“I’m sorry, Nick, this isn’t going to work out.”

Erin took a deep breath and started to walk away, heart pounding.

“Wait!” He strode after her and put a hand on her arm. “I don’t understand. What happened between Saturday evening and this morning to change your mind?”

Lifting her eyes to his, she answered, “I—I’ve had time to think. You know how people in small towns talk.”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re worried about the town gossips. What could anyone say that could possibly harm either of us?”

She conjured up a vivid image of herself hugely pregnant, and Nick cast unfairly as the father. She couldn’t put him in such an untenable position.

Nor could she bear to sit and wait for him to reject her.

She shrugged, forcing herself to appear nonchalant. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get involved. Please accept my decision.”

Shutting her heart to the hurt and anger in his eyes, she put her chin in the air, straightened her shoulders and walked out of his life….

Dear Reader,

Kids—you gotta love ’em. They say that mothers always know who their children are, but a father can never be certain. Until the advent of DNA testing, that is. The idea for Child of His Heart came by playing around with the writer’s favorite creative tool—what if? What if suddenly you discover that the child you always thought was yours might not be?

Nick Kincaid’s wife confessed on her deathbed to having an affair around the time their daughter was conceived. The galling knowledge doesn’t diminish Nick’s love for his daughter, Miranda, but he does think twice about getting romantically involved with Erin Hanson, who is pregnant by her ex-fiancé. The last thing he wants is to raise another child that isn’t his. Or does he?

Child of His Heart explores what it means to be a parent. Is fatherhood purely genetic? Or is a commitment to a child’s welfare on a daily basis just as important, perhaps more so? I think any parent, biological or adoptive, knows the answer to that.

Erin figures out pretty quickly that Nick would make a better father to her child than the biological father, despite Nick’s protestations. Nick gets there in the end, with Erin’s help, but not before he risks losing those he holds dearest. It’s a happy man who knows that, child of his loins or not, the child he loves and cares for is a child of his heart.

I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did writing it. I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me c/o Harlequin Enterprises, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada, M3B 3K9; or e-mail me at www.superauthors.com.

Joan Kilby

Child of His Heart
Joan Kilby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the children of my heart—Ryan, Gillian and Matthew

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE PHONE WAS RINGING when Erin entered her Seattle apartment late one Sunday night in early August. She longed for a hot shower and a quiet finish to the weekend with her fiancé, John.

Correction—her ex-fiancé.

“Hold on,” she muttered at the phone. “I’m coming.”

Slipping off her Prada slingbacks, she tossed her overnight bag onto the living room sofa and moved through the dark to the granite-and-oak kitchen. Three of her seven clocks chimed the quarter hour and she automatically looked at her watch—11:45.

The phone clicked onto voice mail. “Hi, Erin. It’s Kelly. Call me—”

At the sound of her sister’s voice, Erin snatched up the phone. “Kel? I’m here. I just got in.”

“Erin, thank God. I’ve been calling since yesterday morning.”

“I was away for the weekend with John. What’s up?” Stifling a yawn, she flicked on the lights and wriggled onto a bar stool, pushing back the spiraling blond strands that fell around her shoulders.

“It’s Gran,” Kelly said. “She’s fine now—”

“What do you mean now? What happened?” Erin hugged the cordless phone to her ear, one arm wrapped around her waist. Please, God, not Gran.

“She had a slight heart attack,” Kelly explained.

“Oh, my God.” Erin slid off the stool, her free hand pressed against her forehead. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s back home. She’s fine, honestly,” Kelly reassured her. “The doctors did all kinds of tests and they say there’s no serious damage to her heart. But I’m worried, Erin. When it happened, I was at work. She felt pain in her chest, and instead of going to the doctor she went around the house and penciled a name on the back of all her needlepoint pictures so we wouldn’t fight over them in case she died.”

“As if we would.” But Erin could just see Gran doing that.

“Well, Geena might,” Kelly said. “You know she’s always coveted the one of the lighthouse.”

Erin chuckled, and Kelly joined in. Laughing was okay because they both knew that like them, Geena wished Gran could live forever. No amount of needlepoint pictures would make up for her loss.

“I asked her to come and live with us,” Kelly continued. “She refused.”

“I’m not surprised—that house is her home.” Erin opened the fridge door and reached for the carton of orange juice. “She and Granddad built it over sixty years ago. I can’t imagine her living anywhere else. And we grew up there. I’d hate to see it go out of the family.”

“What should we do?” Kelly asked.

“I agree she shouldn’t be alone.” Erin pictured Gran suffering another heart attack, reaching for the phone and collapsing before she could dial 911. “Maybe we could get her a live-in housekeeper.”

“I suggested that, too. She doesn’t want a stranger in her house. I got her a Medic Alert tag, but she won’t wear it. I don’t know if she’s in denial or just forgetful.”

Erin drank some juice while she considered their options; there weren’t many. “I could come home,” she said slowly.

“But how?” Kelly objected. “What about your job? And John?”

Erin’s shoulders drooped. “John and I broke up.”

She barely finished speaking before clocks began to sound the hour from their various locations around the apartment. As she waited for the chimes to cease, her mind flitted back over the weekend at John’s cabin. She’d gone with the expectation that they’d plan the wedding; he’d come to tell her he wanted to postpone it—again. After two days of arguments, lovemaking and tears she was drained, emotionally and physically.

“Oh, Erin. I’m sorry.” Hesitantly, Kelly added, “To tell you the truth, I’m glad. He wasn’t right for you. But are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Erin put down her glass and moved into the darkened living room to stand before the picture window. From her twelfth-story apartment the lights of Seattle twinkled around the dark fingers of Puget Sound. “I’m running on empty, but I’ll survive. John’s not a bad guy—”

“He’s manipulative. I don’t know why you can’t see it. What did he do—put off the wedding again?”

“This is a bad time for him, workwise. As prosecuting attorney he has responsibilities, and now he’s thinking of running for Congress. Maybe I’m being too pigheaded. Gran isn’t the only stubborn one in the family.”

Kelly snorted impatiently. “All you wanted was a June wedding. After being engaged for over two years you’d think he could fit that on his agenda. You shouldn’t have to do things his way all the time. Love is about mutual respect and compromise—”

“I know. I know,” Erin cut in. She was grateful for Kelly’s support, but her sister had a blind spot about John. “It might do us good to have a break from each other for a while.”

“I thought you just said you’d split for good!”

“This could blow over given a little time.” Gut instinct told her John was never going to change, but she’d invested so much time and emotional energy in the relationship that letting go was hard.

“Oh, Erin.” Kelly gave an exasperated sigh and switched topics.

Leaving her new position as manager of the Loans Department would be a sacrifice, Erin had to admit. She’d worked hard for three years and had finally been rewarded with the promotion. Job opportunities appropriate to her qualifications weren’t exactly thick on the ground in Hainesville. Not only that, she loved the vibrancy, the variety a larger city like Seattle offered. She enjoyed the anonymity and the freedom to do what she wanted, to be who she was, without fear of censure or gossip.

Yet sometimes, like now, when her mind was weary and her heart sore, she longed for the cozy comfort of the small town she’d grown up in. A place without traffic jams and road rage, where the air smelled of blossoms and freshly cut grass, not diesel fumes; where people who’d known her as a child stopped on the street to chat. A place with memories and continuity, where life proceeded at a user-friendly pace.

“A job is just a job,” she told Kelly. “Family is everything.”

“YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE. You know that, don’t you?” Miranda complained from the passenger seat of her father’s Suburban. She tugged irritably at a purple-streaked strand of curly auburn hair. “I’m not even thirteen and my life is over.”

Nick Dalton ignored his daughter’s histrionics and kept his eyes straight ahead on the northbound lane of the interstate freeway. Puberty. Would it never end?

Usually he laughed off her over-the-top statements because they were underscored with humor and affection. But she was more furious than he’d ever seen her, and he was tired. Instead of finishing his last week as battalion chief for Orange County with paperwork, he’d had to contend with a major blaze that had broken out at a chemical plant and had been on duty around the clock, coordinating three battalions of firefighters. Now he and Miranda had been on the road for three long days and she’d been at him every waking minute. According to her, he’d “ruined” her life so many times it was a wonder she’d survived preschool.

“So sue me,” he teased, trying to pull her out of the despair she apparently loved to wallow in. “Taking you out of a smoggy, overcrowded, crime-ridden city and into fresh air and open spaces ought to be good for at least a million dollars.” When she didn’t even crack a smile, he added, “Don’t be so negative. I grew up in a small town.”

“Exactly,” she said, as if his origins accounted for his every deficiency. Miranda slumped in her seat, arms crossed over her recently blossomed breasts. “Hicksville isn’t small—it’s microscopic.”

“Hainesville,” he corrected her wearily. He rubbed his jaw, his fingers rasping over the stubble of his heavy beard. “People are friendly in small towns. And I hear the fishing in the area is fantastic.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is there a mall? Or a movie theater?”

“Maybe you can get a horse. Join a sports team.”

“I still don’t see why we had to leave L.A. I only got a navel ring. You can’t punish me as though I were a little girl. You didn’t freak out like this over the nose ring or the eyebrow ring.”

True, he had controlled his anger over the first two rings, telling himself that what was done was done and sooner or later she’d grow out of this ridiculous phase. But the navel ring had been the last straw. Curving provocatively from her bare midriff, it drove him crazy with paternal anxiety. Even now, he couldn’t keep his voice from rising when he spoke of it. “What the hell is a young girl doing with a ring in her navel? Huh?”

“You’re afraid I’ll look sexy,” she taunted. “You’re afraid I’ll start having sex.”

The smirk in her voice sent his blood pressure soaring. She’d pushed his hottest button. Nick gripped the wheel with both hands and forced himself to breathe deeply. You weren’t allowed to strangle your daughter. Nor could you lock her up until she was over thirty.

He’d taken the job at the Hainesville Fire Department partly to get Miranda away from the gang of older kids she’d started hanging with. Sex, drugs—who knew what those lowlifes got up to. Grounding Miranda hadn’t tamed her; more than once she’d snuck out of the house after he was asleep. Even the housekeeper he’d hired hadn’t been able to control her. The only solution, in his mind, was to distance her from bad influences.

