1859

Dear Diary,

I’ve wrapped myself up in a blanket of grief, not letting anyone close to me, not even my dear husband, Daniel. He has grieved, as well, silently, stoically, in the way of men. Daniel has been so patient with me, but I know he feels my distance.

Still, as the sun settled on the horizon this morning, shedding its light and awakening the world, life flickered anew inside me. Love for my husband and the possibility of happiness filled the empty spaces that had kept me in the darkness, in isolation, for so long.

Daniel, my heart, my husband. We have survived so much, the long and strange journey to this vast, new land; yet, I know our love is strong.

Now I must go. I am eager to once more be the woman Daniel needs, the woman he loves, the woman he married before all that we have been through. I am eager to start my new life with my husband….

Dear Reader,

Oh, baby! This June, Silhouette Romance has the perfect poolside reads for you, from babies to royalty, from sexy millionaires to rugged cowboys!

In Carol Grace’s Pregnant by the Boss! (#1666), champagne and mistletoe lead to a night of passion between Claudia Madison and her handsome boss—but will it end in a lifetime of love? And don’t miss the final installment in Marie Ferrarella’s crossline miniseries, THE MOM SQUAD, with Beauty and the Baby (#1668), about widowed mother-to-be Lori O’Neill and the forbidden feelings she can’t deny for her late husband’s caring brother!

In Raye Morgan’s Betrothed to the Prince (#1667), the second in the exciting CATCHING THE CROWN miniseries, a princess goes undercover when an abandoned baby is left in the care of a playboy prince. And some things are truly meant to be, as Carla Cassidy shows us in her incredibly tender SOULMATES series title, A Gift from the Past (#1669), about a couple given a surprising second chance at forever.

What happens when a rugged cowboy wins fifty million dollars? According to Debrah Morris, in Tutoring Tucker (#1670), he hires a sexy oil heiress to refine his rough-and-tumble ways, and they both get a lesson in love. Then two charity dating-game contestants get the shock of their lives when they discover Oops…We’re Married? (#1671), by brand-new Silhouette Romance author Susan Lute.

See you next month for more fun-in-the-sun romances!

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

A Gift from the Past
Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CARLA CASSIDY

is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books for Silhouette. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from Romantic Times for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from Romantic Times.

Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Claire McCane looked like a bag lady. But, as far as she was concerned, most amateur treasure hunters looked like street people. Of course, the small town of Mayfield, Missouri, didn’t draw many true treasure hunters.

It had only been since Clark Windsloe, owner of Windsloe Automotive and the mayor of Mayfield, had begun the Pot of Gold contest that the citizens of Mayfield had transformed themselves from ordinary people into half-crazed puzzle-solvers and earth-diggers.

The final three clues leading to where the ten-thousand-dollar treasure was buried would appear in the Saturday morning paper over the next three weeks, but Claire thought she knew where to find the windfall. And heaven knew she could use a windfall.

She briskly walked across the large expanse of manicured lawn that surrounded the two-story brick building that housed City Hall and the police station. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, didn’t want anyone else to know where she was going to hunt for the buried money.

Behind the city building were thick woods and it was there she was headed, to the base of a certain tree. Unfortunately she hadn’t been able to afford one of those treasure-finding machines with all their bells and whistles. She was armed only with a trusty spade and a healthy dose of excitement.

The late June air felt hot on her shoulders and was sweetly fragrant with the scent of the blooming flowers surrounding the building. As she left the well-trimmed grass for the taller, more tangled underbrush of the woods, she glanced at her wristwatch.

Time was of the essence. She always felt guilty leaving her grandfather in anyone else’s care for any length of time. Thank goodness for Wilma Iverson, her neighbor who was available to sit with Sarge.

It was cooler here, with the canopy of leaves overhead to shade the ground. The tree she sought was on the far side of the wooded area, a tree scarred by lightning that had been referred to as the Dragon Tree when she was a child.

The clue in the paper that morning had been something about the roots of fire and ash yielding sweet fruit. She had instantly thought of the Dragon Tree. She desperately hoped she was right. She had a hundred plans for the money if she managed to find it.

