’s finally met a worthy adversary. My money is riding on you, Rebecca.”

Rebecca thanked him for the vote of confidence. They discussed the terms of her contract and ended the conversation on a cheerful note. The moment she hung up the phone, however, she felt a knot of dread in the pit of her stomach. Well, she’d accepted. The contract would arrive in a few days, and once she signed it, she was committed to the assignment.

Rebecca shoved worrisome thoughts aside and began making a list of all she had to do in the next week to prepare for the move. She looked up to see that it was time to pick up Nora at school, a task that was performed by a sitter while Rebecca was working. But Rebecca liked to meet her daughter whenever she was able.

Nora greeted her with a giant hug. They walked down the tree-lined street toward home hand in hand while Nora chatted happily about her adventures of the day. With the school year coming to a close, the teachers were clearly growing weary, and the children were getting wilder every day. Rebecca was barely able to interrupt Nora’s conversation long enough to offer her some ice cream at a favorite shop. They sat at the counter and each ordered their usual flavor, strawberry for Rebecca and Rocky Road for Nora. Once Nora had settled down, Rebecca told her about her new job and explained that they’d be moving to the patient’s house for the summer.

“You mean, like when we stay at Grammy’s, in the guest room?” Nora asked, sounding puzzled.

Rebecca had to smile at the comparison. Her mother lived in a lovely old Victorian house on the Connecticut shore, the house where Rebecca had been raised along with two sisters. But the entire home would fit quite neatly into the space of the Berringers’ east wing, she thought.

“Not quite like Grammy’s guest room. We’ll have our own private apartment, about the size of the apartment we have now. But it will be part of the Berringers’ house,” Rebecca explained. “Their house is very large. The kind you call a mansion.”

Nora’s lovely little face was still puckered in a frown. “Oh, you mean sort of like a castle?”

“Well…not exactly. But a little like a castle, I guess,” Rebecca conceded, taking a spoonful of ice cream. There was a genuine, fire-breathing dragon on the premises, she reflected.

Nora seemed satisfied by that answer and excited to be living at the beach. Rebecca realized she would have to enroll Nora in a day camp or some type of summer program so her daughter would be occupied during working hours, but Rebecca was sure she would easily find something suitable.

“I think Eloise will love living in a castle,” Nora said. “Maybe she’ll learn how to swim.”

Oh, dear, the cat, Rebecca thought. She’d almost forgotten about Eloise. But the cat, who had been with Nora since she was only two, couldn’t be left behind. She’d have to tell Matthew Berringer about Eloise, of course, and hope he didn’t mind.

“Cats don’t like water much, Nora,” Rebecca reminded her. “But I’m sure she won’t complain about seafood dinners.”

Nora laughed. As they walked home, Rebecca felt relieved that her daughter had taken the news of their sudden move so easily. Some other children would have been upset about the unexpected change. But Nora had always had an easy temperament, even as a baby. She’d always taken changes in stride, too. Even the breakup of their little family. Nora had only been four years old when Rebecca’s husband had asked for a divorce, claiming he’d fallen madly in love with a co-worker.

Rebecca had been crushed by the betrayal, but not truly surprised. In the years since Nora’s arrival, it seemed that she and her husband, Jack, had been growing increasingly distant and they spent little time together as a couple—except to argue about money, or Jack’s late nights out with his pals, or all the day-to-day problems in every married life. But while Rebecca had noticed the change in their relationship and wondered how to rekindle their romantic spark, she’d never imagined that Jack had found someone else. She’d never once considered being unfaithful to him. No matter what.

They had been sweethearts since high school, and his disloyalty was a great blow to her. Still, for Nora’s sake, Rebecca had offered to forgive and forget, if Jack was willing to end his affair and try to work on their marriage. She was even willing to recognize that she had played some part in his seeking passion elsewhere.