Twelve-going-on-twenty, Miranda was trouble with a capital T. The older she got the more she looked like her mother, all lush curves and pouty lips. And if she looked like Janine, he couldn’t help think she would end up acting like Janine. His late wife had always been flirtatious, but until she lay dying in the hospital from injuries sustained in a hit-and-run accident, he’d never seriously thought she had deceived him. Before she’d passed away she’d confessed to having an affair around the time of Miranda’s conception. The memory was a slap in the face every time he looked at his daughter—if she really was his daughter.

“This move isn’t only about you,” he reminded her. “I got a promotion, don’t forget. You should be proud of your old man. At thirty-six I’m probably the youngest fire chief in Washington State.”

“Only because no one else wanted to come here!”

“Miranda, that’s enough.” The warning edge to his voice still had the power to subdue her—just. This move may have been sparked by concern for Miranda, but the change would be good for him, too. In the two years since Janine’s death he’d turned into a hermit. He needed balance in his life just as much as Miranda did.

A meeker voice said, “You look tired, Dad. Want some coffee?”

Nick glanced over to see Miranda, contrite after her outburst, screwing the lid off the thermal jug. “Thanks, honey. Any of those doughnuts left?”

She handed him a travel mug, then picked up the paper bag at her feet and offered it to him. “Don’t eat the blueberry one.”

Grinning, he tickled her behind her ear. “Who’s going to stop me?”

Reluctantly, she giggled. “Da-a-ad.”

ERIN TURNED INTO Linden Street and parked in front of Gran’s house. The two-story Victorian home, set on a wide, deep corner lot, was painted white with blue trim. Lilac bushes flanked the steps, and colorful petunias lined the footpath. In the center of the front yard grew a tall maple, in whose sturdy limbs she’d spent half her childhood.

Erin entered quietly in case Gran was sleeping, and was assailed by the deliciously spicy aroma of homemade gingersnaps. She stooped to set her suitcases on the runner protecting the polished hardwood floor just as the antique grandfather clock in the foyer began to strike noon. Reverently she stroked the polished mahogany and listened to the booming brass chimes. If she coveted anything in Gran’s house, it was this clock, brought west from Chicago by her great-grandfather, Henrik Hanson, more than a hundred years earlier.

The last vibrating note died away. She walked down the hall and into the kitchen. “Gran! I’m here.”

Sunlight streamed through the window overlooking the backyard, bringing a rich glow to the warm yellow walls. Ruth Hanson was pulling a freshly baked pan of Erin’s favorite cookies from the oven, her glasses fogged with heat. In her tracksuit she looked smaller and frailer than Erin remembered, her gray wig almost too large for her angular features. Her skin was stretched tightly over the bones of her face, but her smile was warm and welcoming. “Erin, honey!”

“What are you doing baking cookies?” Erin scolded. “You should be resting.” She grabbed an oven mitt from the table, took the hot tray and set it on a cork mat so she could hug her grandmother.

“I’ve been doing nothing but resting since I got out of the hospital. Oh, it’s so good to see you.” Gran’s hazel eyes became watery and she dug into her pocket for a tissue. “But you shouldn’t have quit your job to look after me. You’ve got your own life to live.”

“It hasn’t been much of a life lately, to tell you the truth. I’m glad to be here.” She hugged her again. “Really glad.”

Gran held her at arm’s length. “I like your dress. That smoky blue matches your eyes. You look good.”

Erin grinned. “Who wouldn’t in one of Geena’s designer outfits?”

“You’re lovely enough to have been a model, too, except that would have been a criminal waste of brain power.” Gran picked up a spatula and scooped the hot cookies off the pan and onto a rack. “Before I forget, as soon as you’ve settled in, go down to the bank and see Jonah Haines. I wouldn’t have suggested you do that on your first day home, but Jonah’s a hard man to pin down. He’s always in some important meeting.”

“Sure. Do you have some banking that needs to be taken care of?”

“No, he’s looking for an assistant manager. Edna Thompson mentioned it when she brought around a casserole after my little spell.”

Assistant manager. It would beat flipping burgers at the Burger Shack. Erin dug a finger into the bowl of cookie dough. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me.”

Gran batted her hand away from the bowl with an oven mitt and smiled indulgently. “Erin, there aren’t enough good words in the Bible to describe you. But you never did learn to keep your hands out of the cookie dough.”

Something brushed Erin’s ankles. She glanced down to see a fluffy gray kitten with enormous blue eyes staring up at her from the black-and-white linoleum floor.

“Well, hello there. Who are you?” Erin crooned. She picked up the kitten and rubbed its soft fur against her cheek. The kitten meowed and climbed onto Erin’s shoulder, digging her sharp little claws into Erin’s skin through the thin fabric of her cotton-knit dress.

“That’s Chloe,” Gran said, rolling lumps of dough into balls and placing them on the cookie sheet. “Kelly brought her over to give me company.”

The front door opened and a woman called, “Gran? Erin?”

“Speak of the devil,” Erin said with a grin, then yelled, “we’re in the kitchen.”

Small feet raced down the hallway. “Auntie Erin. Auntie Erin.” Kelly’s youngest children, twins Tammy and Tina, charged into the room and flung themselves at Erin’s knees.

“Hi, kids,” Erin said, crouching to hug her blond, brown-eyed nieces. Tina’s features were a little finer, Tammy’s hair a fraction darker; otherwise the girls looked alike. The kitten scampered off Erin’s shoulder and into Tina’s arms, getting tangled in the little girl’s long hair and making her giggle. “How are you guys? Where are Robyn and Beth? And your mom?”

“I’m bringing up the rear, as usual.” Kelly, her shiny chestnut-brown hair swinging around the shoulders of her navy-blue suit, bustled into the room. “Robyn and Beth are playing at friends’ houses for the afternoon. I’m dropping these two off at day care on my way to work, but I had to stop in and say hi.” She threw her arms around Erin. “It is so good to have you back.”

Erin, half a head taller, embraced her sister. Even though they saw each other every few months, the time apart always seemed too long. “Do you have to go to work today?”

Kelly tilted her head in a gesture of apology. “I’m trying to close on a riverfront property. If I can nail this deal it’ll be my third sale this month.”

“Fantastic,” Erin said, then noted with surprise her grandmother’s pursed lips. “Isn’t it, Gran?”

“Kelly knows my thoughts on the subject. I’ve said all I’m going to say.” Gran slid the tray of cookies into the oven, then went to the fridge for a jug of lemonade. She set it on the table along with a couple of cookies each for the children, admonishing them kindly, “Sit up at the table so you don’t spill crumbs on my clean floor.”

“Gran thinks I spend too much time working and not enough with my kids,” Kelly explained, then added with a shrug, “I stayed home for fifteen years. It feels great to be out there, earning some money.”

“I can understand that.” Kelly’s two older girls, Robyn and Beth, were in grade four and grade two, respectively. Kelly had started back to work six months ago, when the twins turned three, but Erin hadn’t heard about this small friction between her sister and Gran. “How does Max feel about you working long hours?”

“He’ll get used to it. He’ll have to.” Kelly bit into a fresh cookie. “These are delicious, Gran, but you’re supposed to take it easy. Erin, you’re going to have to keep an eye on her. See that she doesn’t do too much.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“You girls! I’m not an invalid.”

“Hello? Who’s just spent time in the hospital? You need to take care.” Kelly wrapped one arm around Gran’s waist and carried on speaking to Erin. “I had to give up coaching the junior girls’ basketball team at the YWCA. If you’re interested, the position’s still open.”

“I haven’t played in years.”

“That won’t matter for an ace player like you.” Kelly glanced at her watch. “Come on, kids. We’ve got to go.”

Amid clamors of protest from Tammy and Tina, Erin walked her sister to the door. “When can we get together? I have an appointment at the bank, but that won’t take all afternoon.”

“Drop by the office. I’ll be in from two o’clock on.” Her smile turned sly. “The new fire chief is coming by to pick up the keys for his rental houseboat.”

“New fire chief?” Erin said, disentangling the kitten’s claws from Tammy’s sweater. “What happened to Chief Roland?”

“He retired in July,” Gran explained as she slipped each of the children another cookie. “Steve Randall’s been acting chief since then. He applied for the position but didn’t have enough experience.”

“So who’s the new guy?” Erin asked.

“A total babe,” Kelly said, rolling her eyes dreamily. “If I weren’t married… I met him last winter when he came to interview for the job and look at rental houses. He’s a widower from Los Angeles with a young daughter. You’ll have to check him out.”

Erin shook her head. “I’m not interested in meeting anyone.”

“You’ll be interested in this guy,” Kelly predicted. “See you later.”

Erin and Gran waved them off from the porch.

“Why don’t you go on upstairs and put your things away,” Gran said as she closed the door. “I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

“You’ve exerted yourself enough for one day,” Erin said firmly, taking Gran’s arm and leading her to her first-floor bedroom. “I’ll clean up after my appointment at the bank. And I’ll make dinner tonight. No, don’t say a word.” She smiled gently. “I’m here, Gran. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Erin carried her suitcases upstairs to her old room. It looked the same as it had in high school—high ceiling, pale cream wallpaper sprigged with rosebuds, white-painted iron double bed covered with a patchwork quilt. Her heels tapping on polished floorboards, she crossed to the wide bay window, where as a girl she’d curled up on the window seat and read, or stared out at the full moon to dream. Many was the time she used to push up the sash and crawl onto the huge old maple, or nimbly descend its broad limbs rather than mundanely take the stairs.

Nostalgia flooded through her, warring with a niggling sense that she was going backward in life. When she’d left Hainesville for college she never thought she’d return here to live. Had she done the right thing in coming home? She’d been happy in the small town as a child and a teenager, but she was an adult now, and used to a wider world. What kind of future could she have in Hainesville?

The move was only temporary, she reminded herself. She would stay as long as Gran needed her, and long enough to rejuvenate her spirits.