She quickened her pace, ducking beneath tree limbs, picking her way through vines and brush, hoping she was the only one who had thought of the lightning-scarred tree.

She heard him before she saw him, somewhere ahead of her, like a bear lumbering through the brush, only there were no bears in Mayfield. At the same time, she became aware of the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air.

Somebody was after her treasure. She quickened her pace, dismay sweeping through her. If she could get to the tree first and get her spade in the ground before whoever was in the woods with her, the treasure would rightfully be hers.

The tree was just ahead when she heard the sound of a shovel hitting the ground. She halted, disappointment crashing through her, then continued forward, intrigued to see who had beaten her to the punch.

As she stepped closer to the tree, she spied him. His back was to her and he was far too well-dressed for a treasure seeker. Dark-blue dress slacks encased long muscular legs and slim hips. A white dress shirt stretched across an impossibly broad back, the center of the shirt damp with sweat.

“Looks like you beat me to the punch,” she said dispiritedly.

He whirled around to face her, and she gasped and stumbled back a step as shock riveted through her.

“Joshua.” She whispered his name as she stared at the man she hadn’t seen for five years, the man who had been her husband…the man who was still her husband.

“Hello, Claire.”

His voice, that deep, whisky voice, raked millions of unwanted memories through her at the same time as his eyes, as green as the woods that surrounded them, swept over her from top to toe.

Defensive walls shot up inside her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, irritated by the fact that just for a moment she’d wished she was wearing something other than her oldest pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt streaked with the remnants of white paint.

He gestured to the shovel stuck in the ground. “I’m treasure-hunting.”

He certainly didn’t look as though he needed to find a treasure. The loafers on his feet looked Italian and had probably cost enough to keep her and Sarge in groceries for a year.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized she was in shock. The last person she’d expected ever to see again in her life was Joshua McCane. “I meant, what are you doing here…in Mayfield. Nobody told me you were in town.”

He pulled the shovel out of the ground and leaned it against the base of the tree. “I got in late last night. I had coffee this morning in the diner and read the clues to the Pot of Gold contest and thought I’d try my luck in figuring it out.”

“Why don’t you go try your luck someplace else? This is where I was going to dig.” She sounded like a petulant child and she wasn’t sure what she resented most, the fact that he looked like a million dollars or that he was thwarting her chance to gain ten thousand dollars.

“It appears I beat you to it, Cookie.” To accentuate his point, he grabbed the shovel and dug into the earth at the base of the tree.

She bristled at his use of her old nickname, the one he used to call her when his eyes were lit with love or fired with passion—the name he’d used when he’d loved her…when she’d loved him.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded once again. She didn’t want him in Mayfield, and she certainly didn’t want him here at the Dragon Tree.

“I told you, digging for treasure.” He scooped up a shovelful of dirt and threw it to the side, the muscles of his tanned forearms taut with the exertion.

“I mean, what are you doing back in Mayfield?” He was being thick on purpose, not answering the question she was asking.

His gaze met hers, a stranger’s eyes holding her captive. “I decided it was time I came home.”

She leaned against the tree trunk. Her legs felt shaky and she wasn’t sure if it was from shock or anger. Time he came home. He had no home here, at least not with her. She watched him dig for a moment. “I can’t imagine Mayfield would hold much appeal for a jet-setter like you.”

“Ah, you’ve been keeping tabs on me.” He flashed her a quick grin.

The passing of years hadn’t diminished the force of his beautiful smile, and she felt it stab her deep in the pit of her stomach. “Not really,” she returned unevenly, although it was a lie. “You know Mayfield. People like to gossip and you’ve become something of a folk hero…the bad boy who made good.”

Sun drifting through the leaves played on his dark hair, and she saw that he needed a haircut. For most of their life together, Joshua had needed a haircut. Her fingers tingled for a moment with the memory of his thick, rich strands of hair beneath her fingertips.

Resentment ripped through her and she pushed herself off the tree trunk. “You don’t need this money, Joshua. Why don’t you go away and let me dig?”

