“I’m a screwup—always have been
and always will be, I guess.”

Sammy said the words bleakly.

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t?” He stared at the ground, unwilling to meet her gaze until she drew his attention by lightly clasping his hand.

“No. We all screw up. It doesn’t define us unless we let it.”

Aubrey squeezed his hand before letting it go. He expelled a short breath and stared out toward the field. “Yeah, well, actions speak louder than words and frankly, I’ve got people lining up to tell me what a jackass I’ve been, so what does that say?”

She smiled. “It says people care about you and know you can do better. People rise to the level of our expectations.”

“And what did people expect of you?” he asked, turning the tables on her.

Dear Reader,

Harlequin Books is celebrating its 60th year in publishing and I’m so proud to be part of this wonderful family. The first Harlequin book I read was A Thousand Roses by Bethany Campbell. I still have it, tucked away in a drawer, and every now and again I take it out and reread it. It’s that good.

Being a published author is a dream come true, from working with my wonderful editor, Johanna Raisanen, to seeing my book on the shelves. And it all started with that first Harlequin novel that found itself in my hands so many years ago.

A Man Worth Loving is my seventh novel published by Harlequin—I hope you enjoy Sammy and Aubrey’s story. Many readers have asked about Sammy Halvorsen, wondering if he was going to get his own story. Well, here it is. Probably not what was expected, but I think you’ll enjoy it.

Hearing from readers is one of my greatest joys (aside from really good chocolate), so don’t be shy. Feel free to drop me a line at my Web site, www. kimberlyvanmeter.com, or through snail mail at P.O. Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361.

Happy reading,

Kimberly Van Meter

A Man Worth Loving
Kimberly Van Meter

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An avid reader since before she can remember, Kimberly Van Meter started her writing career at the age of sixteen when she finished her first novel, typing late nights and early mornings on her mother’s portable typewriter. Although that first novel was nothing short of literary mud, with each successive piece of work her writing improved, to the point of reaching that coveted published status.

Kimberly, now a journalist, and her husband and three kids make their home in Oakdale, California. She enjoys writing, reading, photography and drinking hot chocolate by the windowsill when it rains.

Love is a gift we all deserve. This book is dedicated

to anyone who’s ever had their heart broken in the

worst way, yet found the courage to love again.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WAS A TIME WHEN SOME might’ve said that Sammy Halvorsen lived a charmed life, but—as Sammy cracked his eyelids open and squinted against the harsh sunlight, the taste of last night’s party still on his tongue—those days were definitely over.

Those days ended exactly six months, sixteen days and four hours ago.

Dragging a hand across the scruff of his cheeks to wipe at his mouth, he struggled to a sitting position on the sofa just in time to hear his front door opening. He groaned silently. He’d forgotten—or maybe he’d just blocked it out of his mind—that his mother was coming with a friend to discuss something he had no interest in discussing.

“Samuel?” His mother’s sharp query clanged in his head and set off a riot of pain that would gain no sympathy from Mary Halvorsen simply for the reasons he was hurting. Tying one on didn’t rate on Mary’s Sympathy-O-Meter; neither did anything Sammy was doing these days. And Sammy didn’t have the energy to argue the fact with her.

“In here,” he answered with a scratch in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “In the living room, Ma.”

She appeared in the doorway and the smile on her face froze when she took in his appearance. Deep disappointment or anger—he wasn’t really sure but neither boded well for him—flashed in her expression, but he was too hungover to try and charm his way back into her good graces. Everything these days took too much effort. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and then gestured to the sofa. “Can I get you some coffee or something?” he asked, pulling himself up to walk with an unsteady gait to the small kitchen.

“Coffee would be fine, Samuel,” Mary said.

Sammy swayed when he reached for the dark roast blend, grimacing as the world tilted on its axis and he nearly lost whatever was souring his stomach. That would not go over well, he thought with dark humor. “Anything for your friend?” he asked, once he’d finally noticed the petite blonde standing beside his mother.

The woman shook her head and, following Mary’s lead, gingerly took a seat on the sofa where previously Sammy had crashed for the night, too drunk to even make it down the short hallway to his bed.

Sammy could hear murmured conversation between the two as he filled the coffeemaker and set it to brew. He wondered why he’d agreed to this meeting. Right now he was just wishing they’d go away so he could return to that blissful sleep of the inebriated. But, as he returned with two full mugs, one for his mom and one for himself, he knew the chances of that happening were slim to none.

This was an intervention Mary Halvorsen-style, and it would take more than his discomfort to sway her from her mission.

“Maybe we should come back another time,” the woman suggested, as if reading Sammy’s mind. He lifted his mug to her and cracked a grin but it must’ve come out looking more like a grimace, for she didn’t respond favorably. “You don’t seem…well.”

“He’s hungover,” Mary said before Sammy could answer, and he frowned. “Too bad for him, I say. I didn’t rearrange my schedule to accommodate this meeting just to reschedule because my son doesn’t have a lick of sense in his fool head these days.” She speared Sammy with a short look as she asked pointedly, “Where’s Ian?”

At the mention of his son’s name, Sammy took another bracing sip of his coffee and zeroed in on a dust bunny on the floor. “With Annabelle and Dean. I forgot about today. I needed to go out last night.”

“What you need is a nanny. Someone who can help you take care of Ian. It’s not fair to Dean and Annabelle to keep shouldering your responsibility when they have a little one of their own. This has gone on long enough, Samuel.”

Sammy couldn’t respond to that. He knew she was right, but inside his chest was a useless shell where his heart used to be, and he had nothing left for his young son. It hurt just to look at the kid. If it hadn’t been for him, Dana would still be here. Sammy blinked back the wave of shame that followed and finished his coffee in two scalding swallows.

“What’s your name?” he asked the woman.

“Aubrey…Aubrey Rose. I just want to say that I’m so sorry for your I—”

“You know much about kids?”

She started at the interruption. “Well, I was an au pair during college and I did a lot of babysitting when I was a kid.”

“What the hell is an au pair?”

“It’s another word for nanny, used mostly in Europe. I spent a year in Italy…. Anyway, yes, to answer your question I have some experience. I’m also CPR and first aid trained.”

“See?” Mary said. “Perfect. More than perfect. And she can start immediately.”

Sammy glanced away. Not perfect. Everything was far from perfect but who was he to belabor the point? It didn’t much matter either way.

He gestured to his mom. “How do you two know each other?”

“We met at the Quilters Brigade,” Mary answered. “And before you open your mouth to say some kind of joke, let me spare you the effort. I am not in a joking sort of mood.”

“Jeez, Ma, lighten up. You’ll scare the young folk,” he said, his mouth curving in a tired grin, but he dropped it quickly enough when his mother’s stare narrowed. She wasn’t kidding. “So the Quilters Brigade…”

Aubrey shrugged. “It’s a relaxing hobby and I usually donate the piece when I’m finished.”

“Not from around here, I take it?”

“No. I’m a transplant, as Mary calls it.”

“Yeah,” he said, trying hard not to remember that Dana had been an outsider, too. He swallowed and looked away. “I guess you’ll do well enough. Hell, I don’t know the first thing about babies so you’re already more qualified than me to take care of him.” And that fact sliced him to the bone every single day.

AUBREY SHOULD’VE KNOWN this wasn’t going to work out. What had she been thinking? She slanted a look at Mary, realizing that the older woman hadn’t been entirely honest about her son’s situation. This was more than a widower needing help with his infant son. This man was a train wreck. And she wasn’t interested in hitching a ride. She had enough baggage to sink the Titanic. She didn’t need this guy’s, as well.

Aubrey gathered her purse, ready to leave when the front door opened and a curvy redhead walked in cradling a bundle against her shoulder. “Sorry, Sammy, but something came up and I had to bring Ian home. I know you said you’d come by later but…Oh! I’m interrupting. Mary said you were interviewing a nanny. I’m so sorry. You must be Aubrey?”