She began to unpack. One suitcase was devoted to her shoe collection—part of her shoe collection, that is. Jimmy Choo, Dolce and Gabana, Manolo Blahnik, Prada—she adored them all. She lined up the shoes in neat rows in the closet and hung her clothes above. On top of the old maple dresser she placed her favorite clock, a brass turn-of-the-century German mantel clock decorated with cherubs. Beside her bed she set an Aynsley china arch clock, white with pink roses. The rest of her clocks and shoes she’d packed for shipping; they would arrive tomorrow.

When she’d finished unpacking, she went down the hall to shower, then changed into a skirt and fitted jacket in gray linen. After some consideration she chose a pair of black crocodile skin pumps with kitten heels. She brushed her long hair, letting it fall in loose waves over her shoulders. Then, checking that her briefcase held a copy of her résumé, she slipped quietly downstairs.

Outside, her gaze went to the basketball hoop above the garage door. She hadn’t played since college, basketball being one of those things she never found time for in Seattle. Coaching might be fun.

She walked toward the center of town beneath the cool dappled green of overarching shade trees. Past the Contafios’ next door, with their orchard and horses; past the monkey puzzle tree on the corner. Children’s laughter, a distant lawn mower and the tinkling bell of the ice cream truck accompanied her. The fragrance of roses, warm grass and ripe apples drifted on the soft breeze. All at once she didn’t miss Seattle one bit. A spring came into her step and she smiled, thinking of her earlier doubts. Truly, life seemed to be taking a positive turn.

On the outskirts of the town center, Erin went by the fire hall and waved to Steve, who was out in the yard, washing down one of the trucks. There was no sign of his new boss. She continued on, past Knit ‘n Kneedles, where Gran got her yarn and patterns, past the health food store and the bakery, then crossed the street at the single set of traffic lights.

Between Blackwell’s Drugstore and Orville’s Barbershop stood the imposing stone building bearing the name Hainesville First National Bank on a brass plaque. Hainesville’s only bank, national or otherwise. With luck this would be her new place of employment.

CHAPTER TWO

EDNA THOMPSON, Gran’s oldest friend and Erin’s erstwhile piano teacher, was just leaving the bank. Erin held the heavy glass door open while Edna hobbled out, leaning heavily on her cane.

“Erin, how nice to see you.” She clasped Erin’s hand and beamed. “I was hoping I might run into you. Ruth has been looking forward to having you home to stay.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you, too,” Erin replied. She wasn’t surprised that news of her arrival had already spread through town. She would probably make the front page of the Hainesville Herald this week. “How have you been?”

“Well…” Mrs. Thompson paused only long enough to take a breath before launching into a recitation of her ailments. “My arthritis pains me something fierce. I have to go in for a cataract operation next week, and yesterday I had another gallbladder attack. This morning I woke up with a pain here.” She pointed to a spot on her right side, below her ribs. “But, I can’t complain,” she said with a cheerful smile. “No, I never complain. Goodbye for now, my dear.”

Erin smiled to herself and started through the open door. The bank was empty but for the tellers, who eyed her with obvious curiosity. A beautiful black woman she didn’t recognize stood at one window, while at the other lounged a pimply faced young man she was afraid she did. Could that possibly be Bobby Murchison, a boy she used to baby-sit?

“Bobby?” she said, moving across the carpeted lobby to the counter.

“Oh, hi, Erin.” He straightened anxiously, as though Erin might even now punish him for putting that garter snake in her tennis shoe so many years ago.

“I’ve come to see Mr. Haines. He’s expecting me.”

“I’ll tell him you’re here.” Bobby wove past a cluttered desk, a photocopier and a check-printing machine to knock on a corner office.

Erin smiled at the other woman. “Hi, I’m Erin.”

“Tracy.” She regarded Erin frankly. “So you’re the paragon I’ve been hearing about all week. Straight-A student, star athlete, girl most likely to succeed.” She grinned. “I don’t even know you and already I hate you.”

Erin grimaced. “People exaggerate.”

Tracy leaned over the counter, winked and in a low voice confided, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to having another female around the place.” Then she spotted Erin’s crocodile-skin high heels. “Man, I love those shoes! Where’d you get those, girlfriend?”

Erin recognized a fellow devotee when she met one. “There’s this fabulous little shoe boutique in Seattle—”

Jonah Haines’s door opened, causing her to break off. He looked exactly as Erin remembered, like a big absentminded teddy bear. He wore a moss-green cardigan over a navy blue shirt with a clashing mustard yellow tie, and his brown suit pants were baggy and creased. Gray hair puffed above his ears on either side of his balding dome.

“Erin, my dear, wonderful to see you.” He peered at her over half glasses perched midway down his nose. “Come in.”

Erin followed him into his office and took the seat he indicated with a vague motion of his hand. Oil paintings of river scenes with herons and fishing boats decorated the walls. On his desk, hooks, fishing line and wisps of colored feathers were laid out on tattered blue felt.

He sat down heavily in his creaking leather swivel chair, picked up an unfinished fly and resumed tying a bright red feather to the hook. “I still remember the day you opened your first bank account. You were only five, and already so grown-up and responsible.”

Erin well remembered coming into the bank clutching her savings—$6.50. Her mother and father had died in a car crash a month earlier, and to take Erin’s mind off her loss, Gran and Granddad had given her chores to do around the house. They’d paid her for her efforts and encouraged her to deposit her pocket money.

“I was so proud of that little blue passbook,” she said, adding with a chuckle, “although later I regretted not keeping out a nickel for an ice cream. I certainly never thought that twenty-five years later I’d be in here applying for a job.”

“You were at City Bank in Seattle until recently, I understand. I always knew you’d amount to something.”

“I managed the Loans Department.” Erin opened her briefcase and handed him a copy of her résumé. “Before that I worked with a financial consulting firm in New York. Please feel free to contact any of my supervisors for a reference.”

Still holding the fishing fly in one hand, Mr. Haines glanced at her résumé. “You did a double major in business administration and economics. Impressive.” He regarded her over his glasses. “Hainesville will seem a bit of a backwater.”

“I’m sure you’re aware I came home to take care of my grandmother while she recuperates from her heart attack.” She paused. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Haines. My stay is unlikely to be permanent.”

Jonah Haines concentrated on winding the feather onto the hook with a length of fishing line. He tied a complicated knot, snipped off the loose end with a pair of scissors and set the hook aside. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t had a lot of applicants with your qualifications. Can you manage people? It’s important you be able to handle the bank in my…uh, absence.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem, sir. I supervised staff in my previous position.”

He picked up another fishing hook and a new bit of feather. “I can’t give you the kind of salary you were probably getting in Seattle.”

“I understand. What are you offering?” He named a figure not quite as low as she’d expected. “That’ll be fine.”

“Good. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Excellent.” He shook her hand across the desk. Then he rose, clapped a fishing hat bristling with flies onto his head, grabbed the rod propped in a corner and walked her to the door. “I don’t want to rush you but I’ve an important meeting with the mayor.”

“Certainly.” Erin managed to keep a straight face. “Thank you very much.”

“Tracy, Bobby,” Mr. Haines said to the tellers. “This is Erin. She’ll be assistant manager, starting tomorrow. You’ll report to her in my absence.”

Tracy’s eyebrows lifted as she gave Erin a thumbs-up. Bobby gazed at her, his mouth parted in awe.

“Oh, Mr. Haines,” Tracy called as he made his way to the exit. “The roof sprang a leak in the back room when we had that big rainfall last week. When I turned on the computer this morning, there was a pffft sound and a puff of black smoke.”

Mr. Haines turned to Erin. “Sounds like the outlet blew. Can you take care of this?”

Her first executive decision, and a no-brainer. “No problem. Bobby, look up roofers in the phone book and make me a list of names and numbers. I know a good electrician in town. I’ll call Mike Gordon and ask him to get over here first thing in the morning.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Haines beamed at her as though she’d just solved the national debt. Then he glanced at his watch and hurried toward the door. “See you all tomorrow. Tracy, I know I can count on you to lock up.”

When he’d left, Tracy turned to Erin. “With the salmon derby coming up in a couple of weeks we hardly see the boss anymore. Thank goodness we’re going to have someone responsible around here.” She glanced at Erin’s shoes again and rubbed her hands together with glee. “Someone with style!”

Erin laughed. Becoming assistant manager of the Hainesville bank might not be one of her more challenging career moves, but she had a feeling she would enjoy working here. She leaned toward Tracy. “My sister Geena sent me the most beautiful Pashmina shawl….”

ABOUT AN HOUR NORTH of Seattle, Nick exited the highway and headed west toward Hainesville. The area looked a lot more inviting than the soggy gray landscape he’d seen during his visit last January. Now, in mid-August, the sky was a deep dreamy blue, and thistledown floated on a sultry breeze. He wound down the window and put his face into the wind, breathing deeply of the warm, humid air and the earthy scents of summer.

To his left was a small dairy farm with a barn and a silo and creamy Jersey cows dotting the green fields. To his right, thick stands of alder and birch hid the river from view. Closer to town, where the river broadened on its way to meet the ocean, assorted light marine industry lined the banks and fishing boats mingled with houseboats. One of those houseboats would be their home, and he was as excited as a kid at the prospect of living on the water.

Pretty soon the town itself came into view.

“Look, Miranda,” he said. “We’re here.”

She sat up and gazed out the window. “What a dump.”

Nick couldn’t have disagreed more. The streets were wide and lined with shade trees. The houses they’d passed were neat and well-cared-for, their lawns trimmed and the gardens bursting with color. Farming and fishing had clearly made for stable growth since the town’s inception a hundred years earlier. Nick felt as though his cares were dropping away as he cruised down Main Street, with its central grassy boulevard and diagonal parking on both sides. He admired the old stone buildings and turn-of-the-century wooden structures identifiable as the courthouse, library and museum. Benches set into the broad sidewalk every twenty paces or so seemed a deliberate invitation for citizens to slow down.

“They built to last in the old days, didn’t they?” Nick commented, stopping at a set of traffic lights. The only set of traffic lights, he realized, glancing ahead down the street.