He glanced at her once again, but continued shoveling. “You wouldn’t need this money if you’d cashed the checks I’ve sent you over the years.”

“I didn’t want your money.” She hadn’t wanted anything from him after he’d left her, and all she wanted from him at the moment was for him to go away.

“How’s Sarge?”

“He’s fine. We’re all fine, and now you can go back to California or London or wherever you came from.” Again she heard the petulance in her voice and she hated herself for it, hated him for creating it.

“Is he still keeping the streets of Mayfield safe from crime?” he asked, obviously ignoring her outburst.

It took her a moment to realize he was talking about Sarge. Apparently he hadn’t kept tabs on her over the years. Otherwise he would have known about Sarge. “No, he retired three years ago.”

“Really?” One of his dark eyebrows quirked up in surprise. “I can’t imagine Sarge retired.” At that moment his shovel hit something hard and metallic-sounding.

“Oh, my gosh. The treasure…it’s really here.” She sprang forward and peered into the hole he’d dug. Any anger or resentment she felt toward him was squashed beneath a rush of excitement.

“Hang on…move back…I’m not sure what I’ve hit. It could just be a rock.”

But it wasn’t a rock. She watched as he used the point of the shovel to dig around the object, which appeared to be an old tin box.

“I can’t believe it’s here,” she said, watching as he scooted dirt from the surface and freed the edges. “I thought this was where the clues led, but I couldn’t be sure.”

He laid the shovel aside and reached into the hole to pull out the box. With a grunt, he freed it and stood. It was a plain gray tin box tied in the center with what looked as though it had once been a piece of lace.

“This doesn’t look like it was buried a couple of weeks ago,” he said, a frown marring his handsome, broad forehead.

“Open it!” she exclaimed eagerly. “We won’t know if the money is inside unless you open it.”

Suddenly her mind worked to process the fact that Joshua was back in town, that he looked as if he’d not only survived the years away, but had thrived. And he had her treasure…the money that had been going to change her life.

It wasn’t fair. But if there was one thing Claire had learned in her twenty-six years on earth, it was that life wasn’t fair and seemed to take particular pleasure in kicking her.

She watched as he attempted to untie the piece of lace. It disintegrated beneath his fingers and fell to the ground. Once again she took a step toward him and smelled the pleasant, spicy scent of his cologne. It was different from that he’d once worn.

When he’d left her five years before, for months she’d smelled the scent of him lingering on her skin, whispering in the air, taunting her with all that had been lost.

She shoved all thoughts of the past aside as his long, strong fingers worked to open the box. The box opened toward him, so she couldn’t immediately see what was inside.

She watched his face as he peered inside, saw a look of bewilderment, then shock. “What…what is it?”

He looked at her, his green eyes filled with confusion. “I hate to burst your bubble, Cookie, but there’s no money in here. There’s just an old photograph.”

“An old photograph?” Disappointment swept through her. “An old photograph of what?”

“I think you have to see it to believe it.” He plucked the picture out of the box and held it out to her.

She took the photo and looked at it, for a moment not comprehending what she saw. It was obvious the picture was old; it was on faded paper in sepia tones.

It was a young couple, a formal sitting with the woman in a straight-backed chair and a man standing at her side. They wore clothing that dated the picture to the 1800s, but it was their faces that sent an electric shock through Claire.

The man was the spitting image of Joshua and the woman was a mirror image of herself. She looked back up at Joshua, the photo shaking in her trembling hands. “They look just like us. I mean, they look exactly like us. How…how is that possible?”

Joshua looked at the woman he had once loved to distraction, unsure what caused him more confusion, the fact that there was a picture of the two of them that had been buried in a tin box or that after all these years something about her still managed to touch him. She looked much the same as she had on the day he’d left, except perhaps more fragile. Like a thin wisp of smoke, she was slender enough that it appeared as if the slightest of breezes might blow her away.

Her hair was still the color of corn silk, long and surprisingly thick. He wondered if she still used the same strawberry-scented shampoo?