Aubrey nodded and the woman continued in a rush, gently dropping a full diaper bag to the floor and bringing the baby to his father, which by the expression on his face was about as pleasurable as having a nail pounded into his foot. He held the child awkwardly, almost away from his body so as to limit contact, and was quick to hand the child to his grandmother, who immediately started snuggling the boy. “I’m Annabelle,” she said. “Nice to meet you. You’re going to love Ian. He’s the sweetest baby. Mary, I’ll see you later?”

“Eight o’clock. Bring Jasmine. I haven’t had my granddaughter fix in two days.”

“Will do. Oh, one more thing, there are a few preprepared bottles in the diaper bag that need to go into the fridge right away. Okay, bye!”

In a blink, Annabelle was gone again but Sammy had hardly registered her presence after she’d put the baby in his arms.

Even as Mary continued to lavish the child with whispered endearments, Aubrey caught a look so full of anguish in Sammy’s eyes that for a moment her own heart spasmed. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that dull, empty stare that said I care about nothing and no one so don’t even try, and Aubrey knew taking this job would be a mistake.

She opened her mouth with the intent to decline but Mary took that moment to place the baby in her arms. As Aubrey held that soft body she felt an echo of an old pain that never truly healed no matter how many years she put between it and herself. Babies. She loved them. Truly and deeply. All sorts, all kinds. They were her Achilles’ heel. And it was the cruelest of ironies that she would never bear one.

“Aubrey, meet Ian Samuel Halvorsen. Isn’t he a doll?”

Aubrey nodded. About that part, Mary hadn’t lied. This child was beautiful with a full head of dark hair, porcelain skin and a rosebud mouth that was nearly too pretty for a boy. In fact, if he hadn’t been decked out in a sleeper with airplanes on it and gripping a blue blanket it might’ve been hard to tell his gender. But then again, babies at this age were sometimes hard to tell anyway. She couldn’t resist bending down to inhale that sweet intoxicating baby scent and knew even as she did so, walking away was going to be difficult.

“He’s beautiful,” Aubrey said softly, a slow but reluctant smile forming on her mouth. “Does he look like his mother?”

“The spitting image,” Sammy choked out before leaving the room on legs so stiff it looked as if his back might crack from the pressure.

Oh, Lord. That man was drowning. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to see that and Aubrey knew from firsthand experience that drowning people often took down the people trying to save them. She hadn’t put her life back together only to have it torn apart again by someone else.

Aubrey handed Ian back to his grandmother. “Mary, I like you and I appreciate the opportunity you’ve offered me but I think this job is more than I can handle.”

After a moment, Mary said, “Ian needs you, Aubrey.”

“Me? Why me?”

“I’m going to level with you because I get the feeling that you can see right through bullshit and I’m not going to waste your time feeding you any. I’m too old to be raising my grandchild, and my other two sons are busy trying to raise their own families. Annabelle is wearing herself out trying to do everything for Sammy because Dana was her best friend and that’s how she deals with her own grief. But Sammy needs to start bonding with his son. He can’t do that if he has too many people picking up the slack for him and that’s what’s been happening since Dana died.”

“How is hiring a nanny going to help him with that?”

“It will allow him to break in slowly.” Mary inhaled softly as she touched Ian’s downy cheek. “He loves his boy. He just doesn’t want to right now.”

Aubrey shook her head, her gut instinct telling her to stick with her initial decision and decline, but she was secretly horrified at the idea of leaving the baby to his father’s emotional void. Babies needed love and affection to grow and thrive. She doubted Samuel Halvorsen was capable of that right now. So where did that leave Ian? You can’t save every child, a voice warned. No, but she could at least help this child for a short while. No one said she had to get emotionally involved. And no one said she had to stay forever.

“I’ll take the job—temporarily. I understand what you’re saying about your son needing to break in slowly but if it turns out that I think it’s not helping, I’m going to give notice.”

“Fair enough.” Mary rose and placed the boy in the swing. “I’ll go get Sammy so you two can talk salary.”

The gently swaying swing drew her attention and she withheld a sigh. She was such a sucker for a sweet face.

Her attention strayed to the photographs on the walls. There were several of Sammy with his late wife. Mary had said her name was Dana and they’d only been married a short time before she died. Aubrey tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and couldn’t help but feel sad for the young family. A son left without a mother and a husband left without a wife. Sometimes life dealt crappy cards.

Mary returned with Sammy and Aubrey sat a little straighter, projecting as much detached professionalism as she knew how to, and even did a good job of dismissing the casual observations that drifted through her mind as he started talking compensation, schedules and whatnot. Observations such as the dark golden scruff on his face, which was a shade lighter than the tousled mess on top of his head, and the mesmerizing hazel of his eyes that, even bloodshot from a night of tearing up the town, were still pretty arresting. No doubt about it, this guy was a looker. He had that rugged, construction-worker thing going on that would cap off a calendar of hot guys quite nicely, alongside the requisite batch of firefighters and military men. Not her type, really. She could almost hear her mother’s voice carping in her ear that Sammy Halvorsen might very well be her type if she were looking to get her heart broken—yet again—but she wasn’t so it didn’t matter, right?

No, Sammy Halvorsen was so off-limits he might as well be orbiting a separate planet. As far as bad habits went, rehabilitating brokenhearted men was by far her worst. Catching a man on the rebound wasn’t something Aubrey wanted to do ever again. No matter how attractive the man was or how adorable his baby was.

Besides, what was she worried about, anyway? It wasn’t like she was looking for love—far from it—so everything should be fine.

“When can you start?” he asked abruptly.

Mary interjected with a firm shake of her head before Aubrey could answer. “Not today. She has plans. Tomorrow is soon enough,” she added with an arched brow. “You can handle your boy for one night, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” he said, but his eyes said something else entirely.

Aubrey checked the frown she felt building in her brow. It was no business of hers what kind of relationship Sammy had with his son. Her job would be to feed, clothe and otherwise care for Ian but no one said anything about getting personally involved.

She cast one final look over her shoulder as she followed Mary out and caught sight of Sammy staring down at his son, gently swaying in the swing, with an expression of—dare she say it?—resentment, and Aubrey wanted to give Samuel Halvorsen an earful. That man didn’t know how to count his blessings.

Stay professional, she admonished herself. This was a job…nothing more.

CHAPTER TWO

SAMMY WINCED AGAINST THE PAIN in his head and, ignoring his son’s outstretched hands as he passed the swing, went straight for the kitchen for some aspirin. Ian fussed when it was apparent Sammy wasn’t going to liberate him from the swing but Sammy couldn’t possibly deal with the kid when his head was about to explode. He washed down three extra-strength pain relievers with a generous swallow of a fresh beer and then leaned against the counter, closing his eyes against Ian’s gathering howl. Sammy rubbed at his eyes and then drained the can so he could crush it and leave it behind in the kitchen. So what if it was only 10:00 a.m.? A little hair of the dog was what he was going to need to deal with the screamer in the other room.

Ian’s face was red and scrunched from crying, his big, round eyes staring at Sammy reproachfully as he lifted his chubby arms again, whimpering until Sammy pulled him free to put him on the floor. But that’s not what Ian wanted, either, apparently because he wiggled and kicked and screamed until Sammy was quite sure the kid was going to have a heart attack or something. Alarmed, he picked him up and gently but awkwardly jostled him the way he’d seen Annabelle do with Ian and her daughter Jasmine when they fussed. It seemed to work for a minute but before Sammy could enjoy the reprieve, the kid yowled loud enough to bring the house down.

“Damn, kid, what’s your problem?” he muttered, jostling him a little less gently, which only made it worse. “Are you hungry or something?” he asked. He tilted his son upside down so he could sniff his drawers. He drew back quickly. “Oh, gross. Dude? Seriously! We’re going to have to work on that. That’s disgusting.”

His alcohol-soaked brain wasn’t functioning on higher levels, and for a second he couldn’t remember how to change a diaper. His gaze sought and found the diaper bag Annabelle had dropped off, and he grabbed it. With one hand holding Ian in a football pose, which the kid didn’t like one bit, Sammy wrestled with the bag until the contents spilled out, including several bottles, which rolled out and went everywhere. He picked a diaper and the wipes from the pile and proceeded to the sofa.

