For years Rachel had held off searching for Megan, telling herself that her daughter was happy. Safe. Loved.

What right did Rachel have to try to reclaim what she had relinquished? What right did she have to disrupt her daughter’s life?

For years she had tried to ignore the longing, and for years she had failed. But then the dreams began, and her longing took on a life of its own. Something real, something human began to call out to her. When the dreams began to warn her of danger, she embarked on a mission to find her daughter.

And now the search was over.

She pulled out a photo of Megan and her adoptive father. She had to admit that Adam Wessler was handsome, in a chiseled sort of way. His strong, masculine face suggested fairness and integrity, but was it a kind face? A compassionate face? For her daughter’s sake, she hoped it was.

Dear Reader,

As you ski into the holiday season, be sure to pick up the latest batch of Silhouette Special Edition romances. Featured this month is Annette Broadrick’s latest miniseries, SECRET SISTERS, about family found after years of separation. The first book in this series is Man in the Mist (#1576), which Annette describes as “…definitely a challenge to write.” About her main characters, Annette says, “Greg, the wounded lion hero—you know the type—gave me and the heroine a very hard time. But we refused to be intimidated and, well, you’ll see what happened!”

You’ll adore this month’s READERS’ RING pick, A Little Bit Pregnant (SE#1573), which is an emotional best-friends-turned-lovers tale by reader favorite Susan Mallery. Her Montana Millionaire (SE#1574) by Crystal Green is part of the popular series MONTANA MAVERICKS: THE KINGSLEYS. Here, a beautiful socialite dazzles the socks off a dashing single dad, but gets her own lesson in love. Nikki Benjamin brings us the exciting conclusion of the baby-focused miniseries MANHATTAN MULTIPLES, with Prince of the City (SE#1575). Two willful individuals, who were lovers in the past, have become bitter enemies. Will they find their way back to each other?

Peggy Webb tantalizes our romantic taste buds with The Christmas Feast (SE#1577), in which a young woman returns home for Christmas, but doesn’t bargain on meeting a man who steals her heart. And don’t miss A Mother’s Reflection (SE#1578), Elissa Ambrose’s powerful tale of finding long-lost family…and true love.

These six stories will enrich your hearts and add some spice to your holiday season. Next month, stay tuned for more page-turning and provocative romances from Silhouette Special Edition.

Happy reading!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

A Mother’s Reflection
Elissa Ambrose

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Bubbins.

ELISSA AMBROSE

Originally from Montreal, Canada, Elissa Ambrose now resides in Arizona with her husband, her smart but surly cat and her sweet but silly cockatoo. She’s the proud mother of two daughters, who, though they have flown the coop, still manage to keep her on her toes. She started out as a computer programmer and now serves as the fiction editor at Anthology magazine, a literary journal published in Mesa, Arizona. When she’s not writing or editing or just hanging out with her husband, she can be found at the indoor ice arena, trying out a new spin or jump.

Contents

ACT ONE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

ACT TWO

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

CURTAIN CALL

Epilogue

ACT ONE

Chapter One

Middlewood, 50 Miles.

The sign on the highway flashed by. Fifty miles to her future. Less than an hour away.

Rachel glanced at the speedometer, resisting the urge to press down on the accelerator. What was the hurry? What difference would another few minutes make? She’d already waited twelve years—twelve long, painful years. If not for the dreams, she would have been content to let the years become a lifetime.

No, not content. Resigned.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she recalled the private investigator’s five simple words. Five simple words that had changed her life forever.

They lived in Middlewood, Connecticut.

So close.

How could she not have known? How could she not have felt it?

An hour and a half after leaving Hartford, she checked into the Colonial Inn. Her room with adjoining bath was cozy in charming New England–style, but it was out of her price range. She knew she would have to find an apartment soon, something small and reasonably priced. The P.I. had been expensive, and she was still paying rent in Hartford. Of course, if her plan succeeded, she wouldn’t need the apartment in Hartford. She’d be living here in Middlewood.

After unpacking, she freshened up and changed into her green linen suit. She wanted to look professional yet feminine. Striking but not too brassy. First impressions lasted a lifetime, and a lifetime was what she was after.

She checked her watch. She still had half an hour. Sitting at the desk, she opened her briefcase. She picked up the large manila envelope and pulled out a photograph.