Her eyes were as he remembered them…dark-lashed and gray as turbulent skies. They hadn’t always been that way…there had been a time when they’d been the color of passion, of dreams…of love.

“Joshua?”

Her irritated voice pulled him back from the past and he took the photo from her and looked at it once again. There was no mistake. The people in the photo were virtual clones of him and her.

“I don’t know…I don’t know how it’s possible,” he replied.

“But they look exactly like us,” she repeated, a sense of wonder in her voice.

He turned the picture over. There was writing on the back, so faint it was almost illegible. He read aloud, “Daniel and Sarah Walker, 1856.” He looked back at Claire. “It appears we have something of a mystery here.”

For a moment, their gazes remained locked, and in the depths of her smoky eyes he saw bewilderment, wonder and something soft and yielding. It was there only a moment, then gone, as dark shutters snapped into place.

“We don’t have anything,” she replied. “You have an old photo and I have nothing.” She turned to leave, stiffening as he fell into step beside her.

“Aren’t you curious?” he asked, as they made their way back through the woods.

“Curious about what?”

He held the tin box out in front of her. “About them? About Daniel and Sarah, about why they look like us? Maybe they’re long-lost relatives or, you know, what do you call them, doppelgängers.”

He wanted to ask her if she’d felt it, the strange tingle and warmth that had raced up his arm when he’d first picked up the photo.

“The only thing I’m curious about is why you’re walking with me instead of going back to wherever you came from,” she replied coolly.

As the path narrowed, he fell behind her. He dodged a sapling branch that nearly slapped him in the face as she passed by it. She still had the sexiest rear end he’d ever seen.

“I thought I’d stop in and say hello to Sarge,” he replied and forced his gaze upward from her shapely derriere.

He could tell she didn’t like the idea of him coming home with her by the way her shoulders stiffened and her strides grew faster.

He didn’t try to speak to her again. There would come a time later when they would have to talk, when the past and the future would have to be laid to rest. But now was not the time. He knew he’d shocked her by his unexpected presence and she needed time to adjust. He needed time to adjust, as well.

He’d thought he would breeze into Mayfield, take care of his unfinished business, then walk away without a backward glance. He hadn’t expected to feel a tug of crazy, mixed-up emotions when he saw her again.

When they hit the sidewalk outside City Hall, she continued to walk several paces in front of him, as if she didn’t want anyone who might see them to know they were together.

He looked around as they headed down Main Street, again noting the changes that had taken place in the small town since he’d left. Stores he remembered were gone, replaced either by empty storefronts or new shops.

“It’s funny, somehow everything looks smaller than I thought it was,” he observed. He pointed down the road to where in the distance were the remains of an old, two-story home. “I see Hazel Benton’s house burned.”

“Yeah, a couple of years ago. Faulty wiring.” She frowned, as if irritated that he’d forced her into talking.

“Remember when we were kids we all thought old Hazel was a witch and the rumor was that at night she wandered the streets of Mayfield looking for little children she could snatch and have for breakfast the next morning?”

“I remember,” she said. A ghost of a smile curved her lips. It wasn’t a real smile, but it was the closest thing he’d seen.

He suddenly wished for one of her smiles, the sound of her laughter. God, he’d always loved the sound of her laughter.

There had been a lot of laughter in the first two years of their marriage when they’d been too young, and perhaps too stupid to realize how life could take away all laughter if you allowed it.

Six years ago, he’d been a small-town boy in a small-town world married to the love of his life. In an instant of tragedy it had all been ripped apart. But he wasn’t here to pick over the carrion of what had once been.

As Sarge’s house came into view, surprise swept through him at the unkempt condition. The lawn that had always been well-manicured now desperately needed a mowing, and the house itself begged for a new coat of paint. A piece of guttering dangled precariously from one corner of the roof.

“Looks like Sarge has let things go a little bit,” he observed, quickening his footsteps once again to fall in beside her.

“You’ve been away a long time. Things have changed. Sarge has changed.” Her voice held an edge sharp enough to slice steel.