But Jack had claimed it was too late and any efforts in that direction would be useless. He also claimed that he loved her…but not the way a man should love his wife. Maybe they’d married too young, or simply knew each other too long and too well. While it all sounded like the typical excuses of an unfaithful spouse, Rebecca knew there was some truth to his words. Maybe she had always been too devoted to Jack, her love and loyalty too easily won. His great romance hadn’t held together very long, but that, too, was predictable, Rebecca realized.

The blow was awesome, but it was a clean break and irrevocable. As painful as it had been to face the truth, her loving feelings for Jack had withered and grown cold soon after she’d learned about his deception. In fact, in the passing years, she’d come to see him differently. It wasn’t just bitterness, either, she knew. While they were married, she’d accepted and overlooked his immaturity and self-centered tendencies. But now she saw him objectively and often felt relieved that she didn’t have to put up with his inconsiderate behavior anymore.

Except that Nora often did, which inevitably made Rebecca livid. Jack had never been a very consistent father, sometimes showering Nora with the attention and affection she deserved and sometimes ignoring her existence completely. His sales job kept him on the road a lot, and even when he was in town, he often forgot plans and special dates he’d made with Nora. Rebecca was left to make excuses and soothe Nora’s hurt feelings…and to give their daughter a double share of love and attention. It was at those times especially that Rebecca wondered why she’d ever put up with him all those years.

Rebecca had swiftly regained her pride in the years since her divorce, yet she’d never found the courage to have a real relationship again. She’d dated a bit, even met a few men she genuinely liked. But nothing ever went too far, and Rebecca knew that the fault was hers alone. She never let her fledgling relationships progress very far and always found some reason to bail out before things grew serious.

It was fear, plain and simple. She didn’t need a therapist or self-help guru to diagnose her problem. Logically she knew all men weren’t faithless, but emotionally, she just didn’t trust the opposite sex any longer. Besides, she’d found that earning a living and taking care of Nora required her full attention and effort. Though she was occasionally lonely and from time to time imagined a perfect romance that could magically sweep away her fears, Rebecca was largely content with her life and always put off the idea of dating for some future time in her life.

When Nora was older, she told herself, or when her professional life was less demanding of her time and energy. She knew these reasons were all thin excuses, convenient shields. But she allowed herself the pretense and fended off friends and relations—mostly her two sisters—who never grew tired of trying to fix her up with dates.

At least by living at the Berringers’ for the summer she’d be out of that loop, Rebecca reflected, and the relative isolation would give her the perfect excuse to neglect her love life, or lack thereof.

The week passed quickly and the morning soon arrived for Rebecca and Nora to drive to Bridgehampton in Rebecca’s aged and overloaded car. She’d hired two college students with a van to move her furniture and many of the boxes.

All in all, she didn’t have much to show in the way of worldly goods, which was more or less the way she preferred it. Rebecca had never been impressed by wealth or the privilege and power it commanded. Her ex-husband had often accused her of what he called reverse snobbery, and though she was sure she wasn’t usually judgmental, she sometimes thought she did have an automatic bias against rich people. Matthew Berringer, however, had impressed her favorably, and for all his money, she had found him quite down-to-earth. As for her new patient, Rebecca thought as she turned down the long drive that led to the mansion, well…any snobbery Grant Berringer possessed was the least of her problems right now.

“Wow…we’re going to live in there?” Nora asked with a gasp.

Rebecca had to laugh at her reaction. “That’s right.”

“It does look like a castle…practically,” Nora conceded.

“It’s as close as we’ll ever get, honey,” Rebecca replied. As if to underscore her advice, Eloise, in her cat carrier, released a long, plaintive yowl.

As soon as Rebecca and Nora arrived, Matthew sent down some of the house staff to help, and the car and van were unpacked in no time flat. Rebecca felt a bit disoriented by the moving-day confusion, especially since Nora insisted on opening various boxes, looking for favorite toys and other belongings she feared Rebecca had left behind. Rebecca had hoped to put their things away in an orderly fashion, but soon the place was topsy-turvy.

In the midst of the confusion, the phone rang, and Rebecca was greeted by Grant’s deep, commanding voice.