Miranda glanced around. “I see a video store, but where’s the McDonald’s? Is this place for real?”

“Forget chain restaurants. I’ll bet there’s a coffee shop or a drive-in somewhere in town that serves the best burgers you’ve ever tasted.” The light changed and Nick continued slowly, watching for the realty office.

A woman coming out of the bank caught his eye. Elegantly slender, with shiny blond hair and a stylish suit, she walked with a grace that made her stand out among the moms in tracksuits, teenagers on skateboards and elderly men leaning on canes. Nick couldn’t help but turn his head as he passed, his elbow resting on the open window as though he were a teenager out cruising on a Saturday night. The woman must have felt his stare, for she slanted him a look. He smiled at her. Coolly, she nodded back. Once past, he checked her out in the rearview mirror. She was noticing his California plates.

“Da-a-ad. Hello. Isn’t that the realty office?”

“Huh? Oh, right.” Nick pulled into the curb and parked opposite the town clock in the middle of the boulevard. “Wait here,” he said to Miranda. “I should only be a minute.”

When he got out of the car, the blond woman paused to peer into a store window, her black briefcase held in both hands behind her back. Her gaze slid in his direction, but she saw him watching and focused on the window again.

The bell over the door of the realty office tinkled as he entered. A young woman with dark brown hair was standing behind a desk, talking on the phone. She saw him and held up a finger to indicate she’d only be a minute. “Yep. You got it, Mrs. Fontana. I’ll be out tomorrow with the contract. Thank you very much.”

She set down the phone and came out from behind her desk. “Hi, I’m Kelly Walker. You must be—”

“Nick Dalton. Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand. “Nice town you’ve got here.”

Her wide smile expressed delight. “Population 3,376—give or take a few—and I’m sure every one of us is looking forward to meeting you and your daughter. I know we’re grateful to have someone of your experience as our new fire chief. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“Thanks, but I’ll have to take a rain check. My daughter’s waiting in the car,” he explained. In spite of what he’d told Miranda, he was surprised to encounter such immediate friendliness and warmth. But he liked it very much. “We’ve had a long drive and the moving van’s not far behind,” he went on.

“Of course.” Kelly plucked a set of keys from a pegboard on the wall behind her desk and handed them over, along with a sheet of paper. “Your keys and a map of Hainesville. Hard to get lost around here, mind you. I’ve marked your houseboat,” she said, pointing to a spot on the map. “You’re going to love living on the river. It’s a really nice little community and there’s a launching place for your boat. Didn’t you say you had a boat?”

“Just a small runabout. I like to fish.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. If there’s anything more I can do, just holler.” She walked him to the door and right out onto the sidewalk. “Oh, there’s my sister.”

Kelly waved to the elegant blonde who’d caught his eye. The woman hesitated before slowly proceeding toward them. Nick scrubbed a hand through his short hair, wishing he’d had a shower and clean clothes and maybe a few hours’ sleep to erase the dark circles below his eyes.

Inside the Suburban, Miranda beeped the horn.

“I’ll let you go,” he said reluctantly to Kelly, and moved toward the vehicle. He didn’t want Miranda creating a scene on their very first day in town. “Thanks for everything.”

“What took you so long?” Miranda demanded when he’d got back inside and started the engine.

“Courtesy,” he replied shortly. “Something you could use a little of.” He sketched a wave to the two women standing on the sidewalk and drove off with the distinct impression they were talking about him.

Two blocks down he saw the concrete tower of the Hainesville Fire Department. A bright red-and-white fire engine was parked outside, wet and gleaming from a recent washing. Nick pulled in at the curb, ignoring Miranda’s groan at yet another stop. A young blond fireman wandered out from behind the engine, saw Nick and came over to the vehicle with a friendly smile. “Hi, there. Can I help you folks?”

Nick put a hand through the open window. “Nick Dalton, your new chief. Steve Randall, right?”

Steve wiped a damp hand on his regulation navy pants and shook. “Welcome to Hainesville, Chief. Sorry I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“That’s okay. We only met once. My daughter and I just arrived.” He glanced around at the silent street. “Slow day?”

Steve grinned. “No other kind around here.”

Miranda made a small noise of disgust.

“This is Miranda,” Nick said. “She’s looking forward to the peace and quiet of a small town.”

“Da-a-ad.”

Nick eased the truck into gear. “Guess I’d better be moving. The furniture van is right behind us.”

“I’ll stop by after work and give you a hand unloading,” Steve said.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Steven informed him cheerfully. “I’ll bring over the casserole my mom made for you. She figured that on your first night here you wouldn’t be set up for cooking.”

“That’s really nice of her,” Nick said, taken aback at the kindness of a complete stranger. “I’ll see you later.”

He found River Road again and drove out the other side of town toward the marina where his houseboat was moored, his thoughts echoing Miranda’s earlier comment—was this place for real?

God, he hoped so.

BY THE END OF THE FOLLOWING week, Erin had familiarized herself with the bank’s corporate accounts and met many of the individuals who entrusted their money to the institution. She’d set herself up in the office next to Jonah Haines, put fresh flowers on her desk and hung one of her two Regulator clocks on the wall.

At 11:55 a.m. she closed the file on an application for a home loan and leaned back in her chair to stretch. Through her partly open door she could hear the quiet hum of voices as Tracy served a customer. Then the front door opened and closed as the person left. Silence. She glanced at the clock. Minutes seemed to tick by more slowly here in Hainesville.

Tracy’s voice, good-natured and strident, roused her. “Hey, Erin,” she called. “Sally Larkin over at the drugstore reckons our new fire chief wears boxer shorts. I say briefs. What do y’all think?”

Half scandalized, half amused, Erin rose to stand in the doorway. “Are you gawking at that poor man again?”

“Every chance I get,” Tracy said, blatantly unrepentant as she peered through the slats in the venetian blind at the front of the bank. “If I weren’t already engaged to the sweetest man west of the Rockies I’d be knocking on the front door of the luscious Mistah Dalton. I can’t believe he’s been here over a week and you haven’t met him yet.”

The truth was, Erin had deliberately avoided several opportunities to meet him. Although she was intrigued, he made her nervous. He was pure male energy, his sexuality restrained but undiminished by old-fashioned good manners. Her heart was already in traction; God knows what further damage a man like Nick Dalton could inflict.

“I’ve been busy catching up with Gran and Kelly. Not to mention the fact that I’ve just started a new job,” Erin protested. “If I meet him, I meet him. I’m not going to go out of my way to do so. Frankly, I’m a little sick of him already. Nick this, Nick that. He’s just a man.”

“Well, you’re the only one who thinks so.”

Tracy was telling the truth. Nick Dalton had every woman in town talking. Already it was common knowledge that the chief ordered pastrami on whole wheat for lunch at Rosa’s deli, took Mrs. Thompson’s arm to help her across the road and had left Los Angeles to get his twelve-year-old daughter away from bad company. Most important, as a widower in a small town with a limited number of attractive bachelors, he was single. And to the women of Hainesville, that meant available.

Which of course was irrelevant to Erin. Only a few weeks had passed since her breakup with John. The memory of their emotional last weekend together was still fresh in her mind. He hadn’t called her yet, but he would, if she just gave him some space. She owed it to herself to give him a chance to make things right.

“He’s heading this way,” Tracy announced. “Bet he’s goin’ on down to Rosa’s. Come quick, or you’ll miss him.”

Erin tucked a long strand of blond hair behind her ear and crossed her arms over her chest. “Ogling a man is demeaning,” she said severely. “You’re viewing him purely as a sex object.”

“Hoo boy, you got that right.” Tracy wiggled her behind in appreciation. “Hurry up, girl. Goin’, goin’…”

Erin glanced around. Bobby was chewing gum and checking out a new pimple in the reflection of the glass above his teller cage. Jonah Haines was in another “meeting” with Mayor Bob Gribble out on the river. The bank would be empty of customers for at least five minutes until the lunch rush. She shouldn’t be tempted to take a gander, but with all the hype, who could blame her?

To heck with it. There was no harm in a peek.

She lifted the hinged counter separating the tellers from the customers and joined Tracy at the window. Through the venetian blinds half closed against the sun she saw Nick Dalton strolling past in front of the bank.

With easy muscular grace, he threw an orange into the air and caught it in one hand, then repeated the motion. Beneath his crisp white short-sleeved shirt his biceps flexed, and when he tilted his head back, his near-black hair glinted auburn in the sun. Erin had glimpsed him working out on a set of weights in the recesses of the fire station. As she remembered his sweat-sheened muscles, her mouth lost some of its moisture.

Tracy nudged her in the ribs. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Just then, Nick turned his head toward the bank and caught Erin peering through the blinds. He grinned and tipped two fingers to his temple in a lively salute. Erin’s cheeks flamed. She slapped the slats shut and stepped away from the window, mortified.

“He’s probably got an ego the size of Texas,” she snapped.

“And you, girlfriend, are in denial if you think you’re not attracted.” Tracy’s grin spread wide. “What are you so worried about?”

Erin ignored her and strode back through the opening in the counter. “Did those roofers say when they’d be over?” she demanded of Bobby. “Mike fixed that outlet, but if those wires get wet again, they could short out and we could have a fire in here.”

Bobby straightened away from his reflection. “They said they’d try to get here this afternoon but couldn’t promise anything.”

“Call them again. If they’re busy, call someone else.”

Erin went into her office and shut the door. Damn Nick Dalton, grinning at her like that.

She slumped against the door and forced herself to acknowledge the truth. Since the day he’d breezed into town like a hot Santa Ana wind, his dark eyes and white grin had sparked feelings she wasn’t able to control while apart from John. As handsome and suave as John was, he’d never, even in the early days of their romance, made her feel so…so restless.

Erin paced the small room. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t one to avoid difficult situations, yet she was being held hostage, as it were, in her own town. She used to buy her lunch at Rosa’s until she’d found she was in danger of running into him there. Now when she saw him coming she crossed the street, entered a store, ducked into her car, anything to escape.

This couldn’t go on. She simply had to face the man, speak to him, reduce him to human proportions.

She grabbed her purse from her desk drawer and marched through the bank. “I’m going to lunch,” she announced to Tracy and Bobby.