The girl in the picture, with those long lashes and high, angular cheekbones, might appear delicate to someone else, but Rachel wasn’t fooled. The longer she stared at the glossy black-and-white image, the more the girl’s nature seemed to emerge. Shoulder-length hair, clustering in curls around a heart-shaped face, made her look fragile, but the eyes, hard and direct, gave her away. “I dare you,” they seemed to say. “I dare you to know me.”

Rachel smiled to herself. She’d always said that when she had a baby, she would name her Katie. Katie McCarthy, Rachel’s grandmother, had been a willful and proud woman who had never turned down a challenge.

Rachel had handled the picture so many times these past few days, she was surprised that the finish hadn’t worn away. “Katie,” she whispered, tracing the outline of her daughter’s face. Rachel had been seventeen when she’d given her up, twelve years ago. The adoption had been closed, the records sealed. According to the report, they’d named her Megan.

For years Rachel had held off searching for her, telling herself that her daughter was happy. Safe. Loved. What right did Rachel have to try to reclaim what she had relinquished? What right did she have to disrupt her daughter’s life?

For years she had tried to ignore the longing, and for years she had failed. It had become as much a part of her as breathing. But then the dreams began, and her longing took on a life of its own. Something real, something human, began to call out to her, no louder than a whisper, as plaintive as a song on the wind. When the dreams began to warn her of danger, she embarked on a mission to find her daughter.

And now the search was over.

She pulled out another photo. She had to admit that Adam Wessler, Megan’s adoptive father, was handsome, in a chiseled sort of way. His strong, masculine face suggested fairness and integrity, but was it a kind face? A compassionate face? For her daughter’s sake, she fervently hoped it was.

Megan was being raised without a mother.

Once again Rachel checked her watch. It was time to go. She returned the photographs to the envelope, then picked up her purse and briefcase and left the inn.

The weather forecast had called for rain. She’d planned on driving, but once outside she decided to walk. The sky was luminously blue, without a cloud as far as she could see.

It wasn’t the threat of rain that scared her.

One summer. She had almost three months to become an integral part of Megan’s life. Only after she’d achieved this would she reveal her identity—and what kind of man would turn his back on someone who’d become so important to his daughter?

But what if he did? What if, once her secret was known, Adam shut her out?

Another worry assailed her, this one more pressing. What if the interview went badly? What if he didn’t hire her?

Red and yellow tulips nodded at her in the light breeze, but she barely noticed. It was Adam’s face she saw, in her mind, as she headed down the inn’s stone pathway.

From a newspaper clipping attached to the P.I.’s report, she’d learned that Adam had recently left his job at the high school to manage the new community center. The clipping also reported that he was in the process of hiring. It was no coincidence that one of the job openings was for a drama teacher and that she was the perfect candidate. It was fate.

How could he not hire her?

A five-minute walk brought her to a large brick-and-glass structure. The complex stood before her like a fortress, daring her to try to infiltrate its walls. Apprehension swept through her. This was a small-town community center? She stood motionless on the front steps, debating whether to turn around. Turn around and run back home. But what kind of life did she have in Hartford? Without Megan it was a life without meaning. Nothing could fill the emptiness that engulfed her. It was like a well that year after year grew deeper and wider.

Hesitating before the tall glass doors, she looked over at the arena adjacent to the main building. The new community center was more than a hub for the arts; it also served as a home for recreational activities as diverse as yoga and ice-skating. Working in the community center would have its perks, she thought, trying to bolster her resolve. Having a rink close to where she worked would be an added bonus. She could skate with Megan. It could be a mother-daughter experience. A bonding activity.

Filled with fresh determination, she walked into the reception area of the main building. Bright and festive watercolors decorated the walls, and one in particular held her attention. Against a backdrop of buildings and street lamps, five children in coats and mittens were gathered in a public square, building a snowman. Spilling its rays onto the snow, the sun created a kaleidoscope of colors, bringing to life the magic of childhood.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind her. “It’s the work of one of Middlewood’s finest artists, Laura Matheson-Logan. Her husband, Jake Logan, built this complex. The painting hung in his office for years before he donated it to the center. He said it was time he shared it with others.”

“It’s lovely,” Rachel said, her gaze locked on the painting. “I’ve always been envious of artists. They have this amazing ability to capture something illusory and package it into something permanent.” She turned around to face the woman. “I do theater work,” she said amiably. “Once the play is over, the emotion is gone. All we have left is the memory of how we felt.”