Apparently some things hadn’t changed…like the fact that she was still filled with a bitterness and rancor where he was concerned. When he told her he’d come back here for a divorce, he wondered if that would simply deepen her bitterness or finally set her free?

Chapter Two

Joshua followed Claire up onto the front porch; he and Claire had spent many evenings on the swing that had once hung there. It had been on the swing that he had asked her to marry him. They’d been barely eighteen years old and she’d been three months pregnant.

As he followed her through the front door, the house greeted him with familiar smells… The scent of old wood and lemon polish, of sun-washed curtains and the faint odor of the menthol rub Sarge had always used on his bad shoulder.

He and Claire had spent the five years of their marriage here, beneath this roof. They’d been too young to afford their own place and Joshua had no real family of his own. From the time he’d been fifteen and had begun dating Claire, Claire and Sarge had become his family.

He tried to hide his surprise as Wilma Iverson, the next-door neighbor, came into the living room from the kitchen. Her faded blue eyes registered her own surprise at the sight of him. “Land’s sakes, if it isn’t Joshua McCane.”

“Hello, Mrs. Iverson,” he replied.

She snorted. “Ah, today it’s Mrs. Iverson, but I still remember when you were nothing more than a snot-nosed kid and called me the battle-ax behind my back.”

“Why, I don’t remember any such thing,” Joshua laughed in protest.

“Where’s Sarge?” Claire asked.

Wilma nodded her head toward the hallway. “In his room, pouting.”

Joshua saw the tension that tugged at Claire’s delicate features. “What happened?” she asked.

“I caught him with a bag of candy and I took it away from him. I told him I wasn’t going to be a party to him killing himself.”

Joshua listened to all this with interest, wondering what Wilma was doing here and why she would take candy away from a grown man. An edge of disquiet surged up inside him.

“Sarge!” Claire yelled down the hallway. “Come on out. There’s somebody here to see you.”

“If it’s that creature from next door, I’m not coming out,” Sarge’s voice rang out, the strength in the tone soothing Joshua’s momentary alarm. Claire winced and offered a look of apology at Wilma.

“It’s not me. I’m leaving, you old coot,” she yelled down the hallway. She smiled at Claire and Joshua, then headed toward the door. “Let me know if you need me again, dear. You know where to find me.”

As she went out the front door, Joshua heard a bump, a resounding curse, then a strange whirring noise. He looked down the hallway, shock rocking him as he saw the frail, white-haired man in a motorized wheelchair making his way slowly down the hall.

Sarge. He appeared to have aged fifty years in the last five. He stopped short of the living room and turned his head from side to side. “Claire?”

It was at that moment Joshua realized that Sarge was not only thin and frail, but blind, as well. He shot a quick glance at Claire, wanting to know what had happened to the vital, strong man Joshua had loved like a father. But of course, she couldn’t answer his unspoken questions. Not here…not now.

“Hello, Sarge,” Joshua said.

The old man’s face lit with obvious pleasure and he gasped in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. Come closer, Joshua boy, so I can smell the rascal and know it’s really you.”

Joshua laughed and walked over to Sarge’s chair, then leaned down and gave the old man a hug, his heart aching as he felt Sarge’s thinness. He didn’t miss the fact that Sarge’s arms didn’t raise to return the hug.

“Ah, don’t smell no rascal, only smell fancy cologne and grown-up man.”

Joshua laughed again. “There’s a little rascal left,” he replied.

“Cookie, put some coffee on, me and the boy got some catching up to do. Joshua, wheel me into the kitchen. They got me this damned fool chair with a motor, but it just makes me run into things at a faster speed.”

Joshua set the tin box they’d dug up on the coffee table, then moved behind the chair and pushed Sarge toward the kitchen. Claire walked in front of him and he knew by the straight set of her shoulders that she didn’t intend to be a welcoming hostess.

The kitchen was just as Joshua remembered it, a large airy space with floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the east. Many a morning he and Sarge had drunk coffee while morning light filtered in through the windows.

There was no chair in the place at the table where Sarge had always sat, and it was here that Joshua pushed him up against the table.