“She’s going to Rosa’s to meet him,” Tracy crowed with delight.

“Looks to me like she’s getting ready for a showdown,” Bobby said.

Erin lifted her chin, refusing to dignify their remarks with a reply. “I’ll be back at one o’clock.”

CHAPTER THREE

SHE MARCHED DOWN the block, head high, the stacked heels of her Versace loafers clicking briskly on the sidewalk. But as she drew nearer to Rosa’s, her palms began to feel damp. This, she reminded herself, pressing her hands to her narrow skirt, was her town.

Entering Rosa’s deli was like dropping into a corner of Italy. Erin breathed in the mouth-watering aromas of prosciutto and sun-dried tomatoes, pungent cheeses and fresh and dried herbs. Strings of garlic and red chili peppers hung from the ceiling alongside whole salamis and cured hams. Behind the counter, Rosa, plump and smiling, and her statuesque daughter, Nina, filled orders for the hungry regulars.

Mrs. Thompson was pointing out to Nina exactly which three slices of Black Forest ham she wanted. Toby Conner, from the gas station, known to Erin’s graduating class as “Tubby” Conner, handed over money for an extra-large container of potato salad. Greta Vogler, fifty-six and never married, asked Rosa for a tuna sandwich, then flirted over her shoulder with Nick Dalton. Perfectly polite, he smiled fixedly, not quite looking Greta in the eye.

Conversation paused as Erin entered. The townspeople she’d known for years greeted her with friendly waves and hellos. Nick Dalton registered Erin’s presence with a slow blink, a subtle double take. His smile widened and became genuine.

“Hi,” she said in a general greeting. She let her gaze rest momentarily on Nick, including him but not singling him out. Very good, she commended herself, friendly without being gushy.

Now for the next step.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, extending her hand to Nick, cool and collected. At least she hoped she appeared that way. Her heart was beating like a mad thing. “Erin Hanson. I work at the bank.”

His hand, large and warm and strong, wrapped around hers, inspiring a feeling of confidence and security. If she were trapped in a burning building she’d like those hands to be pulling her free.

“Nick Dalton. Nice to meet you—at last.” Amusement colored his low voice, as though he was teasing her with an inside joke.

So he’d noticed her avoidance tactics—how embarrassing. Then she became aware of Toby staring openly at the two of them, and Greta’s sharpened features. “You’ve met my sister Kelly, I believe.”

“She was very helpful with the rental houseboat. In fact, the whole town’s been welcoming. I’ll probably be calling on you soon—”

Erin’s thoughts took flight. How to say no to a date. Dare she say yes?

“—about a home loan.”

“Oh! A home loan. Of course. Anytime.” She laughed.

Mrs. Thompson tucked her package of ham into her string shopping bag, smiled at Erin and left. Toby took his potato salad and roast beef sandwich to one of the stools at the counter along the window. Greta laid a hand on Erin’s forearm and said in a funereal tone, “I was so sorry to hear, my dear.”

“I beg your pardon? Hear what?”

“You know.” Greta’s gaze flicked to Nick and back. “Your breakup. Why you had to leave Seattle. Don’t worry, we’re on your side.”

Erin did a slow burn. Greta Vogler had been teaching English at the high school since the dawn of time and was the nosiest woman in Hainesville. Erin couldn’t begin to imagine what atom of information Greta had gotten hold of, or what monumental work of fiction she’d blown it into. As pleasantly as possible, she replied through gritted teeth, “I came back to take care of Gran.”

“Of course you did,” Greta said, oozing understanding. She picked up her sandwich and swept out of the store in a rustle of shopping bags. “Marriage is highly overrated, or so I’ve been told. We spinsters live longer.”

Rosa scowled after her, then turned to Erin. “For two cents I’d spit in her tuna fish. You want me to put the evil eye on her?”

Erin shook her head. “Somehow she would turn it back on you.”

“Who’s next?” Rosa said, looking from Nick to Erin.

Nick gestured to Erin.

“Oh, no. You were here first.”

“Please. I insist.” He touched her elbow, gently pushing her forward.

“Thank you.” Flustered by the warmth of his fingers on her bare skin, she stepped to the counter. With Nick Dalton blotting coherent thought from her brain, she shouldn’t have been surprised that she blurted out the first thing that came to her—his favorite sandwich. “Pastrami on whole wheat, please.”

Rosa’s eyes opened wide. “That’s amazing! Nick here, he orders pastrami on whole wheat every day.”

Erin felt sick when she realized what she’d done but was too embarrassed to take it back. “Is that right?” she said weakly.

“It’s a fact,” Rosa said with an emphatic shake of her head. “Most people ask for pastrami on rye, roast beef on whole wheat,” she elaborated effusively. “Hardly ever pastrami on whole wheat. First him, now you. Amazing.”

“Astonishing.” Nick had a twinkle in his eye.

“Usually, Erin orders turkey or egg salad. Never pastrami,” Rosa continued, this time to Nick. “Hey, maybe this means you two are meant for each other.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Erin objected. “I…I felt like a change. It’s just a sandwich.”

“Ah, but what a sandwich,” Nick put in. He kissed his fingertips in the deli owner’s direction. “Rosa makes the best pastrami on whole wheat I’ve ever tasted. No wonder Erin wants one, too.”

“You better watch out. He’s a charmer,” Rosa told Erin with a sly smile. “Hot mustard or seeded?”

“I’ll bet she likes it hot,” Nick said with a wink at Rosa.

“Seeded, please,” Erin replied coolly. This wasn’t turning out at all the way she’d planned. She handed over the money in exchange for the wrapped sandwich. “Thank you.” As quickly as she could without appearing to rush, she headed for the exit.

Before she reached it, Nick was there, holding open the door and handing her a paper cup. “Don’t forget your dill pickle.”

Now was the time to snub him, but he spoke with such insouciant goodwill that she couldn’t think of a single dampening comment. With his glittering dark eyes and curving smile, he looked like a cross between a handsome devil and a guardian angel. She’d been mistaken about one thing—there wasn’t a trace of egotism in that sinfully attractive face.

Something inside her melted and she laughed. “Thanks.” She took the pickle and backed out the door. “Nice meeting you. See you…sometime.”

Nick watched her move away down the street. Then he turned to Rosa. “How fast can you make a turkey sandwich?”

“Faster than she can walk back to the bank.” Rosa smiled at him and slapped sliced meat onto bread and piled it with lettuce and tomato. “Erin is a very nice girl. Very pretty.”

“Very.” He grabbed the wrapped sandwich and threw down some money. “Thanks, Rosa. Oh, and two coffees, to go.”

“Sure thing. Erin likes caffe latte.”

Nick grinned. “Make it two.”

By the time he reached the sidewalk Erin had disappeared from sight. He walked in the direction of the bank, glancing into side streets. And then he saw her, strolling down a lane toward the park by the river. He caught up with her just as she was settling onto a wooden bench.

“Well, what do you know? This is my favorite bench, too,” he said, sitting down beside her.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, but a hint of a smile warmed her voice.

“Just another amazing coincidence.” He handed her a foam cup with a wisp of steam curling from the hole in the plastic lid. “Caffe latte?”

“Thank you. Or should I thank Rosa?” She slanted him a sideways glance from under lowered lids, reminding him of the first day he’d seen her.

“You and I are on the same wavelength, can’t you tell?” Nick hoped she wouldn’t think him rude for staring. Her long, gently waving blond hair, parted in the middle, contrasted sexily with her business outfit, but seemed to suit those ultra-long legs, which ended in multicolored suede high heels. He glanced at the still unwrapped sandwich in her lap. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

She smiled ruefully. “This is embarrassing to admit, but I hate pastrami.”

He held out his sandwich. “Trade?”

“Pastrami for pastrami? What’s the point?”

“I’ve got turkey.”

“Why?” she asked, suspicious but obviously tempted.

Smiling, he held her gaze. “Sometimes words just pop out of my mouth. You got me so flustered that before I knew what I was saying, I asked Rosa for turkey on sour dough with lettuce, hold the mayo.”

Laughing, she traded sandwiches with him. “You’re a case.”

“I’m sure you mean that in the nicest possible way,” he said as he unwrapped his sandwich. “You don’t seem like the kind of lady who would insult a virtual stranger.”

Erin took a bite, then pulled off a corner of her crust and threw it onto the grass for the ducks. A mallard family waddled over, quacking hungrily. “The whole town’s talking about you. You’re hardly a stranger anymore.”

“How boring. You already know everything about me.” He peered around her at the paper cup sitting on the bench. “Planning on eating that pickle?”

She handed it to him with a glance hinting of mischief. “Not everything.”

“Oh?” The dill crunched beneath his teeth. “Is there something you’d like to know but don’t?”

Pink suffused her cheeks, bringing out the blue in her eyes, and she laughed silently. “I could win a bet….”

“Just ask. I’ll tell you anything.”

Sobering, she sipped her coffee. “Don’t say that. The local grapevine can be intrusive. People here are genuinely caring, but you have to guard your privacy.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said, remembering the pinched-faced woman in the deli and her snide remarks to Erin.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Across the river, Nick spotted a familiar figure clothed in tight black flares, a midriff-baring white top and clunky red platform sandals ambling toward the footbridge. “Miranda!” he called, and waved.

“Is that your daughter?” Erin asked, starting on the second half of her sandwich.

“Yes. Frankly, I’m surprised to see her outside. All week she’s been slouched in front of the TV.”

Miranda saw him and lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave.

“She’s tall for a twelve-year-old,” Erin remarked.

“She’s a child in a woman’s body.” Familiar worries gnawed his insides. “All she thinks about are boys, clothes and makeup. Although you’d never know about the last two by the awful way she dresses.”

“She’ll grow out of it. I made some unbelievable fashion mistakes when I was a teenager.”

Nick glanced at her suit. He didn’t know much about women’s clothes, but he could tell quality when he saw it. “That seems hard to believe.”

She smiled. “My little sister Geena is a model. Whenever she visits, she goes through my closet and throws things out, then takes me shopping. Sometimes she passes on designer outfits she’s worn once or twice. Our feet are exactly the same size so I really score on shoes.”