Ian, near hysterical, waved his hands and kicked his feet so hard Sammy had a hard time grabbing the flailing little suckers so he could take the offending diaper off. “Will you cut it out already? Do you want this thing off or not?” he demanded and Ian squeezed more tears down his cheeks, which made Sammy feel ten times worse for being so rough with him. “Sorry, kid….” he muttered, but he was too busy trying to wipe the crap—holy hell, how’d a kid so small make such a mess?—from Ian’s little bare butt to waste time on apologies that the baby wouldn’t understand anyway. His brother Dean had tried to tell him that the tone of his voice was important when dealing with kids, especially when they’re young, but honestly, Sammy hadn’t been interested in taking parenting classes with his wife fresh in the grave.

Finally, he got Ian clean and into a fresh outfit, because the one he’d been in now had baby poop all over it, but Ian was still puckering his face, getting ready to wail. “C’mon, help a guy out. What’s wrong?” he moaned, collapsing against the back of the sofa and staring at the ceiling in misery. Suddenly, Ian slid from the sofa, startling Sammy, to land on the floor with an oof that knocked the wind out of the little guy so it took a moment for the real screaming to start.

“Oh, God, are you okay?” he exclaimed, rushing to pick up his son, scared that the kid was truly hurt. When Ian didn’t stop screaming, he did the only thing he knew how to do in this kind of situation. He called Annabelle.

AUBREY WAS IN THE QUILTING shop, perusing new fabrics, when she overheard Mary talking with her daughter-in-law Annabelle. Aubrey didn’t mean to eavesdrop but her ears perked when she heard they were talking about Ian.

“He’s fine,” Annabelle assured Mary, who wore a concerned frown on her face. “He just got the wind knocked out of him, but I told Sammy he should never leave Ian on the sofa without watching him. He’s just learning to roll over on his own. The sofa’s not that high off the ground but if it’d been the bed…he might’ve been really hurt.”

Mary scowled. “That boy ought to be horsewhipped for the idiot he’s being. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He was raised better than that, I can tell you that right now. His father and I are beside ourselves….” Mary stopped as Aubrey approached, her tirade momentarily halted. A bright smile followed. “Why, Aubrey, hello, I didn’t see you there. You remember my daughter-in-law Annabelle?”

“Nice to see you again,” Aubrey murmured, taking in the beautiful, curvy redhead and the little blond girl skipping around her feet. She smiled at the girl, who had stopped to stare at her with wide, inquisitive blue eyes. “Is this your daughter?” she asked Annabelle.

“One of them. This is Honey. My baby, Jasmine, is home with her dad. I just needed to talk with Mary about Ian. I knew she’d be here at the shop so I made a quick stop. You’re going to be Ian’s nanny, I hear?”

“Yes. I start this afternoon. What happened to Ian? I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Oh, it was nothing really but it shook Ian up a little. He took a tumble off the sofa and it knocked the wind out of him. He was totally fine when he got some love and affection. And a bottle. Poor guy was starving. I told Sammy I left him some preprepared bottles in the diaper bag but I found them under the sofa.”

“What kind of formula does he use?” Aubrey asked, getting a notepad ready to jot down the brand. Mary and Annabelle exchanged a look and Aubrey wondered what she’d inadvertently said wrong.

“He doesn’t drink formula much,” Annabelle said, pausing. “Depending on your philosophies, this may sound really strange, but I express breast milk for Ian.”

“Excuse me?” Aubrey started, not quite sure she heard that correctly. “Did you say you’re breast-feeding your nephew?”

“No, I said I’m expressing breast milk for my nephew.”

Mary intervened, speaking warmly of her daughter-in-law as she explained. “You see, Dana died in childbirth. A rarity in this day and age but it still happens. Annabelle had only just given birth to Jasmine a month earlier and because Dana had planned to breast-feed for as long as possible, Annabelle started expressing milk for Ian before he even left the hospital because she knew it was what Dana would’ve wanted.”

Aubrey didn’t know how to respond. The concept was so foreign to her. Her own mother hadn’t breast-fed, saying it wasn’t seemly to be seen with two babies hanging off her chest as if she was some kind of baboon in the jungle. Annabelle mistook Aubrey’s silence for reproach and stiffened. “It’s perfectly natural. Back in the medieval days, royalty often used a wet nurse. It’s healthier than formula and helps with their immune system.”

Aubrey wasn’t judging, though it was certainly a shock. Aubrey tried to imagine what her mother would have to say about that and nearly giggled at how appalled Barbie would be. Her twin sister, Arianna, would likely mirror that horror. They’d both arch perfectly waxed eyebrows in distaste and remark on how white trash it all was. “I think it’s beautiful that you loved your friend so much you would do that for her son,” Aubrey said.

Annabelle’s eyes watered for a brief moment. “Thank you. I just want the best for him. She wanted a baby so badly. When she got pregnant we cried together. I think she told me before she told Sammy. It was the happiest moment of her life.”

“How’d Samuel react to the news?” Aubrey inquired, not quite comfortable using her employer’s more familiar nickname.

“He was happy but I think he would’ve given Dana the moon if she asked for it even if he preferred sunlight. Dana was the one who really wanted to start a family right away and it took a while to get pregnant. Dana called Ian her miracle baby.”

Aubrey’s eyes threatened to water, wishing there’d been such a miracle in her own life. Don’t go there. She forced a bright smile. “It was nice to meet you. I suppose I’ll see you two a lot while I’m Ian’s nanny. I hope to become good friends.”

And then, before either could say anything further, she left the shop.

It wasn’t until she was halfway to her rented house that she realized she’d forgotten all about the quilting fabric she’d wanted to check out. She sighed heavily and put it out of her head. She needed to get ready for her first day of work.

SAMMY SLAPPED A LITTLE aftershave on his cheeks and winced when tiny nicks from the quick shave job screamed at the alcohol splash. He sucked in a breath and then grinned in the mirror, his best roguish charmer that usually worked pretty well on the ladies, and then, remembering that his jeans were still in the dryer, he stepped out of his bedroom to find Aubrey in the hallway. She seemed frozen to the spot, a look of chagrin and embarrassment on her face.

She turned quickly and stammered an apology. “The door was open…. I didn’t realize…I thought you said to be here…Oh, I’m a few minutes early, though, not because I’m one of those people who are ridiculously punctual, well, actually, I am one of those people because I hate to be late—”

“It’s okay,” he said gruffly to her rambling. If he hadn’t been embarrassed himself, he might’ve found the humor in the situation, but at the moment he wasn’t feeling anything but intense mortification at being caught with nothing but a towel around his ass on his nanny’s first day on the job. Nice going. If she didn’t quit right then and there it’d be a miracle. He wrapped the towel a bit tighter to ensure there weren’t any wardrobe malfunctions and said to her back, “Kid’s asleep in his swing. Why don’t you go wait in there while I get dressed.” She bobbed her head in agreement before skittering away.

He detoured to the dryer and jerked the jeans up over his hips quickly. When he was decent, he sent a prayer to heaven that she was still willing to take the job and tried that charming smile on again to up the odds of her staying.

She rose from the sofa where she’d been fidgeting with the strap of her purse when he entered the living room. He waved away her attempts to apologize again. “It’s my fault. I’m not quite used to having someone else in the house and I forgot to grab my clothes before I hit the shower,” he said, cringing at the red blush staining her cheeks. “It’s okay. Really. No big deal. No harm no foul as they say.”

“I’m assuming there will be no more of these types of incidents while I’m in your employ?” she said, her tone implying that perhaps he’d engineered the whole situation.

“Of course not,” he said, slightly insulted that the sight of his toweled body had offended her so much. There was no reason to make a federal case out of it. “It was an accident. The last thing I need is my kid’s nanny to be thinking about me naked,” he muttered.

“Not a problem,” she retorted, a bit sharply. “I’ve already put the incident out of my mind.”