“I know what you mean,” the woman said. “Nevertheless, I’ve always admired people who can create living emotion on the fly. The mood may be temporary, but isn’t life?” The woman smiled. “I’m Doreen Parker, Administrative Assistant to the Director. Actually, for now I’m the receptionist, secretary and, generally speaking, gopher. We just opened a few days ago when the schools let out, and as you can see—” she gestured at the crates along the walls “—we’re in the throes of chaos. How can I help you, Miss…?”

“Hartwell. Rachel Hartwell.” Even though Rachel had been single for two years, she still went by her married name. At least my marriage wasn’t a total waste, she thought wryly. It allowed me to change my identity. “I have an appointment with Mr. Wessler,” she said, quickly filing away the past. If she were to gain her future, she had to concentrate on the present. “I’m here about the drama teacher position.”

Doreen appeared to be about sixty, but she was by no means matronly. Her azure linen suit was simple yet chic, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into an elegant chignon. Rachel realized that Doreen was appraising her as well, and instinctively knew that nothing could escape the older woman’s keen, probing eyes.

“Forgive me for staring,” Doreen said. “It’s just that you look familiar. I don’t know you, do I?”

Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. Her mother had grown up in the nearby town of Ridgefield, and had moved to Hartford a month before Rachel was born. What if Doreen had known her? What if, years later, the gossip had made its way back to Middlewood? What if this woman had heard about Beth Cunningham’s wild and pregnant daughter?

Once again Rachel was grateful to her ex-husband for giving her his name. “I’m from Hartford,” she answered evasively. “A city girl through and through.”

“This isn’t the city, but I’m sure you’ll love it here. Come with me. I’ll show you to Adam’s office.”

Rachel followed Doreen down a long corridor. “Aren’t you worried about theft?” she asked, as they headed around a corner. All the windows in the reception area had been left open to dilute the smell of fresh paint. “Isn’t there any security?”

Doreen laughed. “You are a city girl.” Her face grew serious. “I have to admit, Middlewood does have its share of crime. Recently a few neighborhoods were hit with a rash of burglaries. Probably just kids, since all they took were CDs, DVDs, that sort of thing. But to answer your question, we activate an alarm system when the center is closed…. Ah, here we are.” She knocked on an unpainted panel door and opened it without waiting for a response.

The room appeared empty. “Damn pole won’t stay put,” a deep voice growled from inside the closet. “Where is that Farley? He promised he’d have this closet done by noon.”

A tall man in a well-tailored but rumpled suit emerged. “Really, Doreen,” he reprimanded, “I wish you’d wait for a response before entering.”

In the report the investigator had described Adam Wessler as “pompous and fastidious, a man who relishes his privacy.” An investigator with a large vocabulary, Rachel had thought, amused. Adam obviously liked his privacy, or he wouldn’t have barked at Doreen, and whether or not he was pompous remained to be seen—but fastidious? Standing there grumbling in his wrinkled and dusty suit, he was not what Rachel had expected. True, he was as handsome as in his picture, his nose straight and aquiline, his jaw square and proud, but his untidy appearance caught her by surprise. Holding a hammer in one hand, smoothing his dirt-smudged lapels with the other, he looked more like a gussied-up construction worker than the director of a community center.

There was also the matter of his hair. As in the photo it was thick and dark, but here in the office smoothness had given way to spiky disarray, as if he’d been running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He turned to place the hammer on his desk, and Rachel had to suppress a smile. In contrast to his gray suit, his tie was brightly colored with a cartoon of the Tasmanian devil. A gift from Megan? In any case, that he chose to wear it contradicted the P.I.’s report, which not only described Adam as pompous and fastidious but also as conventional.

Adam Wessler certainly appeared to be an interesting mix of traits.

He spun around and boldly looked her over. The word interesting hardly described him, she realized. All the pictures she had received were in black and white, but she doubted that even a color shot could have conveyed the piercing blaze of his stare. No words or photographs could have prepared her for his steel-blue eyes, which burned into her like a laser.

“Now, Adam,” Doreen said as though talking to a child, “Farley said he’d be finished in here by the end of the week. You know the theater takes priority. How can the kids rehearse without a stage? They can’t use the cafeteria indefinitely.”