To Nick, Erin looked beautiful enough to be a model herself. Her face was long and oval, with wide blue eyes and a slight bump in the middle of her nose. Her full mouth showed a lot of perfect white teeth when she smiled. “You don’t mind her taking over like that?”

“Are you kidding? I love it! I like to wear nice clothes, but I don’t usually have a lot of time to shop. Besides, she’s my sister,” she added, as though that explained everything.

Miranda reached their side of the footbridge and hesitated, as though unable to decide whether to grace them with her presence. Nick waved her over again. To his embarrassment, she simply lifted a hand before taking the path to town. For an instant he saw his daughter through a stranger’s eyes—sullen and unlovely. The thought no sooner crossed his mind than it was replaced by a wave of protective love.

“She’s a good kid,” he said to Erin. “Smart as they come, especially at math. But sometimes she can be a little rude.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Twelve is a tough age.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He took the last bite of his sandwich and chewed in silence.

“I hear you like fishing,” Erin said. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised, and she added with an apologetic smile, “Walt, who owns the sporting goods store, mentioned to Kelly’s husband, Max, that you’d been in to buy some fishing lures.”

Nick crushed his empty foam cup. “I wish Walt were as free with information on fishing spots. He acted awfully cagey when I asked him to recommend some good places.”

“The locals are very protective of their fishing holes.” Her smile turned dreamy. “My sisters and I used to fish with my grandfather. He had a secret spot on the river not even Jonah Haines or the mayor knows about. I caught my first fish there. Granddad used to bring in the biggest steelhead of anyone in these parts.”

“I don’t suppose you’d join me fishing tomorrow morning and show me where it is?” Nick said hopefully. He’d like to find that fishing hole, but more than that, he’d like to get to know Erin better.

Erin was quiet as she tucked her empty sandwich wrapper inside her cup. Finally she said, “I’m pretty busy helping my grandmother.”

She brushed a few crumbs off her skirt, pushed back her hair. Another second, Nick realized, and she’d be getting up to leave. “Would you have dinner with me sometime?”

He felt her retreat even before she got to her feet and tossed her cup into a nearby trash bin. “Thanks, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Nick rose, too, shaking out the creases in his pants. Damn. They’d gotten along fine until he’d asked to see her again. Maybe she was still hung up on that guy in Seattle, whoever he was. Well, he could be patient. In a town this small it was inevitable they would run into each other again.

When they reached the main street, Erin paused. “I’m going the other way. I want to stop in at Kelly’s office.”

“No explanation necessary,” he said, holding up his hands. “Thanks for your company. I hope now that you’ve gotten to know me a little you won’t be afraid of me.”

Her creamy cheeks turned rosy. “I was never afraid of you.”

Of yourself, then, he thought suddenly. He didn’t say it aloud in case she became more embarrassed or even indignant. But if true, it would confirm what he hoped—that she was attracted to him, too. “See you later, then.”

He’d started walking toward the fire station when she called, “Nick?”

He turned on his heel. “Yes?”

“If you’ve got a minute, come with me to my sister’s office. I’ll show you on a map where Granddad’s fishing hole is.”

He grinned. “Great.”

“On one condition,” she warned. “Don’t tell anyone else.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“YOU AND YOUR CLOCKS,” Gran said, settling into her armless chair by the window in the living room. She dug through her needlework bag while Erin went around the room carefully winding her most prized possessions.

“You don’t mind them, do you, Gran? I’ll turn the chimes off at night if they keep you awake.” She had three mantel clocks and four wall clocks—minus the one she’d taken to the bank and not counting her bedside clock. The grandfather in the hallway made seven at home. Seven sets of chimes ringing through the big house every hour on the hour.

“The chimes don’t bother me, and I find the ticking soothing,” Gran said, pulling out a large square of tapestry with an intricate pattern depicting a stag in a forest. “The two you left behind when you went to New York years ago kept me company and reminded me of you.”

Erin started to sit in one of the overstuffed wing chairs opposite the fireplace. “Did you take your blood pressure medicine after dinner?”

“I don’t need that stuff—”

“Yes, you do.” Erin went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water from the jug in the fridge and grabbed the bottle containing Gran’s medicine from the counter. Back in the living room she handed it to her grandmother and stood over her while she took it. “I came back to take care of you and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Bully,” Gran said mildly, but she swallowed the tablets.

“It’s for your own good.” Erin smiled fondly at her. “How many times did you say that to me when I was growing up?”

“You never liked taking medicine, either. Not even those flavored children’s pain relievers Kelly popped into her mouth like candy.” Gran smiled as she threaded green yarn through a large needle.

“She used to sneak them when you were in the garden.”

“Did she think I didn’t know that? You girls were a handful. There was fourteen months between each of you, but you behaved more like triplets.”

“True,” Erin said. “Whatever one of us did, the others followed. Piano lessons, Girl Scouts, basketball…”

The chiming clocks drowned out her words. It was seven o’clock on a Friday night. If she were in Seattle she’d be getting dressed to go out to dinner with John or to a club with friends. Erin pulled back the lace curtain to gaze out the window at Linden Street. It was one of those golden late-summer evenings when the light fades slowly and children play outside till long past their normal bedtime.

“Why don’t you call up one of your old friends?” Gran said. “Laura Emerson still lives over on Vermont Street.”

Erin heard a tiny meow at her feet and bent to pick up Chloe, rubbing the kitten’s soft fur against her cheek. “Not tonight. I’ve still got the laundry to do. And I’m a little tired.”

She was very tired, in fact. Unusually so. The week had seemed long what with adjusting to her new job and settling in. She wondered what Nick was doing right now. Sitting on his deck on the water enjoying the fine evening? Out on a date? The thought rankled unexpectedly.

“Is Granddad’s fishing gear still in the garage, Gran?”

“I expect it is.” Gran glanced at her with mild curiosity. “Planning on going fishing?”

“Sometime. Maybe.” Part of Erin wished she were going with Nick tomorrow. He made her laugh, and she’d had far too few laughs in recent months. But getting to know him would complicate her relationship with John and distract her from caring for Gran.

“I hear our new fire chief is a keen fisherman.” Gran’s fingers dexterously pushed the needle in and out of the tapestry. “What did Kelly say his name was again?”

“Nick Dalton. I ran into him at Rosa’s the other day. I told him where he could find Granddad’s fishing hole.”

“I see.” The older woman’s mouth curled into a knowing smile.

“It’s not like that, Gran. I was just being neighborly to a newcomer.”

Gran tied off the green and reached for a ball of yellow yarn. “Whatever you say, dear.”

“RISE AND SHINE.” Nick rapped on Miranda’s shut door. “It’s six o’clock.”

A loud groan issued from the bedroom. “I can’t believe you’re making me go fishing.”

“Oh, come on. You love it, you just can’t admit it.” He leaned on the doorjamb and inspected his nails while he waited for the biting reply.

“Yeah, right.”

Nick set his head on one side judiciously. “The contemptuous tone is outstanding, but the verbal display fails to dazzle,” he said, mimicking the patter of a sports commentator. A second later her slipper hit the door. Nick chuckled. It was either laugh or yell, and he disliked yelling, even though sometimes she goaded him into it. The only way to deal with Miranda and emerge sane was to tease her into doing what she was supposed to do. A mention of forthcoming treats never hurt, either. “Fish with me today, and next week we’ll go into Seattle and get you some school clothes.”

“I don’t want to go to school.” Her token grumble sounded muffled beneath her pillow.

“You’re a little old for that line. If you want breakfast before we go you’d better get up now.” Then he walked off before she could make another smart remark. These “discussions” could go on endlessly, and although a little was amusing, too much was not.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” she demanded ten minutes later over the scrambled eggs he’d set before her.

“Must be your charming company—which I miss, by the way.” Nick took his own plate to the sink. Outside the window, beyond the river, the sun had risen above the distant mountains. Water lapped at the edge of the deck from the wake of a passing gillnetter, gulls screeching noisily. “You’ve been on your own all week and this is a chance for us to do something together.”

She scooped some egg onto her fork. “Fishing is boring.”

“You didn’t think so the time you caught a salmon up in British Columbia.” He filled a thermos with freshly brewed coffee and tipped the remainder into his cup.

“I didn’t know any better,” she said. “I was only ten.”

“A mere child,” he agreed. In so many ways she still was. But once again he acknowledged how her heart-shaped face and green eyes were rapidly maturing and her developing bust and hips made her look less like a child every day. Certainly less like his child and more like her mother’s. And once again his stomach constricted as the memory of Janine’s deathbed confession came to mind like a recurring nightmare. Had she told the truth when she’d said their daughter might not be his—or had she only wanted to hurt him?

“What day are we going shopping?” Miranda asked.

“Next Saturday.” He sipped his coffee. “Maybe Erin can suggest some good stores.”

“Who’s Erin? That woman you were with in the park?”

“Yes, and you will be nice to her if and when you happen to meet her.” So far Miranda hadn’t been kind to the few women in his life since Janine had passed away. “Erin works in the bank.” Craftily, he added, “One of her sisters is a fashion model.”

Miranda lifted her head. “A supermodel?”

“Probably.” If Erin was anything to go by.

Thinking of Erin made him lean against the counter with his coffee and zone out. If her grandfather’s fishing hole was all it was cracked up to be, he would be on her doorstep before the day was through, luring her to dinner with the prospect of fresh fish. He had a bottle of white Zinfandel in the fridge. Would candles be too much? Maybe one, in the center of the table.

“Earth to Dad. Come in, Dad.”

He blinked and saw Miranda waving a hand in front of his face, her empty plate in her hand. “A few minutes ago you were dragging me out of bed. Are we going, or what?” she demanded.

“Sorry, I must have been daydreaming.”

“You’ve been acting very weird the last couple of days, you know that?”

CHAPTER FOUR

ERIN DIDN’T WAKE UP until ten on Saturday morning. Although she’d gone to bed early and slept soundly, she still felt tired. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her stomach lurched queasily. With an involuntary moan, she clutched her midsection. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with the flu.