If it weren’t for the high color in her cheeks he might’ve believed her. But she was holding to it so that was fine with him. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want the nanny to think of him in any way that wasn’t completely professional.

“Good. Now that that’s settled…” He rubbed his hands together, ready to move on. He had a date with a longneck bottle, which would hopefully end with a date with a redhead or a blonde…whichever was ready and available. “So, I probably won’t be home until late…well, depending on how well things go tonight…”

“How late?” she asked, her brow furrowing a little.

“Uh, well, not sure. Is that a problem? I thought I told you that you might need to be available for overnighters.”

“Yes. You did mention the possibility but I didn’t realize it would start with my first day. I didn’t bring the proper supplies.”

He frowned. That certainly put a crimp in his plans. Suddenly he felt as if he had a curfew. He glanced around and his gaze alighted on the kid’s car seat in the corner where Annabelle had left it the last time she’d dropped him off. “Here…how about this…if it gets too late you can just take the kid to your place and I’ll pick him up later.”

Problem solved. Except the disapproving stare coming from his new nanny told him what she thought of that idea. “Oh, never mind. I’ll be home before eleven. That work for you?” he bit out, hating that he was giving in. He could tell right now this arrangement wasn’t going to work out. He didn’t care if his mom picked her out or not. She didn’t have to deal with her.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes registering cool victory. “I appreciate your consideration. I don’t know the roads around here quite yet and don’t feel comfortable driving too late at night.”

Yeah, yeah…he wanted to grumble but he didn’t. He was just itching to get out of there. He was headed out of town tonight and now his prowl-time just got cut in half. Not even he could close the deal with this short of a window. But he could try. “You have my cell. If there’s an emergency…just leave me a voice mail I guess and then call Annabelle. She’s real good with stuff like that. She’s my brother’s wife.”

“I’ve met Annabelle,” she interjected.

“Oh? When?” he asked, to be polite. He couldn’t really care less and time was ticking. He pocketed his wallet in his back pocket and grabbed his keys.

“Well, don’t you remember, she was the one who dropped off Ian yesterday. We met officially this morning in the quilting shop. She was telling me how Ian rolled off the sofa yesterday,” she said, although her tone was professional, he sensed her disapproval and he stiffened.

“He was fine,” he said.

“Yes, Annabelle told me. I’m glad. Falls can be very serious for a baby Ian’s age.”

Sammy shifted, annoyed at her prim censure. “Yeah, well, he’s fine,” he said, moving to the door. “Later.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Halvorsen.”

He stopped. “Call me Sammy,” he said but she shook her head.

“I’d prefer not. You’re my employer.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. I guess you’re right. But it’s just that when you call me Mr. Halvorsen I feel like I should be looking for my dad or something. Plus, it makes me feel old.”

She smiled at that but held firm. He felt a scowl coming on but really what did he care what she called him? If she wanted to be all stiff and proper who was he to say she couldn’t be? He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Good night, Ms. Rose.”

AUBREY WATCHED AS SAMMY WALKED out the door, her temper building as she replayed the last five minutes of their conversation through her head. What a self-absorbed jerk. She tried to be understanding because he was a widower and all but he had some nerve to try and come on to her like that. Who wandered around their house in just a towel? Especially when their nanny was supposed to arrive within minutes? And then to try and make her feel as if she was overreacting to his display? Her fists clenched as another wave of anger rolled over her. How did she get herself into this one?

Egad. The ego on that guy. Unfortunately, he probably had plenty of women who were happy to feed that monstrous ego. If she were the brainless type, she could totally see how the man likely charmed his way into countless beds. A smile here, a little flattery, and boom, panties dropped. Her lip curled in open disgust. It was likely he had good qualities somewhere deep—very deep—down, but at the moment, Aubrey couldn’t imagine what they could be.

Well, if she were held under a hot bulb in a torture chamber with someone threatening to pull her fingernails off she might be forced to admit that he had one helluva physique. He looked damn near carved from stone, like the marble statues at Versailles, except he didn’t sport a Roman nose nor was he missing a limb. She inhaled sharply at the traitorous musings and shut them down immediately. Jerk. He hadn’t even said goodbye to his baby. What kind of father was he?

A terrible one.

She felt a twinge for judging him so quickly, but really, he hadn’t made much of a case for himself with that attitude of his. And what kind of person tells a virtual stranger that she can just pack up his child like luggage and take the baby home because it inconveniences his party time? Argggh! She cored an apple with particular vehemence and nearly sliced through to her hand. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. No point in getting so worked up over one silly, self-absorbed idiot who didn’t know how lucky he was.

She looked sorrowfully at the sleeping boy and her heart melted a bit more for the sad circumstances then she went to prepare some food for the little guy. She’d brought her food processor so she could make homemade baby food. He was old enough to start with a few solids but she wanted to start slow so that she didn’t inadvertently spark a food allergy in the boy.

Without Sammy in the way, bothering her with his smarmy smiles and perfect body, she started to feel more at ease. The house was small and rustic but there was a coziness to it that appealed to her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. Her mother had ridiculously bourgeois taste that ran toward the faux gold furnishings and lavish tapestries that carpeted the cavernous hallways of the homes she decorated and Aubrey had always found them embarrassingly ostentatious. Yep, Sammy’s house was so far from anything Aubrey had ever called home that it was immediately wonderful in Aubrey’s opinion.

Humming a wordless tune, she went to work mashing some bananas she’d brought with her and set to boiling water for the apples. Nikki and Violet had loved her homemade applesauce. She frowned slightly as the thought of them still hit a sore spot and started coring more apples. Apparently eight months wasn’t enough time to lessen the pain of not having them in her life but she’d loved them so deeply. Her gaze drifted to Ian, who was starting to awaken and sighed heavily. She couldn’t let her heart get attached to this one. One corner of her mouth twisted ruefully. At least she didn’t have to worry about falling for her employer with this job. Sammy Halvorsen was the last person she’d ever be attracted to.

Thank goodness for small favors.

CHAPTER THREE

SAMMY WAS SHIT-FACED. The woman who was propping him up giggled as he tried to fit his key into the lock and she had to help guide it in.

He made a sexually suggestive comment that made her giggle again and they both fell into the door, slamming it open against the wall.

“Oops.” The woman laughed as they stumbled inside, making a racket loud enough to wake the dead. He pressed against her, slanting his mouth over hers, eager to get the party started. Sammy remembered he already had company just as Aubrey came around the corner with a disgusted expression on her face.

His date quickly sobered and looked askance at Aubrey, who appeared the part of a very annoyed housemate, which if Sammy hadn’t been two sheets to the wind, he might’ve realized wasn’t funny at all. But as it was, the pinched look on her face was quite comical. “Who is that?” the woman—Sharlene? Sherry? Crap, he couldn’t remember—didn’t sound amused, either. She turned to him as he used the wall to steady himself. “I thought you said you weren’t married,” she said with a definite edge to her voice.

“I’m not.” He pushed off from the wall and walked unsteadily toward Aubrey, who looked ready to kick him in the shins with her tiny feet. Boy, she was petite. So different from Dana. Dana had been tall and beautiful, his Amazon wife, he used to tease. Frowning, he gestured toward Aubrey as he walked past her toward the kitchen. “She’s my nanny. Want a beer?” he asked.

“Mr. Halvorsen…a moment, please,” came Aubrey’s firm request as she turned on her heel and marched from the living room. Judging by the way she didn’t wait to see if he would comply, she clearly expected him to follow.

Sammy sighed and gestured to the blonde to make herself comfortable while he took care of the situation at hand. He found Aubrey in his bedroom, which suddenly made him intensely uncomfortable. Aubrey in his bedroom was…not right. At all.

As if reading his mind, she peered up at him, tightlipped and angry. “It’s a small house, Mr. Halvorsen. I did not feel it prudent to air my concerns in front of your friend, and I’m not about to wake Ian up by taking this conversation into his room, though by the way you crashed about like a drunken ox it’s a wonder the baby didn’t wake up screaming,” she muttered with a glare.