“You want priority?” Adam grumbled. “What about this?” He gestured to the wall behind him. The left side was a pleasant shade of green, the right a murky gray.

Doreen clicked her tongue in disapproval. “It’s not Farley’s fault you changed your mind. What do you think, Rachel? Green or gray?”

Rachel studied Adam as he stood there, his arms folded across his chest, his brow creased with irritation. “They say that green is restful on the eyes,” she answered. “It puts the viewer in a calm mood. Like New Age music.”

“Who is this woman and why is she talking to me about New Age music?” Even as he spoke to Doreen, Adam’s eyes never left Rachel. He rested his gaze on the jacket of her peppermint-green suit and said, “I prefer the gray.”

It figures, Rachel thought, trying not to react to his rudeness. “Rachel Hartwell,” she said, extending her hand. When he didn’t take it, she pulled it back. “I’m here about the opening in the drama department,” she continued with forced confidence. She leaned over. “Uh, Mr. Wessler?” Adam had crawled underneath his desk.

“Here it is,” he said, emerging triumphantly. “I’ve been looking for this little gadget.” He got off the floor and began fiddling with his computer. “Now maybe I can get e-mail, seeing how my phone will probably never be connected.”

“Excuse me for butting in, but I don’t see how you can get e-mail without a phone.”

“For your information, we have a permanent Internet connection,” he said, looking up. “What did you say your name was?”

Rachel had no intention of being turned down for the job simply because her prospective employer was in a bad mood. “Mr. Wessler,” she said in a patient voice, “if this isn’t a good time for you, I can come back later. At your convenience, of course.”

“You see what you’ve done?” Doreen reprimanded her boss. “It’s a wonder you have any staff at all, the way you go on. Why I agreed to work for you in the first place is a mystery.”

“It’s because you’ve been secretly in love with me for years, and you’d run off with me in a heartbeat except that Roger won’t let you.”

“Just ignore him,” Doreen said, dismissing him with a wave. “He always gets delusional when he’s irritated. The truth is, my Roger could whip this boy thirty years ago, and he still can today.” She laughed when Rachel threw her a confused glance. “My husband and I were friends with Adam’s parents,” she explained. “These days, I’m kind of a second mother to him.”

Doreen seemed like a genuinely warm person, and Rachel felt herself relaxing. “He’s lucky to have two mothers,” she bantered back. “A man needs all the sound advice he can get.”

A silence fell as quickly as a late-summer fog, and Adam’s face paled.

What did I say? Rachel thought. She looked at the older woman for guidance, but Doreen’s unsmiling face was as sober as Adam’s.

“I’ll let you two get down to business,” Doreen said quietly. Then, just as quickly as it had faded, her smile reappeared, as welcoming as the sun breaking through a cloud. “Good luck, dear. I’m rooting for you.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Rachel said after Doreen had shut the door behind her. “How long has she been gone?”

“My mother is not gone. And she’s not going anywhere, now or for a long time to come.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wessler,” Rachel apologized again. “I just assumed—”

“Adam,” he corrected. “Call me Adam. I, for one, would like to go back to the time when employees addressed their superiors as Mr. or Mrs. Unfortunately those days are gone.”

He was pompous, all right. If his ego were any more bloated, he could run for king. And what was this thing about his mother? Evidently the well-composed Adam Wessler had issues. Issues the P.I. had overlooked. Which was odd, she thought, considering how detailed the P.I. had made his report. Several pages described Megan’s life—school, hobbies, friends—right down to her favorite flavor of soda. More pages contained similar information about Adam, although, Rachel conceded, his favorite flavor of soda was more than she wanted or needed to know.

“Ms.,” she said curtly.

“Excuse me?”

“The appropriate term is Ms. There’s no legal basis for an employer to know a prospective employee’s marital status.” She knew she was treading close to the line—he had the power to make or break her future—but, oh, he was so infuriating!

“Ms. Hartwell, let me assure you I don’t give a hoot about your marital status. I was merely trying to point out that it is perfectly fine for you to address me by my first name. In fact, it’s preferred. One of the center’s main goals is to reflect the community, and that includes its values. You know what I mean—apple pie, babies in strollers, Boy Scouts helping elderly women cross the street. One big happy family. It’s the kind of Pollyanna image we’re trying to promote.”

“I take it you don’t agree with this philosophy?”

He looked vexed. “It’s of no importance whether or not I agree. Now, shall we get started, Ms. Hartwell?”