Later that afternoon, Erin was in the backyard, digging well-composted horse manure into the flower bed. Her stomach had settled down after breakfast. She’d weeded and mulched the mixed beds of perennials and colorful annuals, keeping a watchful eye out that Gran, given the job of trimming dead heads, didn’t overtax herself.

After lunch Gran had gone in for a nap and Erin carried on. She ought to wash the floors when she was finished gardening. Then there was the vacuuming, the bathroom to clean and the laundry. She’d suggested hiring a cleaning lady, but again Gran had been so upset at the thought of a stranger in her house that Erin had given up the idea. Weekdays she got up early and did at least one chore before breakfast so Gran wouldn’t have anything to do. Keeping her grandmother resting was a job in itself.

At the front of the house, the doorbell rang.

“Coming,” she called, scrambling to her feet. She hurried around the side of the house, hoping the ringing hadn’t wakened Gran.

Her heart gave a little leap. Nick Dalton stood on the porch in hip waders and a fishing vest, holding a string of steelhead trout. His wide white grin contrasted sharply with the five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw. “Look what I pulled out of your grandfather’s fishing hole.”

Erin climbed the stairs, pushing at straggly wisps of hair that had broken free of her ponytail, and self-consciously brushing bits of compost off her baggy-kneed, shiny-bottomed track pants. Pants she’d hidden in the back of the linen closet so Geena couldn’t get her ruthless hands on them.

“Three steelhead,” she exclaimed. “Congratulations.”

“I’ve got more. These are for you and your grandmother.”

“Why, thank you.” She started to reach for them, then withdrew her hand when her stomach roiled at the faint but distinctive fishy odor. Her “bug” was back. “You caught them, keep them for yourself.”

He thrust the fish toward her. “If it wasn’t for you I might not have caught any.”

“Really, I insist.” She backed away from the fish and into the front door just as it opened from behind. “Wha— Oh, Gran!”

“Well, what do we have here?” Bright-eyed and sprightly after her rest, she glanced from the string of fish to Nick.

“Nick Dalton, ma’am.” He shook her hand, then presented her with the trout. “My respects to your late husband. I brought you ladies an offering from his fishing hole.”

“Why, thank you. Call me Ruth. I’m pleased to meet you.” Gran gave him a friendly smile. “Erin, why don’t you ask this nice young man in for coffee.”

“Well, he probably has to get back.” She glanced at the dark green Suburban parked at the curb. “Is that your daughter waiting in the car?”

Gran waved a hand. “She can come in, too.”

Nick gazed at his vehicle and thoughtfully stroked his jaw. “Miranda’s wet and muddy. She wouldn’t want to go into anyone’s house.”

“Another time,” Erin said.

“Go home and change first,” Gran suggested hospitably.

“Actually, I was wondering if Erin would like to join us for dinner,” Nick said, speaking to Gran but looking at Erin.

Erin crossed her arms over her rebellious stomach. If Gran wasn’t standing there she was sure she could think of a little white lie. “Uh…”

Before she could speak, Gran reminded her, “Kelly will be here tonight.”

Saved. “That’s right.” She turned to Nick. “Thanks, but I can’t.”

Then Gran’s eyes lit behind her outsize glasses. “Nick and his daughter can come over here and we’ll have ourselves a big old fish fry.”

Erin stared at her grandmother. “I’m sure Nick has other things to do today. Shopping, for example. It’s Saturday.” She’d heard from Kathy down at the grocery store that Nick bought his weekly supplies on Saturday afternoons.

“I went last night, just to keep people on their toes,” he told her with a wink. “But I don’t want to intrude on your family dinner.”

She wasn’t feeling well; she could beg off. But as he backed away, all at once she found herself saying, “No. Please join us.”

Then she glanced at the trout and covered her mouth. She wasn’t up to dealing with fish. “Are they cleaned?”

“They are. But I’ll take them home and wrap them and the others in foil. Ma’am,” he said, retrieving the fish from Gran. “Thanks for the invitation. We’ll see you shortly.”

As he walked back to his car, Gran nudged Erin in the ribs. “I think he likes you.”

ERIN RUMMAGED THROUGH boxes and assorted junk in the garage for the barbecue starter fluid. From the backyard she could hear the tumbling clatter of the briquettes Nick was pouring into the barbecue. Despite telling herself she wasn’t trying to attract or encourage the man, she’d showered, washed her hair and changed into a flowing summer dress that brought out the blue in her eyes. The floors and the laundry could wait.

“Here’s the starter fluid,” Erin said when she rejoined him a moment later, and watched as he poured a liberal dose over the briquettes with a satisfied grin. “You’re enjoying this.”

A playful light in his eyes, he capped the tin of starter fluid. “I’m a fireman.”

Miranda, who sat cross-legged on the grass teasing Chloe into leaping at a dandelion, glanced up. “He’s a firebug. He loves fire.”

These were the first words the girl had uttered besides hello. Erin eyed Nick curiously. “Is that true?”

“I don’t light them, but yeah, I get a buzz out of fighting fires. Most firefighters do.”

“Water—now, that’s a different story,” Miranda said sagely.

“Miranda.”

The ring through Miranda’s nose quivered as she gleefully ignored the warning. “He’s from California and he can’t even swim. He loves boats, but hates being in water.”

Nick laughed it off. “She keeps me humble.”

Erin could have cheerfully smacked the girl. “I can’t ski, even though Mount Baker is barely an hour’s drive away,” she confessed. “I’m terrified I’ll break a leg.”

“Have you two got that barbecue going yet?” Gran called from the back porch. “Kelly and Max and their brood will be here soon.”

Nick held a lit match above the briquettes. “Stand back.”

Whoosh! Orange flames leaped into the air and a burst of intense heat drove Erin back a pace. Through the flames she could see Nick’s face lit by the fire, his hair lifting with the breeze from the backdraft, and his grin of delight. She had to laugh. As annoyed as she’d been with Gran for orchestrating this event, she had to admit she was enjoying his company.

Nick moved around the barbecue and stood beside her. His gaze on the flames, he leaned sideways, his bare arm brushing hers, and the faint scent of his woodsy after-shave came to her over the pungent smells of charcoal and starter fluid. “I appreciate you having us over. It’s nice to be made welcome in a new town.”

She smoothed a hand over her skin where her arm had touched his, wondering if she should move away. Staying put ensured more contact, which seemed to be what he wanted, but was she ready for it? “You’ll soon get to know everyone. And once Miranda starts school she’ll make friends.”

“I hope you’re right. Miranda can be pretty disdainful about small towns.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, effectively increasing the distance between them.

Erin glanced at the girl. She’d put on headphones, and the tinny beat of techno music mingled with the determined chirping of a robin sitting on a branch of the cherry tree above her head. “Raising a daughter on your own must be difficult.”

“Teenagers are like another species altogether. We used to be close, but now it’s hard to find activities we can do together and both enjoy.”

“She went fishing with you.”

“And whined the whole time.”

“Does she like sports?”

“Sure. Let’s see, there’s Internet surfing, telephone marathons…oh, yeah, and she loves racket sports— MTV at top volume.”

Erin chuckled. “I’m coaching the junior girls’ basketball team this year at the YWCA. If Miranda’s interested, I’d love to have her on the team. Our first practice will be a few weeks after school starts.”

“Did you hear that, Miranda?” Nick called.

“What?” she answered lazily.

“Do you want to join Erin’s basketball team?”

“Basketball’s boring.”

Nick picked up the poker lying on the grass and pushed the briquettes around. “According to her, everything’s boring these days except video hits and clothes and—” he paused to shudder “—makeup.” He shook his head and smiled wryly. “I’d give her a few tips but we have completely different coloring.”

Erin glanced at Miranda’s inexpertly applied eye-shadow and dark purple lipstick. Underneath the paint was a pretty, if insecure, young woman. “True, she doesn’t look anything like you,” she said, and added jokingly, “are you sure she’s not the milkman’s child?”

Nick’s smile faded abruptly and he lapsed into stony silence. He gave the briquettes a jab with the poker, raising a shower of sparks.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Erin broke off; she was making her blunder worse by apologizing.

When Nick glanced up, he was smiling again, his face blandly cheerful. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer, would you? It’s a little hot here at the coal face.”

She smiled tentatively. “Sure. I’ll get you one and be right back. Miranda,” she called to the girl, “would you like a soda?”

“Yes, please.”

Erin ran up the back steps and into the kitchen, where Gran was mixing a batch of coleslaw in a big stainless steel bowl. Half a dozen foil-wrapped fish lined the counter. “Gran, what are you doing! I said I’d make the salad. Why don’t you take a cool drink outside and find a seat in the shade.”

Ruth gave the mix a final stir and dropped the spoon into the sink. “How’s Nick going to ask you out if you’re in here and he’s out there?”

“Gran, you’re being silly. No, Gran, look at me. Don’t start matchmaking. It’s embarrassing. Anyone would think I’m the old maid the family is trying to marry off.”

“Aren’t you?” her sister teased from the doorway. Kelly came in carrying a plastic-wrapped bowl in one hand and a cake tin in the other. Tammy and Tina milled around her skirt, while her older two, Robyn and Beth, followed carrying extra lawn chairs.

“Here, let me help you.” Erin unloaded the bowl and gave Kelly a hug. “Hi, girls. Robyn, Beth, are you looking forward to going back to school?”

Her question elicited loud groans from nine-year-old Robyn and a shy nod from seven-year-old Beth. Both girls had inherited their mother’s dark hair and brown eyes, though they’d likely be tall like their father.

“Where’s Chloe?” the smaller children demanded.

“Outside,” Ruth said, taking off her apron. “Shall we go find her? Come on, everyone.” She and the children went out the back door.

“I’m glad we could get together today,” Erin said to Kelly. “I’ve hardly seen you since I’ve been back.” She went to the fridge for the cold drinks. “Where’s Max?”

Kelly’s mouth dropped at the corners, the way it did when she was trying not to cry. “He’s not coming. We had a fight. He’s ticked off with me because I worked again last night. But he sends you his love.”