“We weren’t that loud,” he said defensively, though he knew that she was probably right. Damn. This nanny rode him harder than his ma, which was probably why Mary Halvorsen hand-selected her.

“You’re drunk,” she accused, clearly unamused.

“Of course I am,” he said, smiling lopsidedly at her. “That’s the whole point, ain’t it? Have fun, cut up, cut loose—”

“Bring home floozies with your infant son sleeping in the other room,” she interrupted and he jerked.

“That’s a shitty thing to say.”

“Yes. And equally bad because it’s true, isn’t it?” she queried him, crossing her arms. “Mr. Halvorsen…if this is your type of behavior, the kind of thing I can come to expect from you…”

“Will you stop with the Mister already? I told you—”

“And I told you no. The problem I see with you, Mr. Halvorsen, is that you’re not accustomed to responsibility. I am your son’s nanny. Not yours. You’ve put me in a pickle, Mr. Halvorsen.”

His alcohol-soaked brain zeroed in on the word pickle and he chuckled. Who talked like that? It was cute in an annoyingly stuck-up way. If he were attracted to the librarian type, which he wasn’t, he might be seriously turned on by her prim and proper routine. But as evidenced by the bleached blonde getting bored and sober in his living room…nope, it wasn’t the brainy types that turned his head. Although…

She snapped two fingers in front of his face, and he refocused on her. “As I was saying, you’ve put me in a bad spot. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you with Ian in your condition or with the company you’ve chosen to bring home with you—” she might as well have said vermin the way she phrased it “—but I don’t feel it’s appropriate for me to take Ian out of bed at this late hour and take him home with me. So you leave me no choice but to insist that you send that woman home and put yourself to bed.”

He balked. “That wouldn’t be right. I invited her to stay.”

She gave him a steely glare. “Nothing about this situation is right by my estimation. Send her home or I quit.”

He cocked a rogue grin her way, oddly charmed by the show of spirit flashing in her eyes. Funny, he hadn’t noticed how cute she was. He moved closer and she took a healthy step back. He frowned, stung by her obvious rejection. Now that was different. “So quit,” he said with a shrug, anger at being rejected coupled with the tequila shots he’d downed earlier combining to make his mouth say really bad things. “It’s not like it takes a bunch of skill to watch a kid. I can find another nanny…one who’s not so uptight and bitchy.”

Her gaze turned wintry and she pushed past him. “Good luck with that, you arrogant jerk,” she muttered, moving by him so quickly he stumbled on unsteady feet. “You don’t deserve that beautiful boy. It’s probably a good thing your wife is dead. If she could see how you’re treating the child she died to give life…” She shook her head in disgust as she added, “So pathetic.”

And then stomped out the door.

ANGER VIBRATED HER ENTIRE BODY as she got to her car, intent on leaving as quickly as she could, but somehow Sammy managed to get those wobbly drunken muscles to work and he was running after her.

“Wait!” he called out. She tried to ignore him but there was a thread of desperation weaving its way through his tone that made her pause, if only momentarily. He reached the car and skidded to a stop. “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have said that…I’ve had too much to drink and my mouth got away from me.”

“And?”

“And it was completely out of line for me to bring someone home with you still at the house. I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, dropping his stare to the ground as if ashamed. She wasn’t sure if it was an act or not. She didn’t know him well enough to tell but she was suspicious on principle simply by his behavior so far.

She wanted him to admit that it was also bad judgment on his part to bring strangers into the house with an infant but she sensed she wouldn’t get that from him. Not yet, anyway.

“Fine,” she said tersely. “But your friend needs to leave. Now.”

“She’s not a bad gal,” he started to say but she cut him off with a glare. “Right. Gimme a minute.”

Aubrey moved past him, accidentally brushing him with her shoulder. The warmth of his skin through his shirt reminded her that it’d been a long time since she’d enjoyed the comfort of a man’s arms. Thankfully, there were no sparks that ignited at the incidental touch. She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t pause to offer any words of explanation to the woman sitting forlornly on the sofa and went to check on Ian while Sammy sent her on her way.

Treading softly into Ian’s room, her anger melted at the sight of the sleeping boy, so sweet in repose that her heart ached. Why did she have such a tender spot for children? Her life would’ve been so much easier if she’d been built more like her mother and sister. Arianna, although her twin, couldn’t be more her opposite. The idea of caring for a child, even her own, didn’t appeal in the least. It was a wonder Barbie had agreed to conceive. Aubrey could only imagine her mother’s dismay when she’d learned she was carrying not one, but two babies. She sighed softly and smoothed a lock of dark hair from the boy’s soft baby brow. If she were given the gift of motherhood…she’d never squander it.

IT WAS LONG AFTER HE’D regretfully sent Sherry on her way with an effusive promise to call her tomorrow and Aubrey had fallen asleep in his recliner in the living room that Sammy sank into a dark place that was often his resting stop after a long night. Usually he woke with a busty woman at his side and he had to sneak from her house before she woke. He rarely brought his dates home; the thought of letting another woman into his own bed made him shudder with shame. Yet tonight he’d been ready to screw that blonde in the bed he’d shared with Dana. Aubrey had hit the nail on the head when she’d called him pathetic.

He supposed he should thank his nosy and intrusive nanny for keeping him from making yet another huge mistake, but it rankled him that he gave in so easily. She treated him like he was lower than dirt—the looks she gave him could wither a flower on the vine—and yet, she seemed protective of Ian in a way that baffled him. She didn’t know the kid, not really. He was the kid’s father and he couldn’t muster up the appropriate feelings. Scrubbing his hands down his face as if he could wipe away all the guilt that weighed him down, he fell back on his bed, not caring that he was still dressed, nor that he was still wearing his boots. Honestly, what was there to care about any longer?

Dana…why’d you leave me? I’m so lost….

That mournful feeling followed him into sleep, filling the landscape of his dreams with sadness and pain, a vision of Dana dying on that table, giving her last breath as Ian gasped his first.

A tear leaked down Sammy’s face and stained his pillow.

“Dana…”

CHAPTER FOUR

SAMMY SHOWED UP ON THE JOB SITE surly and nursing an aching head, and certainly in no mood to deal with either of his older brothers when Dean barked at him.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Glad to see you can tell time,” Sammy grumbled as he buckled his tool belt into place. “I overslept.”

Both his brothers exchanged a knowing look and Sammy wanted to put his fist through both of their mugs. “How’s the new nanny working out?” Josh asked.

“Fine.” If you don’t mind the idea of being mothered by a woman who made you feel ten inches tall one minute and oddly turned on in the next. Yeah…it’s great. “She’s good with the kid,” he admitted, hefting a large cement bag onto his shoulder with a grunt. “That’s all that matters, right?”

He considered the strange twist of being attracted to her. Frankly, he was hot for anything in a skirt these days but his tastes were pretty predictable. In the old days, before Dana, the thrill of the chase was what got his motor running. Then he met Dana and everything he ever thought he knew about women went right down the toilet. Dana had been cool and distant at first but once he cracked that nut…she’d been fiery and passionate, a woman who could match his appetite bite for bite. An ache so sharp it made him suck in a wild breath almost caused him to drop his load but he recovered before either of his keen-eyed brothers—who continually regarded him like he was on a suicide watch or something—could catch it.

“You gonna stand there gawking at me like a bunch of girls or get to work?” he asked, annoyed when neither seemed inclined to return to their tasks. He dropped the cement bag and went to get another one. “You’re giving me the willies staring at me like that.”

It was Josh who spoke first. “We’re worried about you,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You’re screwing up. And the way you treat Ian…” At Sammy’s scowl, Dean paused but then revved up again. “Annabelle is upset and if Annabelle’s upset then you’d better believe that I’m going to get involved.”

“Butt out,” Sammy warned, trying to walk away, but Dean grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him around to face him. Sammy eyed his brother and practically dared him to push the issue. “Watch it, Dean. The days where you can grab me like a snot-nosed kid are over. I’ll lay you out if you grab me again.”

Dean grinned. “Go ahead and try, Sammy. Might be the best thing for you to get your stupid head knocked around.”