“Rachel,” she corrected. “One big happy family, remember?”

He looked at her sternly for one hard moment, and then an unexpected grin washed across his face, catching her off guard.

She drew in a sharp breath. His whole austere demeanor had vanished, just like that. How could something as simple as a smile, just two lips curling up at the corners, completely transform a face?

And it was such a charming smile. He looked almost boyish, completely unlike the photographs back in her room at the inn.

This time he was the one to extend a hand. “What do you say we start again? I’m Adam Wessler, the arrogant, obnoxious director of this wonderful new establishment.”

“Rachel Hartwell,” she answered back, returning his handshake. She’d once read that a handshake told a lot about a person’s character. His was warm…protective…

She realized she had been holding on too tightly, and feeling the color rise in her face, tore her hand away. “You’re not that obnoxious,” she joked in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

He let out a hearty roar. “Finally we’re agreed on something. Have a seat, Rachel Hartwell, and we’ll get down to business. Sorry about the folding chairs. As you can see, not all the furniture has arrived yet.” He sat down beside her. “Why don’t you start by telling me a little about yourself?”

“You don’t have my résumé? I have extras. Here, let me—”

He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “I have your résumé. I know what it says. I want you to tell me something I don’t know. Something about the kind of person you are. It’s not such an unreasonable request.”

What could she tell him that wasn’t on her résumé? After years of working and studying she’d finally earned her degree, and since then she’d been teaching at a private school in Hartford. Her résumé also described her active involvement in musical and children’s theater. Wasn’t she what a community-based job required? A well-rounded, involved person? What else did he need to know? “I don’t understand,” she said with trepidation.

No longer smiling, he said, “I’ll give you a hint. You can start by telling me why you want to teach here.”

“I’ve always loved kids,” she began slowly. “And musical theater. So it was only natural that I would want to pursue a career that involved both.” When he didn’t respond, she felt her panic rising. What could she say that wouldn’t give away her secret? She had to think of something. She had to land this job. And then she remembered the winter scene hanging on the wall in the corridor. The painting wasn’t only about the joys of childhood; it was about the joys of small-town living. “There’s something else.”

“And that is…?”

“I’m tired of the city. I find it too large, too impersonal. I want to live in a small, old-fashioned community. Like you said earlier, apple pie, that sort of thing. You know what I mean, where everyone knows everyone’s business.” As long as no one finds out mine, she thought.

“You seem to have developed a few notions,” he said testily. “It’s true that we’re a close-knit group, but we’re not a bunch of hicks. We nurture the same interest in the arts as do the larger cities, and we don’t take well to being patronized.”

“You don’t understand. I wasn’t—”

“Tell me what makes Rachel Hartwell tick.”

What was he getting at? What could she say that would persuade him to hire her? Then it dawned on her. He was talking about character. “I sent you a list of references. Didn’t you receive it with my résumé?”

None of the people on the list knew anything about her past. Equally important, the school where she taught was closed for the summer. She didn’t want anyone there to know she might not be returning. At this point it wouldn’t be wise to burn her bridges behind her. Eventually Adam would want to speak to someone regarding her most recent employment, but verification would have to wait until fall. By then, if everything went as planned, it wouldn’t matter.

But if her plan failed, she would return to Hartford. She couldn’t remain in Middlewood, knowing that Megan was so close yet so out of reach. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life looking around every corner, down every street, hoping to catch a glimpse of her daughter, living solely for those moments.

“You still don’t get it,” Adam said, his gaze boring into her. “I want you to tell me why I should give you this job. Give me one good, concrete reason.”

She tried to think of a reply that would please him yet be true to her ideals. “I know what it’s like to have a dream,” she said finally. “I also know what it’s like to have no one to help you nurture that dream. Some children want to be doctors, some firefighters. I wanted to be a skater—but competition was out of the question. Everyone knows how expensive that route is, and now, of course, I’m too old to compete. But if I can make a difference in someone’s life, if I can help a child realize his or her dream, then I’ll feel as if I’ve succeeded.”

The words she spoke were true. All her life she’d had a need to nurture. When she was small, she’d brought home every stray cat in the neighborhood, and when she was older, she’d gone out of her way to take the side of the underdog. Her mother used to chide her endlessly. “Lie down with dogs and you’ll get up with fleas,” she used to say.