“Oh, Kel.” Erin put the drink cans on the counter. She closed her arms around Kelly again. “It’ll be okay. Say hi to Max for me.”

“I will.” Kelly’s voice quavered; she was definitely not her usual happy-go-lucky self. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart.”

“Shh,” Erin whispered. “What’s a sister for? Today’s not a good time for a heart-to-heart, but let’s make a time to talk, just us, really soon.”

“I’d like that.” Kelly reached for a tissue from the box on the counter and blotted her eyes. “I’ve got a pretty busy schedule this week. I might be able to squeeze in an hour for lunch on Thursday.”

“You know, you’re ruining my image of the slow-paced small town,” Erin teased as she brushed the hair out of her little sister’s eyes and straightened the collar of her blouse. “If there’s anything I can do to help, such as baby-sitting, call me. You and Max could go out for a wild night on the town.”

Kelly’s smile returned, full of mischief. “I’d have thought you’d be more interested in your own wild night out—with our gorgeous new fire chief. I saw the way he looked at you the other day.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Don’t you start. And keep your voice down. He’s in the backyard.”

“You’re kidding!” Kelly went to the window and peered out. “Gosh, Erin, how can you not be interested?”

“He is nice.” She put the cans and some tall glasses on a tray. “Grab that bag of chips, would you?”

“Nice?” Kelly repeated. “That’s all you can say? Nice?”

“Okay, really nice. But John isn’t totally out of the picture. Come on. Let’s take this stuff out. I promised the man a beer.”

THEY ATE AT A CLOTH-COVERED table in the shade of the big old cherry tree that spread its thick limbs across half the backyard. The mellow afternoon was warm and golden, rich with the aroma of barbecued fish and the honeyed scents of late-summer flowers. The queasiness that had dogged Erin on and off all day had abated. Replete and content, she placed her knife and fork atop her empty plate and sat back.

“That trout was the best I’ve ever tasted,” she pronounced with a smile for Nick. “My compliments to the chef.”

He raised his glass, holding her gaze across the table. “Thank you.”

Erin didn’t miss Kelly’s and Gran’s quick exchange of glances, but she hoped Nick had. Her sister and grandmother had thus far resisted embarrassing her, but she had a horrible feeling that was about to end.

“I hear there’s a new movie on at the theater,” Kelly said with a casual innocence Erin recognized as one-hundred-percent calculated. “A romantic comedy.”

“Sounds like just your sort of film, Erin,” Gran said, picking up her cue like a pro.

Erin silently began stacking empty plates together.

“What type of movies do you like, Nick?” Kelly continued in the same innocent tone.

Erin leaned over to take her sister’s dish and whispered in her ear, “Cut it out.”

Before Nick could say anything, Miranda spoke up. “Dad likes action movies. Car chases and explosions. Guy stuff.”

“Thank you, Miranda,” he said good-humoredly. “I have been known to branch out on occasion.”

“Perhaps dining out is more your style,” Gran suggested. “Nearby Simcoe has several fine restaurants and Seattle is only an hour away.”

“Erin lived there for years. She’s familiar with all the best spots,” Kelly chimed in.

Erin sighed. There was no stopping them.

“Dad hates to eat out,” Miranda countered quickly. “Plain home cooking—that’s what he likes.”

“Erin’s a wonderful cook,” Gran and Kelly said together.

Miranda’s beringed nostrils flared as she clearly tried desperately to think of a comeback.

Erin glanced sideways at Nick and burst out laughing, relieved to see the humorous twinkle in his eye. “Isn’t family wonderful?” she asked him, rising from the table.

“Gotta love ‘em,” Nick agreed. He rose, too. “I’ll help you clear up the dishes.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Erin apologized when they’d reached the kitchen. “Gran and Kelly have no idea when to quit.”

“They mean well, which is more than I can say for Miranda.”

“She doesn’t need to feel threatened.”

Nick set his stack of bowls in the sink. “I know, although try to convince her of that.”

Erin heard the click from the New Haven shelf clock that signaled the hour. If Nick heard it, he didn’t realize the significance, because a second later he jumped as the house resonated with the melodious combination of bells and bongs.

“What the hell?” He turned in a slow circle, trying to locate the source of the echoing chimes. He stopped in front of the shelf clock, with its wooden front carved in the shape of a church. “This isn’t making all that noise.”

“It’s only one of seven. I collect clocks,” Erin said, pitching her voice above the chimes. “MTV has nothing on me as far as racket goes.”

“That’s an unusual hobby. I bet you never miss an appointment. You’ll have to show them all to me someday, but speaking of time…” Nick eyed his watch. “Miranda and I had better get going.”

Erin went with him to the back door. “If she changes her mind about playing basketball, let me know.”

“I’ll do that.” He paused, head lowered in thought. Then he glanced up, his mouth serious. “Erin?”

Erin found herself looking for the twinkle that lurked in his eyes. “Yes?”

“Would you like to trade sandwiches again on Monday?”

Decision time. Part of her had been hoping he would ask to see her again, but now that the moment was here, she let a beat go by, then another. Hands loosely linked in front of him, he waited, confident but not arrogant. Exuding masculinity. Regarding her curiously, patiently.

“My fiancé in Seattle…ex-fiancé,” she amended painfully. “It’s only fair to warn you, we may get back together.”

Nick spread his hands. “This isn’t a marriage proposal. Just an invitation to lunch.”

Only lunch. Yet deep down, she knew there was more to it than they were pretending; otherwise why would accepting seem so significant?

In spite of her reservations, she found herself saying, “In that case, I’d like that very much.”

THE NEXT DAY, SUNDAY, Erin felt queasy most of the day. It couldn’t be Kelly’s potato salad, she reasoned, because Gran had eaten some and she felt fine. And it couldn’t be the flu because she had no other symptoms.

A sudden thought made her palms dampen.

That last weekend with John… No. No way! They’d used protection every single time. She was too cautious not to, and John was too averse to children. She must have a stomach bug. Erin ignored the mild nausea as best she could and went on with her day.

Monday morning, she threw up in the toilet.

Her bare toes curling against the tile floor, she shivered inside her flannel bathrobe. But not because she was sick with food poisoning or gastroenteritis.

Inside she knew with cold certainty exactly what her condition was. She couldn’t bring herself to voice her suspicion. Not yet. Not until the evidence was before her.

She dressed quickly and slipped out of the house before breakfast to drive thirty miles down the highway to Simcoe to buy a pregnancy testing kit. Once home again, she ran up the stairs to the bathroom before Gran could ask her where she’d been. With trembling fingers she administered the test and sat on the closed toilet seat to wait for the results.

The procedure was a mere formality. Erin knew even before the indicator strip turned color that she was pregnant. Now that she thought about it, her period was over a week late—she, who’d always been as regular as a Swiss timepiece. Yet she stared at the stick of damp paper with numb disbelief.

She was going to have a baby. A tiny thread of delight curled inside her heart. And then disappeared as she contemplated the reality of her situation.

She and John were anything but a couple. Raising a child by herself? She adored her sister’s kids, but the thought of being responsible for children of her own was daunting. Babies, especially, terrified her. They weren’t like numbers, predictable and compliant, staying put in neat columns and always adding up the same. Erin tried to recapture the shred of delight, but it was gone, overwhelmed by a host of fears for the uncertain future.

She forced herself to adhere to her morning routine—shower, dress, makeup and hair. Everything went wrong. She applied conditioner first instead of shampoo and wondered why it didn’t lather. Then she ripped three pairs of stockings before she thought to file down a ragged nail. Her hand shook and pins rained onto the tile floor as she fumbled to roll her hair flat against the back of her head. By the time she hurried out the door, her clocks were chiming nine, the hour at which she should have been at the bank.

All her life she’d put one foot in front of the other, always knowing where she was headed. This morning when she stepped onto the sidewalk to go to work she felt as though the universe had shifted. Nothing looked familiar. Not the cream picket fence that bordered Gran’s house or the broad-leafed maples that lined the street. Next door, Mrs. Contafio waved to her from her front step, where she was retrieving her milk and newspaper. Erin walked past, aware only of the knot in her stomach.

She was going to be a mother. And she was scared spitless.

Despite being late for work, her footsteps slowed as she approached the fire station. What guy would be interested in a woman who was pregnant by another man? The answer came to her with the swiftness of instinct—not Nick. Her mind flashed back to her joke about Miranda and the milkman and how Nick had reacted. She didn’t know what that was all about, but she’d obviously touched a sore spot.

She walked softly, not wanting to attract attention, but he must have been watching for her. Even before she was abreast of the station, he strolled out of the truck bay. He glanced at his watch, then thrust his hands in his pockets as casually as if he were merely taking a breath of air. On the sidewalk, he awaited her approach.

His dark hair and freshly shaven jaw gleamed in the morning sunlight. “Good morning. Beautiful day.”

She felt his gaze absorbing her hair, her face, her legs. Beautiful woman, his eyes added silently. He couldn’t see the nervous flutter in her stomach. Or the baby in her womb.

“It’s lovely,” she agreed.

“Perfect for lunch in the park.”

Be firm but nice, she told herself. He would know the reason for her backing off soon enough. For now he would just have to think of her as fickle. “I was going to call you. I…” Despite her resolve to be brave, her voice wobbled. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she cleared her throat and said more firmly, “I won’t be able to make it.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then he said easily, “No problem. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s no good, either.” Her hands wanted to twist themselves around the strap of her leather handbag. She forced them to be still, and radiated calm and certainty. Aloofness.

A tiny frown line appeared between his eyebrows, but his voice was even. “What day would be good?”

Erin took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Nick. This isn’t going to work out. I…I’ve got to go. I’m late.”

She started to walk away, heart pounding.

“Wait!” He strode after her and put a hand on her arm. “I don’t understand. What happened between Saturday evening and this morning to change your mind?”

She couldn’t stand it; her gaze dropped. For some inexplicable reason, the sight of her Jimmy Choos with the kitten heels toe to toe with his polished black leather brogues filled her with loss. Lifting her eyes to his, she answered, “I…I’ve had time to think. You know how people in small towns talk.”

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