Josh intervened. “Knock if off, both of you. Ma sees either of you with black eyes she’s going to give us all matching ones. Listen, Sam, we’re your brothers…we just don’t want to see you make a mistake you can’t take back.”

Sammy shrugged off Dean’s grip and bent down to grab another cement bag. He hefted it with a grunt. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got your own lives to worry about. Wives…babies…surely that’s enough to keep you out of my business.”

“It would be if you’d stop tomcatting around every honky-tonk bar from here to Coldwater. What’s gotten into you?” Dean asked, the disgust in his tone mirroring what Sammy had heard in Aubrey’s voice last night.

A pang of anguish reminding him just how screwed up he was made him grin like a jackal as he answered, “I’m grieving. Can’t you tell?”

Dean’s face darkened and Sammy knew he’d gone too far. He half hoped Dean would lay him out. He certainly deserved it. “You sure as hell don’t look like you’re grieving to me. How do you think it makes Annabelle feel to hear around town about all the women you’re nailing like the end of the world is around the corner when her best friend—your supposed beloved wife—died just six months ago? It’s killing her! The other day she burst into tears because of some story she heard about you and some former coworker of Dana’s getting it on outside the bar, in the damned alley! What is wrong with you!”

“Tell your wife to mind her own business,” Sammy said and turned to walk away.

And that was the final straw. But it wasn’t Dean who threw the punch.

It was Josh.

Sammy hit the ground and went into blissful oblivion.

AUBREY BUNDLED IAN UP AGAINST the chill so the boy could have some outside play time before it got too cold to enjoy the fall season. Walking the perimeter of the property, she drew a deep breath of the crisp air and smiled at the rustic beauty of the area, such a stark contrast from where she grew up. Here there were rolling hills of trees and brush, not a manicured lawn in sight, but it took her breath away. So gorgeous. She could imagine Ian running free, weaving in and out of the trees, playing cops and robbers, jumping in mud puddles, and ending the day covered head to toe in dirt. A warm smile followed. How awesome. Then she sighed. “Perhaps if fate hadn’t been so cruel as to take your mama and leave you with that self-absorbed man you know as your father, I’d say you were a lucky boy. But sometimes fate is cruel, sweet baby. That is something you may very well learn when you get older,” she murmured to Ian, whose cheeks had pinked to a rosy hue and his delighted smile seemed to say that he agreed with her. Impulsively, she bent down and pressed a quick kiss on his crown. Oh, you shouldn’t have done that, a voice warned inside her head, but she immediately pushed it aside, even though the advice was sound. But babies need love and affection, she protested. It wasn’t like the boy’s father was going to provide it. She rounded the back side of the house and gasped with pleasure when she saw the young apple tree, bursting with fresh apples, some of which had dropped to the ground to rot.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had an apple tree growing in your backyard?” she asked Ian playfully as he watched her with happy eyes. “I’ll bet your mom planted this tree when she and your dad got married.”

She moved closer and noted the variety of the tree was written on a small tag. “A self-pollinating Gala,” she read. She didn’t know much about apple trees but she was open to learning. Somehow she knew keeping this tree alive and blooming for the future would’ve been important to Dana. Plucking an apple, she took an exploratory bite. Juice dribbled down her chin and the crisp flavor was like manna from heaven. “Ohh, this is good,” she said. Then looked again to Ian, an idea forming in her mind. “I’ll bet your mom has a basket or a bucket we can find that she used to pick these apples. Let’s find it.”

Just as she figured, Aubrey was able to find a large basket in the laundry room, tucked into the far reaches of the cabinet above the washing machine. She brushed it out, then she and Ian headed back outside to ease the burden of that beautiful apple tree.

SAMMY WAS STILL IN A PISSY mood when he got home, in spite of stopping by the bar first for a beer. His jaw ached where Josh had clocked him and a bruise was beginning to shadow the stubble on his chin. He wasn’t sure which was worse—the fact that he’d deserved that punch or the low to which he’d sunk in his mind. It was as if he was in a downward spiral he couldn’t do anything to stop and everyone around him was trying to help but he was gunning for that fateful moment when he went splat against the concrete. If Dana were here she’d no doubt tell him to quit feeling sorry for himself. A sad smile lifted his mouth, but only for a moment. He couldn’t think of Dana. Maybe if Ian didn’t look so much like her….

He opened the door and was hit with the savory aroma of something he hadn’t smelled in a long time. Apple pie.

Entering the kitchen, the smell triggered a memory that nearly sent him to his knees. He slowed, let his eyes close and sank into the past.

Suddenly, it was September of last year, and Sammy had come home to that same tantalizing aroma.

“Damn, girl, what is that amazing smell?” he’d said, whipping his ball cap off and tossing it to the hat stand by the door. He saw Dana in the kitchen, pregnant, flour in her hair, the room looking as if a bomb had gone off, there was sweat dampening her forehead and one perfect apple pie cooling on the counter. He’d never been so conflicted by his desire to eat pie and make love to his wife. In the end, he did both. Right there on the kitchen floor.

“I thought you might like a pie made from our very own apple tree,” she’d said huskily, her voice retaining the warmth created by their lovemaking. She propped herself up on her elbow and stared down at him as he lay on his back recuperating. “I had no idea pie has this kind of effect on you,” she teased, her brown hair falling forward to tickle his face.

“You have this kind of effect on me,” he murmured, pulling her down to his mouth, savoring everything about his wife. “But I do love pie,” he added playfully.

“I love you,” she said softly.

The echo of Dana’s whispered sentiment brought him crashing back to the present, and he found Aubrey staring at him, an uncertain expression on her face.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a strangled tone.

“I…took Ian for a walk and discovered the apple tree…and they were just dropping on the ground,” she said, faltering. “I didn’t think you would mind if I put them to good use.”

“Well, I do mind,” he said, shaking with pain. He had a vision of grabbing the ax and chopping the damn tree down so he never had to deal with this happening ever again. But then he noticed that she’d been very busy while he’d been at work. Not only had she baked a pie but she’d made applesauce for Ian and that’s what she’d been doing when he walked in, putting the sauce into small containers for later use. He choked down the angry words that bubbled to the surface as he remembered Dana talking about how she’d hoped to do that very thing for their child. She’d been so excited to be a mother, she wanted nothing but the best for the baby—and apparently the best had included homemade applesauce.

Aubrey stiffened and her mouth tightened as she offered a terse apology. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about letting the apples go to waste. I won’t do it again,” she said.

“Forget it,” he bit out, hating the gruff quality of his voice. “I…” He tried to apologize but he couldn’t get the words out. Instead, he just turned on his heel and headed to the shower. She was his employee. He didn’t owe her explanations.

TEARS STUNG AUBREY’S EYES but she managed to hold them back until Sammy stalked from the room. It was ridiculous, she thought, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before returning to her task. Did he have to be such an ass? She twisted a lid onto the last container and stuck it in the freezer with the rest she’d made. She wiped down the counter and put everything in its place then prepared Ian for his bath.

She took great care to avoid looking in the direction of Sammy’s bedroom, but she couldn’t help wondering what had caused him to snap like that. She didn’t want to but she saw the pain in his eyes, and it softened her just a little toward him. Oh, stop that. He’s not a stray, injured dog you can nurse back to health. He’s a grown man acting like a spoiled, selfish child. Steer clear. Odd, how that scolding came straight at her in the voice of her mother. She rolled her eyes at herself and repressed a grateful shudder that the voice was only in her head and not being delivered in person.

After a quick bath and a bottle of milk, Aubrey put Ian to bed. As soon as Ian’s eyes drifted shut, she went to Sammy’s bedroom and gave the door a soft knock.

“Mr. Halvorsen…. I’m taking off. Ian—” She was startled when the door opened abruptly and Sammy stood there, his eyes red-rimmed and his expression stark. She straightened and continued. “As I was saying, Ian has had his bath and his dinner. He’s asleep in his bed. Is there anything else you need before I leave?”

He shook his head and she turned. His voice at her back made her stop.