“You realize that working here would mean a decrease in salary,” Adam said, glancing at her résumé. “This is a community center, not a private school.”

“I want to work in a more liberal environment,” she said honestly. She wasn’t thrilled about taking a cut in pay—paying rent on two apartments would be expensive and the months ahead would be lean—but she was looking forward to working in a more relaxed environment. She was tired of the senseless customs, the strict dress code, the arbitrary rules imposed by the school where she taught. “Besides,” she added, “there are benefits. For example, the arena. I still love skating, even though it’s no longer my life dream. And it’s not as rushed here in Middlewood as it is in the city.” This time she was careful not to use the term old-fashioned. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The interview wasn’t going as she expected. He was supposed to ask her a few perfunctory questions and get on with it, but the closed look on his face told her he didn’t buy what she was saying. Anyone with half a mind could see that she was perfect for the job. What was he getting at?

“Unfortunately, I don’t think this is going to work out,” he said.

Unfortunately? Was this what it all came down to? All her hopes crushed with one dismissive word? “I don’t understand. Won’t you just—”

“Do I look like Grace? Puh-leeze!”

A young girl with the brightest red hair Rachel had ever seen had barged into the office. “Will you puh-leeze inform Erika that I have no intention of playing Grace? What’s the matter with that woman? Can’t she see I’m meant to be Annie?”

In that moment reality merged with dream, and Rachel wasn’t sure if she’d just awakened or fallen asleep. The room around her blurred, and she had to blink to hold back tears that were threatening to steal from her eyes. Tears of joy at seeing her daughter. Tears of joy at hearing her voice.

Adam had asked for one good reason, a concrete reason. There she was, her hands on her hips, scowling in the doorway.

Chapter Two

If it weren’t for the hair, she would have sworn she was looking in a mirror, one that reflected what she had looked like at Megan’s age. She gripped the edge of her chair. Would anyone else notice?

How could anyone not notice?

Doreen had remarked earlier, “You look familiar. I don’t know you, do I?”

Rachel dismissed the comment from her mind. It had just been one of those things people said, as benign as “How are you?” or “Have a nice day.” How could Doreen—or Adam—know what Rachel had looked like at twelve years old?

“What is it, Megan?” Adam asked in an exasperated voice. “Can’t you see I’m in a meeting?”

Rachel tore her gaze from her daughter. From the tense lines on Adam’s face she could read the depth of his frustration. It was something, she was sure, that hadn’t started just now with Megan’s little scene. No, the troubles with his daughter had been going on for some time. Rachel was certain of something else as well, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Adam had not picked up on the resemblance between her and Megan. He looked frustrated, vexed, flustered—everything that seemed to go along with being the single parent of an adolescent girl—yet the likeness that was obvious to Rachel had apparently escaped his notice.

She turned her gaze back to Megan. It was hard to look at her without focusing on the wealth of deep red that curled in ringlets over her forehead and down her neck. Thank God for that hair, Rachel thought. It helped hide the resemblance. Rachel’s hair, framing her heart-shaped face and curving under her chin—the shape of face and dainty chin she had bequeathed to her daughter—was a rich brunette, totally unlike Megan’s. But even though the pictures the P.I. had sent were in black and white, even without the detailed description he had supplied, Rachel had known that her daughter was a redhead.

She thought back to when she was seventeen, wild and free, holding on to her boyfriend’s waist as she snuggled behind him on his motorcycle. She knew she should have worn a helmet—they both should have worn helmets—but wasn’t it wonderful riding behind him on his bike, feeling as free as a leaf in the breeze! In those days the word caution hadn’t been part of her vocabulary. As if it were yesterday, Rachel remembered the way the air had felt blowing on her face as she held on to Colton, watching the wind weave its playful fingers through his long, wavy hair.

Like Megan, his hair had been a deep fiery red.

She remembered the way the nurses had clucked after Megan was born, swearing they had never seen so much hair on a newborn. “The devil’s crown,” one insensitive nurse had said. “Heiress of sin.”

“But Dad, you’re always in a meeting!” Megan was complaining. “Anyway, this concerns business.” She turned her attention to Rachel. “Are you the new drama teacher? Because if you are, we need to get some things straight. First of all—”

“Megan!” Adam interrupted sharply. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“No, it’s all right, Mr. Wes…Adam. I’m interested in what your daughter has to say.”