Joshua took the chair across from Sarge as Claire busied herself making a pot of coffee. Samuel Cook, ‘Sarge’ as he had been known for as long as Joshua could remember, had been a robust, strong man who had looked and acted half his age when Joshua had left Mayfield.

Regret swept through him as he gazed at what Sarge had become. He wasn’t sure what had put the old man in the wheelchair and stolen his sight, but he felt he never should have stayed away for so long.

“You still making a killing with those games of yours?” Sarge asked.

“Yeah, business is booming and the games are doing better than I ever dreamed.” Joshua’s gaze slid to Claire, who had her back to them. Her long hair rippled down to the center of her back, sparked by the sunshine dancing in through the windows.

“Who’d have thought it, that a grown man could spend his time playing games and make a fortune.” Sarge shook his head. “In my day, kids didn’t have Play Stations and Nintendos to pass the time.”

“It’s a different generation, Sarge,” Joshua replied. It was still hard for Joshua to believe that he’d managed to parlay the fantasy stories he’d made up to sustain himself through a tough childhood into a financial empire of sorts.

Just a month earlier, Business magazine had done an article on him and his company. The article had been entitled, “Joshua McCane: The Man Behind the Magic,” and had chronicled his meteoric career from his first little company, begun in a rented space above a health-food store four years ago.

DreamQuest Games now had its own building on twenty-five beautiful acres in California. Joshua employed two hundred men and women who worked at producing and marketing the fantasy games both children and young adults had embraced.

He glanced at Claire, surprised to see her staring at him. As their gazes met, she quickly looked away and grabbed the sugar bowl and creamer for the table.

“Mind if I wash up? My hands are dirty.” Without waiting for her reply, he stood and walked over to the sink.

Claire moved aside, but not before he smelled the floral scent of her perfume.

The scent had a touch of honeysuckle to it. Instantly he remembered those summer nights when he and Claire had made out on the porch swing with the sweet scent of the nearby honeysuckle wafting in the air.

“When did you get into town?” Sarge asked, as Joshua turned on the faucet and shoved those memories aside.

“Late last night. I ran into Claire this morning out by the old Dragon Tree.” He finished washing his hands and turned off the water.

“Were you out there digging for the ten thousand bucks, too?” Sarge asked.

Joshua took the hand towel Claire proffered and dried his hands. Her gaze was cool, disinterested, but as she took the towel back from him he noticed that her hand trembled slightly. So, she wasn’t as unaffected by his presence as she wanted him to believe.

He sat back down at the table. “I was drinking a cup of coffee this morning at the diner and reading the paper. I saw the clues for the treasure hunt, and you know I’ve never been able to resist a puzzle.”

“I guess Cookie didn’t find the treasure, otherwise she wouldn’t be pouting now,” Sarge said.

“I’m not pouting,” Claire stated as she poured three cups of coffee. “I’m just listening.” She set one of the cups of coffee in front of Sarge. “Twelve o’clock,” she murmured. “And no, I didn’t find the money. All we found was an old tin box.”

“With a photo inside,” Joshua added. “An old photo of a couple who look exactly like Claire and me.” He took a mug of coffee from her, surprised that as their fingers touched he felt a responding surge of heat sweep up his arm.

She jerked her hand back as if she felt it too and the scowl on her beautiful features deepened.

“Well, that’s strange,” Sarge exclaimed. “You say the people in it look like you and Claire?”

“They could be our twins,” Joshua replied. The photo in the old tin box wasn’t the only thing strange around here, he thought.

He wanted to know what had caused Sarge’s blindness and his descent into a wheelchair. How long had Sarge been sick, and had Claire been dealing with it all on her own? He wanted to know when things had gotten so obviously bad.

What he found stranger than anything was that the woman he’d finally come here to divorce still had the ability to fill him with a white-hot desire and a deep yearning for something he couldn’t identify.

“How long are you staying?” Sarge asked as he carefully brought his cup to his lips to sip the fresh brew.

“I’m not sure.” Joshua leaned back in the chair, his gaze once again falling on Claire.