“So, you’ve finally arrived. When did you plan on seeing your patient…next week, perhaps?” he asked in a cranky tone.

For a man who had to be persuaded to hire her, he was certainly taking a different tack today, she reflected. Different, but no less imperious.

“I was just doing a bit of unpacking. Do you feel neglected already?” she countered.

She was probably starting off on the entirely wrong foot—and would be fired by dinnertime, hence wasting energy with all the effort of moving in—but he sounded so much like a spoiled little boy, she couldn’t resist answering him tartly.

“That’s not the point.” He bristled. “I believe that you’re to be paid very well for your time here, Ms. Calloway, and I expect your complete attention. Is that clear?”

“Quite clear. Though, in fact, you don’t start paying me for my time until Monday morning, and today is Saturday,” she reminded him politely. “Also, please feel free to call me Rebecca.”

She heard him grumble but couldn’t make out the words. She didn’t expect an apology, and there was none.

She did expect him to hang up, but instead he said, “It’s almost twelve o’clock. If you haven’t had any lunch yet, please join me. On the terrace off the library, in about half an hour or so.”

It was more of a command than an invitation, Rebecca noticed, but it seemed to indicate that he was eager to see her again, which was a hopeful sign.

“Thank you, I’ll see you then.” She hung up the phone, checked her watch and quickly glanced at herself and then Nora. They both looked as if they’d been dragged through a trashbin by the hair. They’d never be ready on time, but Rebecca knew she had better try.

Miraculously, a half hour later, she had bathed Nora, dressed her in a yellow gingham sundress and sandals and put her long hair in a ponytail. No time for a braid. Nora didn’t understand why she had to suddenly dress up but submitted to the treatment with little complaint. Rebecca had quickly showered, pulled on a long floral skirt and silk tank top she’d found at the top of the clothes pile and then whisked on some lipstick. She grabbed Nora’s hand, and they scurried down numerous hallways until they finally found the library. Nora thought it was a game and raced ahead, despite Rebecca’s hushed warnings to slow down.

A bit out of breath but right on time, Rebecca composed herself at the door to the library. She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair before entering. The room was empty, but she heard voices outside the glass doors that opened to the terrace. As she stepped onto the terrace, she saw Matthew and Grant sitting at a table set for lunch. Rebecca stopped a few feet away from the table and smiled at them both.

“Well, here we are,” she said brightly.

“And right on time,” Matthew replied with a smile. He rose to greet them. “How nice to be joined for lunch by two lovely ladies.”

Rebecca smiled in reply as he held out her chair. But when she turned to greet Grant, his dark gaze was narrowed, his brow knitted in a frown. He stared at her, looking positively shocked. She couldn’t quite figure it out. Then she realized he was staring at Nora.

“Who’s that?” he demanded, indicating Nora.

Rebecca felt her daughter clutch her hand and looked to see the child’s expression grow wary and tense. She pulled her protectively to her side. “My daughter. Her name is Nora.”

“You never said you were bringing a child,” he bellowed.

Rebecca glanced nervously from Grant to Matthew, who seemed to shrink into his seat. “But…I told Matthew. I assumed he told you,” she explained.

Grant’s dark eyes widened, and his mouth tightened into a hard, grim line. He stared across the table at his brother. “You knew she was bringing a child here?” he demanded.

“Rebecca told me about her daughter during her interview,” Matthew admitted smoothly. “We’ll discuss this later, Grant. No reason to frighten the little girl.”

“No reason, eh? No reason to tell me about the child, either, I suppose…until it’s too late. Because you knew I wouldn’t permit it!” he roared. His fiery gaze swept from Matthew to Rebecca. “And I won’t,” he insisted.

Rebecca took a deep breath and stood tall against his outburst. She didn’t know what to say. If Matthew knew his brother had such strong objections to having a child in the house and had hidden Nora’s arrival from Grant, then she could understand Grant’s anger. Not that it excused his manner of expressing it.