“I’m sorry for…snapping at you,” he said quietly.

She nodded, but the motion was stiff. Still, since he was extending an olive branch of sorts, she’d do the same. “I apologize for not asking first. I realize it was presumptuous of me to assume you wouldn’t mind if I put the apples to use.”

“Does he like the applesauce you made for him?” he asked.

“He does. Very much.”

He ran his tongue across his lip and it was then Aubrey noticed the swelling along his jaw.

“What happened to you?” she asked, appalled at the injury and his apparent disregard for his own care. “Come here,” she instructed, forgetting for the moment that she thought he was the lowest of all men who hardly deserved more than a cursory glance much less her help. She led him to the kitchen where the light was better and then set about putting together an ice pack. “Was this a fight?”

“Something like that,” he answered with a shrug.

“Kiss the wrong girl? One with a husband perhaps?” she muttered and he chuckled darkly as he accepted the ice pack and set it against his jaw.

“Nothing like that. My brother wanted to teach me some manners.”

“Your own brother did this?” she repeated, horrified.

“Yeah.” He paused, then added, “I said something I shouldn’t have.”

“So you deserved it?”

He lifted the ice pack. “Josh wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t feel it was justified. Now, if it’d been Dean…he has more of a temper. And he’s been known to swing a few punches here and there. Just ask Aaron Eagle. He’s felt the sting of my brother’s fist. But he had it coming, too.”

“Who is Aaron Eagle?” she asked.

Sammy tried to grin but the effort cost him and he winced instead. He waved away her question. “Nobody. Just a guy my brother Dean doesn’t much care for. Dean clocked Aaron one day at a construction site. But trust me, the guy had it coming.”

“Sounds like your brothers are a couple of violent ruffians,” Aubrey observed, not quite sure what to think of this information. She only knew Dean by association through Annabelle and Mary and it was hard to reconcile this image of the eldest Halvorsen brother with what she was hearing.

“Are you still fighting with your brothers?” she asked cautiously. She didn’t mean to pry—it certainly fell under the category of none of her business—but she was curious.

“Probably,” came his bleak answer. He studied the ice pack in his hand, turning it slowly. He looked at her. “You got brothers or sisters?” he asked.

Startled by his question, she only stared for a moment. He mistook her hesitation and waved away her need to answer but for some reason she wanted to. “I have a twin sister,” she said.

He eyed her. “Someone who looks just like you or the other kind?”

“Someone who looks just like me,” she said, then added with a fierce glower, “but we’re nothing alike. She’s more like our mother. I take after my father.”

“Where are you from?”

How to answer…She supposed she was from Manhattan but really, her family had houses all over the place. They’d wintered in Manhattan, summered in the Hamptons, it was all so cliché. Her mother had made sure the Rose family was always in the right social circles, attended the right parties, dressed to impress. The whole shallow, superficial nonsense made Aubrey want to gag. Noting Sammy’s expectant expression, she made something up. “Vermont.”

Why she said Vermont she hadn’t a clue but for some reason she couldn’t just admit that she’d grown up a privileged nomad, living mostly in hotel penthouses and the occasional sumptuous cottage. Vermont sounded rustic and accessible. She tried to smile but gave up when it felt forced. Returning to what was safe, she gestured to the ice pack. “You need to keep that on or the swelling won’t go down. Tomorrow, your jaw will be sore,” she advised, grabbing her purse to leave. “Good night, Mr. Halvorsen.”

SAMMY WATCHED AS AUBREY LEFT, bothered by her stiff manner with him. She persisted in calling him Mr. Halvorsen, which made him feel like an old man, and she made sure there was an invisible line between them that she didn’t even come close to crossing. That’s a good thing, his inner voice reminded, but it still didn’t sit right with him. He was a lady killer of the first rate but this woman was immune to his charms. Well, to be fair, he hadn’t really turned up the wattage when it came to her. He wasn’t attracted to her sort, anyway. And what sort was she? the voice challenged. Not easy to reel in, he answered darkly. Pressing the ice pack to his face, he allowed a groan since he was alone. He suffered the pain while Aubrey was there but now…shit, that hurt. So Aubrey was a twin, he mused. Interesting. He couldn’t imagine two of her running around. She mentioned they were nothing alike. Did that mean her sister was prone to giggling, flashing bright pearly smiles and flirting? He tried to picture Aubrey being like that and it was too much for his meager imagination, not to mention the headache that had begun to pulse behind his eyeball. He sighed and tossed the ice pack in the sink to melt. It was probably a good thing Aubrey was a little on the uptight side. If pressed, he’d have to admit she wasn’t hard on the eyes. When she wasn’t scowling at him, that was.

CHAPTER FIVE

AUBREY GRIPPED THE PHONE a little tighter and pressed her lips together to keep the distressed sound in her brain from escaping through her mouth.

“Mother, you hate the country,” she reminded Barbie, silently wondering how on earth she’d been found. Then she remembered a short conversation with Arianna before she’d left, mentioning the small California town of Emmett’s Mill. “And you’d really hate it here. There is nothing but trees and country folk, two things that you find little to recommend. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be opening the Manhattan apartment for the season?” she asked, almost desperately.

“Aubrey, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to keep me from visiting,” Barbie said with a sniff. “I am your mother. It’s my duty to see what you’re about, even if you’ve decided to exile yourself to the sticks of California.”

The way she said California made it sound as though she’d just compared it to Tijuana.

“I’m not exiling myself, Mother,” Aubrey said between gritted teeth. “I wanted a change in scenery and Emmett’s Mill seemed a nice getaway from the city.”

“Yes, but did you truly need to go so far? You could have easily taken in the country in the Hamptons, although this time of year it’s dreadful, as you know, but still it would’ve been preferable to this…what is the place called, Everest Hill?”

“Emmett’s Mill,” Aubrey corrected and mentally counted to ten.

“Whatever. What’s with the fascination with this town? I’d never even heard of it until Arianna mentioned that’s where you were. All this time when you said you wanted a change of scenery I thought you meant you wanted to go to Europe for a bit.”

Aubrey felt truly invaded with her mother poking and prodding at her personal reasons for moving and it chafed no end. She wasn’t about to tell her mother that she fell in love with Emmett’s Mill through the pages of a magazine. American Photographic had featured Emmett’s Mill in one of their annual Twenty Best Places To Live and Aubrey had worn the pages thin from the many times she’d gazed at the images, wishing she could just insert herself into those colorful, quaint photos. Everything in that pictorial had seemed so much better than the life she was living at the time. Of course, that was around the time that her relationship with Derek had started to unravel. Anything might’ve seemed like Eden as long as it was far from New York.

“It doesn’t matter what brought me here, Mother,” she said a bit sharply. “This is my home now and I love it.”

“No need to get snippy, Aubrey,” her mother admonished. “I was only curious. It just seems so random, that’s all.”

“Well, perhaps it was but now I’m quite happy.”

“Excellent. Then you’ll enjoy showing us the sights.”

Aubrey knew that the moment her mother stepped foot in Emmett’s Mill she was likely to declare there were no sights to see, so Aubrey figured it was best to avoid the whole fiasco of a visit in the first place. She tried a different route to dissuade her mother from her plan to visit, and by visit she meant berate Aubrey constantly for ruining her life and by proxy Barbie’s life. “Besides, Mother, I really don’t have time to visit. I have a full-time job as a nanny for this adorable little boy and so it would be a wasted trip. And I thought you and Arianna had plans to redecorate the apartment? You know that will take at least a few months just to agree on the designer.”

Arianna and Barbie always quibbled over taste and style, sending more than one designer running away in frustration at their inability to come to an agreement on anything from textiles to color. The very idea of being caught in their web of misery was enough to make Aubrey want to live in a cave.

“Oh, Aubrey,” Barbie said in distaste. “Being a glorified babysitter is not what anyone would call a career. You’re an Ivy League graduate for crying out loud. If you’re not going to use your good looks to their full potential and snag a suitable husband—which really, you should give another thought to as you’re not getting any younger—then you might as well find a way to put that ridiculous degree of yours to use.”