He’s leaving as soon as he finishes his cup of coffee, Claire wanted to say. He’s getting back on whatever plane or train or bus brought him here, and he’s never coming back again.

He smiled at her, as if he read her thoughts, then directed his attention back to Sarge. “I don’t have any definite schedule. I just decided I needed a little time away from work. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Damned right,” Sarge exclaimed. “Making money is nice, but there’s other things important in life, too. You’ll stay here,” Sarge added firmly.

“Oh, I don’t…” Joshua began.

“I’m sure Joshua will be more comfortable at the Red Inn,” Claire interjected quickly. She assumed he was at the Red Inn since it was the only motel in town.

“Nonsense,” Sarge replied. “I’ve been trying to get both the Health Department and the Building Codes people to shut that place down for years. It’s not fit for a skunk. You’re family, Joshua. You’ll stay here and that’s final. Now, tell me all about this business of yours and about all the loony people in California. I hear tell the women sun-bathe stark-naked there.”

Claire didn’t want to listen to Joshua extol the luxurious lifestyle he’d built for himself, nor did she like the way his very presence stirred not only memories of what had once been, but also an edge of physical awareness that was distinctly uncomfortable.

She excused herself from the table and left the kitchen. She wandered back into the living room, drawn to the tin box Joshua had left on the coffee table. She sat on the sofa and pulled the box onto her lap.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it and picked up the picture. Immediately, a strange electrical surge washed up her arm. It wasn’t unpleasant, just warm and disconcerting. She’d felt it when she’d first taken the picture from Joshua.

She dismissed the sensation, telling herself she was out of sorts, highly on edge and that’s why she thought she felt something strange.

Again she studied the features of the two people in the photo. There was no question about it. They shared more than a passing resemblance to her and Joshua. It was as if she and Joshua had sat for the photo in one of those vacation photo places where you could dress up in historical outfits.

But they had never had a photo like this taken and there seemed to be no explanation as to why Sarah and Daniel Walker looked exactly like Claire and Joshua McCane.

The couple in the picture wasn’t smiling, nor did there seem to be any hint of intimacy between them. He stared straight ahead, one of his hands resting not on her shoulder, but rather on the top of the chair where she sat.

She thought she detected a weary sadness about them, especially radiating from Sarah’s eyes. Who were these people and why had they buried a photo of themselves in the middle of nowhere?

She placed the photo back in the box, disturbed by it more than she cared to admit.

“Sarge would like you to take him back to his room for a nap.”

She started at the sound of Joshua’s voice coming from the kitchen doorway. Fighting against a burst of weariness that had become as familiar as the color of her own eyes in the mirror, she rose from the sofa.

“He usually gets quite tired at this time of the day,” she said unnecessarily.

He stepped out of the doorway and into the living room. “I’ll just wait here. We need to talk.”

“It usually takes me a while to get him settled in.” She hoped he’d get the hint, that he’d realize they had nothing to talk about, that she had nothing to discuss with him.

“I’ll wait.” He sank onto the sofa where she had been seated only moments before, looking for all the world as if he had a right to be there.

It took her nearly twenty minutes to get Sarge into bed and settled comfortably. As always, seeing him so thin and helpless against the sheets nearly broke what was left of her heart.

Sarge was all the family she’d ever had. He’d raised her since she was eight, when her parents had been killed in a car accident. She loved him as fiercely as she’d ever loved anyone in her life. “You rest easy,” she said softly, then left his bedroom.

When she returned to the living room, Joshua was still seated on the sofa. He rose when she entered the room. “You want to tell me what’s going on around here? What happened to Sarge?”

She raised a finger to her lips and indicated he should follow her out the front door. When they were both on the porch, she turned to him. Maybe if she answered his questions he would go away.

“Three years ago, Sarge began to complain about his eyesight, but you know how he’s always been about going to doctors.”

“Yeah, wild horses couldn’t drag him.” He leaned a hip against the porch railing and for the first time she noticed the small differences time had wrought in him. He’d been recklessly handsome at eighteen, dangerously attractive at twenty.