“Grant, please.” Matthew approached his brother. “Calm down. Try to be more reasonable—”

“Why in heaven’s name should I be reasonable? You’ve purposely tricked me. The both of you. Just because I’m in a wheelchair, does that mean you have a right to control and manipulate me? To completely ignore my opinion?” He backed his wheelchair away from the table, then came directly toward Rebecca and Nora.

His dark hair looked longer and shaggier than at their first meeting, Rebecca thought. And his glowing lion’s eyes burned bright and wild. Even in his anger, Rebecca still felt that irksome tug of attraction she tried so hard to deny.

He was acting like a child, she told herself. Still, she understood his side of the situation. He was a proud man, now forced to rely on others for every need. It was a question of self-respect. She was sorry she had not been aware of his objection. She would have confronted him directly about it, as an equal. Now he seemed to believe she was in on the deception.

“I wasn’t aware that you didn’t want to hire someone with a child,” she said honestly. “It’s a big house. Nora will do her best to stay out of your way. If that’s not a satisfactory solution, we can go.”

He rolled the chair closer, glaring at her. “I would like you to go,” he announced in a low, harsh tone. “Today, if at all possible.”

“Grant—come on now,” Matthew urged. “Rebecca has a contract.”

“What’s the difference? Pay her out. Pay her for the whole damn summer. What do I care?”

“But why must she go?” Matthew persisted. “It was all my fault. You can’t just—”

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do!” Grant turned toward his brother and pounded his fist on the tabletop. The plates and silverware clattered. “I’ll do as I damn please! Do you understand that?”

Clinging to Rebecca’s side, Nora suddenly burst into tears and buried her face in her mother’s skirt. Rebecca was overwhelmed by a wave of protective instinct.

“Nora, sweetheart,” she crooned. “It’s okay.” She crouched and wrapped her arms around the little girl in a sheltering embrace.

“Can’t we go, Mommy? He’s…scaring me,” Nora whispered between sniffles.

“Don’t be afraid, sweetie. We’re going right away,” she promised.

She scooped Nora up in her arms, though the child was well past the age of easy lifting. Nora clung to her and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. If this was the atmosphere Grant would create, then perhaps it was best if she took Nora away. As she turned to leave the terrace, Rebecca glanced at Grant with a searing look.

“Proud of yourself?” she asked, though she didn’t know how she dared to be so insolent to him.

The look he gave her in answer stopped her cold in her tracks. His eyes flashed, and he looked away, quickly turning his chair so he didn’t have to face her.

“You don’t have a clue about me, Rebecca Calloway,” he said in a hushed, almost apologetic tone. “It’s best you get away now, while the going is good. Best for your little girl, too.”

Rebecca stood stone still for a moment, feeling dazed and confused. But before she could think of anything to say in reply, Grant turned his chair, and she was suddenly facing his back. Matthew glanced at her and made a small motion with his head, indicating that she should leave them.

Hugging Nora close, she made her way through the study and down the labyrinth of hallways to their rooms. Nora had calmed down considerably and didn’t need to be carried all the way—which Rebecca considered a small blessing, since her back was already sore from moving, and she faced repacking many boxes and loading her car again.

Once in their rooms, Rebecca explained that Grant was not a bad person and that his outburst didn’t have anything to do with Nora personally. She told her daughter he was terribly unhappy because of his accident and slow recovery. Nora seemed to understand.

A few minutes later, Matthew brought them some lunch on a tray. Nora immediately ran over and chose a sandwich. Rebecca had lost her appetite and picked up a cold drink. Matthew moved a few boxes to the floor, then sat on the small sofa and sighed.

“I need to apologize,” he began. “This whole mess is all my fault. I knew Grant would object to having your daughter here, but I’d hoped that once you arrived, he’d get used to the idea,” he explained.

“What does he have against children?” she asked. “Does he think having Nora with me will distract me from my work?”

“No, it’s not that.” Matthew met her gaze then looked away. “I’m not free to say. But maybe you can talk to him about it. He might explain it to you.”