“I am putting that degree to good use, Mother,” she said, her blood pressure rising with each syllable dripping with disdain from her mother’s professionally plumped lips. “I have a degree in child psychology and a minor in child development. I guess you could say I’m an expert in the field of raising children to be happy, well-adjusted adults.”

“Darling, a piece of paper on the wall does not make you an expert in raising children when you’ve never had one of your own,” Barbie remarked offhandedly. “And since you can’t have children—someday you’ll realize what a blessing that is—then it’s a bit like someone trying to say they can pilot a plane because they’ve mastered a video simulation. Surely you can see the logic in that.”

Why didn’t she just hang up? Aubrey actually pictured slamming the phone down so hard that her mother’s ears rang like church bells on a Sunday morning. But she didn’t. Instead she simply remained silent, locked inside her own head while her mother ranted and raved about how her daughter was withering on the vine, going on as if they were in the 1800s and Aubrey was going to die a spinster. Oh, for shame!

“I have to go, Mother,” she broke in, unable to take another minute, but she had to be sure that she’d dissuaded her mother from boarding a plane to come to Emmett’s Mill. “I promise to visit during the holidays,” she offered, hoping that little white lie was enough to satisfy Barbie for now. She’d think of another excuse not to go home later.

“Truly?” Barbie asked, clearly suspicious. “You’re not just saying that to get me off the phone?”

Damn, the woman was onto her. She faked a light laugh. “Mother…please. Would I do that?”

“Arianna would and you’re exactly alike,” Barbie said, sounding a little hurt, but Aubrey was too impatient to get away from the sound of her mother’s voice in her ear to care.

“We are not alike and you know it,” Aubrey said.

“All right, maybe you’re a little more…considerate, but only by a smidge,” Barbie conceded grudgingly. Then her tone brightened. “Oh, if you can make it for Christmas you can go to the Buchanan party with us. You know how Brett always had a thing for you. He became a doctor, you know.”

Brett Buchanan had grown up to be a dog. Any woman who had the misfortune to bring him home was bound to catch fleas…or something else. She shuddered openly. “No thanks. Not interested in dating anyone, Mother. Not right now. I’m trying to focus on getting myself together first.”

“Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll be in touch.”

And the line went blissfully dead. No endearments, no warm goodbyes, just a click and then nothing. She tried to imagine what it’d be like to have a mother who was actually warm and loving, prone to giving big full-body hugs instead of air kisses and awkward pats on the hand as a way of communicating affection. But then, what was the point of conjuring fantasy when it had no chance of becoming reality?

Thoughts going rapidly downhill along with her mood, she made quick work of getting dressed and headed to the Halvorsen home for work. The memory of Ian’s sweet face brightened her disposition and pushed the sour reminder of her mother’s conversation far from her mind.

AUBREY WAS IN THE LIVING ROOM thumbing through a magazine while Ian played on a quilted blanket on the floor when there was a knock at the door.

Giving Ian a smile, she opened the door to find Annabelle on the other side. Sammy’s sister-in-law lifted a bag and smiled warmly. “I have Ian’s milk delivery,” she said as Aubrey ushered her in.

“Oh, good. He drank the last batch this morning.”

Annabelle started putting the plastic bags filled with milk into the freezer so they’d stay fresh longer and then when that was finished, she seemed inclined to chat so Aubrey invited her to stay. In truth, Aubrey was curious to know more about Dana, and Annabelle seemed a logical place to start since Sammy wasn’t up to sharing.

“So how’s it going with Ian?” Annabelle asked, pausing to pluck the boy from the floor to hold him close. She placed a smacking kiss against his forehead and he gurgled with delight, trying to grab on to the burnished-copper curls falling around her shoulders. “Is he giving you any trouble?”

“Not at all, he’s a wonderful baby,” Aubrey said, smiling at her easy and affectionate way with Ian. It was apparent Annabelle loved Ian deeply and it touched Aubrey to see that open fondness. “I wondered if you might be able to tell me what Dana was like,” she said, watching Annabelle closely for any signs that she might’ve stepped into forbidden territory. When Annabelle merely smiled, her eyes warm with the memory of her friend, Aubrey knew she’d come to the right source.

“Dana was strong,” Annabelle started, her voice nostalgic. “She overcame a lot from her childhood to build a better life. She was smart and funny, but she was allergic to bullshit. She didn’t dish it out and certainly didn’t let anyone give it to her. She’d be the first person to call you on it if you tried. She’s the reason me and Dean got together.”

“Really? How so?” Aubrey asked, tucking her feet under her in anticipation of a good story. Lord, she was a sucker for a sweet romance. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing…I’d love to hear what happened.”

Annabelle grinned and blushed a little but seemed open to sharing. “Well, Dana had already married Sammy when I came to Emmett’s Mill. She knew from the start that Dean was my perfect match even if we were both bound and determined to muck it up. I fought it pretty hard but in the end…he turned out to be my knight in shining armor and I couldn’t resist.” Annabelle got a dreamy look in her eyes but then must’ve realized how silly she looked and blushed deeper. “I must sound like a total sap. But it’s true. Those Halvorsen men…good stock. Every single one of them.”

“I heard that Josh punched Samuel…do you know why?” she asked, hesitant to bring it up, but her curiosity was burning a hole in her brain.

“Um, yeah, I did hear about that,” Annabelle said but seemed reluctant to elaborate. She caught Aubrey’s searching gaze and then said, “Well, you have to understand that Sammy hasn’t been himself since Dana died. He’s been…uh…regressing.”

“Regressing?” She frowned. “How do you mean?”

Annabelle looked conflicted. “Before he met Dana he was a bit of a skirt chaser if you know what I mean. But he changed his ways once he fell in love with Dana. She wouldn’t put up with his crap and when he realized she was going to walk away from him, he straightened up right quick and begged her to marry him. She told him to pound sand and made a point to go out every night and have fun. It killed him. But getting a dose of his own medicine was just the thing he needed to get his head together.”

“Sounds like Dana knew how to get what she wanted,” Aubrey murmured, silently in awe of Sammy’s deceased wife.

Annabelle sighed. “Yeah…but sometimes she went after what she wanted without considering the consequences.”

“Do you mean Ian?” Aubrey asked, almost holding her breath. All she knew of Dana’s death was that it was an unfortunate incident that occurred during childbirth.

Annabelle nodded. “Dana wanted a baby so badly she ignored what the doctors had told her. Sammy…he tried to talk sense into her but she desperately wanted a child with Sammy. And so she finally got pregnant.”

“Why couldn’t she have babies?”

“Dana was diabetic. It’s not something she ever talked about, in fact, for a long time she hid it from Sammy until he caught her giving herself an insulin dose early in their relationship. She didn’t like anyone to know about her private stuff and the diabetes was something she preferred to fight on her own with little interference. The pregnancy took everything out of her. She died from kidney failure.”

“Oh.” Aubrey’s eyes watered for a woman she’d never known but had a feeling she was beginning to understand. If she were given a chance to have a child…she’d do what she could to make that happen. She knew the pain of being denied something so badly desired. “Did she get to see him before she died?”

Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment and Aubrey knew she was holding back tears. She felt bad for reminding her of such a painful memory but she hungered for glimpses into this woman’s life and she couldn’t bring herself to stop her. Annabelle drew a deep breath before answering. “Briefly. She opened her eyes long enough to make sure he was all right. She heard his cries and then she was gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, not quite sure what to say. It was such a tragic story but it only made her want to know more about the woman who had managed to tame the wild ways of the youngest Halvorsen brother. “She sounds like a wonderful friend and I have no doubt she would’ve been a good mother.”

“Thank you,” Annabelle accepted the polite sentiment at face value and then, wiping at her eyes, she gave Ian another quick kiss and gently returned him to his toys. “It was nice chatting with you but I should get back to my own little one. Perhaps you could bring Ian over for a playdate sometime? Or maybe when Sammy is ready to pull his head out of his ass you could join us for a barbecue before the weather gets too cold.”

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