But now, at twenty-five, tiny lines had appeared, fanning out from his startling green eyes, and there was a sheen of worldliness about him that merely added to his physical appeal.

“Anyway, I didn’t realize just how bad it was until he wrecked his police car.” She looked out toward the yard, finding it easier to speak if she wasn’t looking at him.

“The accident wasn’t a bad one, but it convinced him he needed to see a doctor. We discovered he had diabetes, probably had had it for years and the degeneration in his eyes was massive.”

“Is there anything they can do? Any kind of operation?” he asked.

She shook her head, still keeping her gaze focused in the distance. “He’s had two operations on his eyes, but they were unsuccessful. Anyway, over the last two years he’s adjusted fairly well to the blindness. Then, last month he had a stroke. That’s what put him in the wheelchair and he hasn’t been dealing very well with the new challenges.”

She didn’t even realize Joshua had moved from his position until his hand closed around her forearm. “Why didn’t you contact me and tell me what was going on?” His green eyes held the first stir of anger. “I had a right to know that he was ill.”

She jerked her arm away from his grasp and took a step back from him. You had no right. You lost your rights when you walked out, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. “There was nothing you could do…nothing anyone could do. Besides, I’m handling things.”

“Handling things?” He gestured toward the yard. “That’s certainly not the way I see it. It looks like everything is falling apart around you.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “I’ve just…just gotten a little behind with things.”

He studied her for a long moment. “You look tired, Claire, and you’re too thin. Who is helping you care for Sarge?”

“I don’t need help taking care of him. I told you, we’re fine.” She raised her chin and for a moment their gazes remained locked. “I know Sarge issued an invitation for you to stay here, but I really think you’d be more comfortable at the motel.”

His eyes lightened in hue and a smile curved the corners of his lips. “Why, Cookie, you’re almost making me think you don’t want me here.”

“I don’t want you here. This is Sarge’s house…my home, and you chose to leave it a long time ago.”

“You made it impossible for me to stay,” he replied, the light in his eyes diminishing. “But I have no intention of rehashing the past.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “However, you’re mistaken about one thing. Two years ago I paid off the mortgage on this house, and Sarge insisted I put it in my name. So, I’m really not intruding in your house, for the past two years, I’ve allowed you to live in mine.”

This was the second shock of the day, and Claire wondered how many of these she could take without having a breakdown of some sort. “Then, I guess I have no say as to whether you stay here or not,” she finally said, hoping her voice resonated with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“Claire.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and took a step toward her. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, I’m not here to cause you grief. I’d say five years ago we pretty much exhausted that particular emotion.”

He drew a deep breath and looked away from her. “I’d like to spend some time with Sarge, and at least for the short period of time that I’m here, I could help you out a little. You know, maybe mow the lawn and do a little yard clean-up.”

“The spare bedroom is made up,” she finally said, knowing that she was being selfish in not wanting him here. Sarge would enjoy his company and that should be all that was important. Surely she could handle his presence here for a few days as long as he didn’t intend to talk about the past.

“I’ve got some things to do this afternoon. Why don’t I come back here with my things after dinner, say about seven.”

“That will be fine,” she replied, weary resignation sweeping through her.

He turned to leave, but paused and turned back to face her. “Claire, it is good to see you again.” He didn’t wait for her to reply, but instead turned once again and left, walking briskly down the sidewalk.

She sank down on the steps, watching until he was out of sight.

Joshua.

He’d been a teenager from the wrong side of the tracks, raised by an alcoholic uncle and she’d been the sheriff’s granddaughter. They’d been fifteen when he’d first asked her out and on that very first date she fell hopelessly, helplessly in love with him.

She’d spent the last five years of her existence trying to forget him and everything that had happened in that last year of their marriage.

She stood and brushed off the seat of her pants, hoping he didn’t intend to stay too long. One thing was certain, while he was here, she would keep her distance, both physically and emotionally.

She couldn’t go back to that place in time, couldn’t dwell in ancient memories. She feared that if she did, she would lose her mind to the grief and never surface again.

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