Two suspicious green eyes—my eyes, Rachel thought—peered at her. “Oh, yeah?” Megan challenged. “Why?”

“Why?” Rachel repeated, blinking.

“What are you, deaf?”

“Megan!” Adam rose from his chair. “Can’t this wait until later?”

Rachel wanted to laugh. He sounded as if he was whining. The cool, collected Mr. Wessler was obviously putty around his daughter, who was, if this outburst was any indication, sorely lacking in manners. Oh yes, Adam Wessler needed all the help with Megan he could get.

“It’s all right,” Rachel assured him. “The question deserves an answer. And I’m not referring to her question regarding my hearing. You’d be surprised at how little escapes my ears, or eyes, too, for that matter.”

Megan was leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest as though she was a small child demanding a treat. Yet spoiled hardly described her, and Rachel sensed there was more to her attitude than just bad manners. This child, her child, was hurting, and Rachel ached to reach out and hold her.

“It’s too bad you have no intention of playing Grace,” she said. “She’s always been my favorite character in Annie. They named her Grace for a reason. And you remind me of her—you’re tall and slim, as pretty as a princess—and that’s why I’m interested in what you have to say.”

“I’m nothing like her!” Megan snapped. “Look at me. Look at this hair.” She tugged at a handful of curls as if to make her point. “What’s the use in having a father who’s running this whole place, if I can’t be the star? I can sing and dance every bit as well as that stupid Alice Tucker. Even better. I’m Annie! Why can’t anyone see that?”

“I’m envious of you,” Rachel said, choosing her words carefully. “I bet you don’t need to use any styling aids at all, and what I would give to have that color!”

Megan looked somewhat mollified. “There, you see, Dad? She agrees with me. She thinks I should be Annie.”

“I didn’t say that,” Rachel said, “although I’m sure you’d make a wonderful Annie. It’s a shame, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would have thought that someone as grown-up as you would feel a little silly in the role of Annie. I would have thought that Grace would be your first choice. She’s so beautiful and talented, and in the end, we get the idea that she’s going to marry the richest, most wonderful man in the world. To me Grace represents the heart in the story. Without her Annie would never have been united with Daddy Warbucks.”

“Annie is kind of childish,” Megan admitted. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should play Grace. She’s much more refined. Worldly, even. It would be more interesting to play someone mature, don’t you think?”

“I know it,” Rachel said. Worldly? Mature? The way Megan spoke now, you’d think she was eighteen, not twelve. In an instant her entire demeanor had changed from that of a pouting young child to a sophisticated young lady. Girls that age are like that, Rachel thought. One minute they’re taking out their old dolls; the next minute they’re asking for the keys to the car.

Megan was growing up fast. Too fast. Rachel had missed the first twelve years of her daughter’s life, and she was determined not to let another precious minute go by.

“What about my hair?” Megan asked. “I wouldn’t have to cut it, would I? What about the color?”

“You won’t have to change a thing. You could get a wig from wardrobe. There is a costume department, isn’t there?” She addressed her question to Adam.

“Of course there is. What kind of operation do you think I’m running?” His mouth pulled into a tight line. “Actually, there isn’t, not really. We’re still trying to negotiate deals with costume houses. In the meantime Doreen and Erika make frequent trips to the thrift shops.”

“Erika told us we have to bring our own costumes,” Megan said. “She told us to ask our mothers to make them.” She pulled herself on top of Adam’s desk and sat there, kicking her legs. “That was a stupid thing for her to say, don’t you think? Considering that at the moment I seem to be fresh out of mothers.”

No, you’re not, Rachel thought, her heart growing warm. It had taken a little reassuring on her part to convince Megan to take the role of Grace. Like all twelve-year-old girls—like most people—Megan needed to feel important. Wasn’t this what mothers did? Instill a sense of self-esteem in their daughters?

“I’m sure Erika didn’t mean anything by her comment,” Adam said. “And I’m sure that if you asked her, she’d be more than happy to make your costume.”

“Let me remind you, she’s not my mother.”

A warning signal went off in Rachel’s head. The P.I.’s report had mentioned that Adam was seeing someone but that it wasn’t serious. What if the report wasn’t accurate? What if Adam and this woman were keeping their relationship low-key for Megan’s sake? It was obvious that Megan disliked her.

“Besides,” Megan continued, “that woman wouldn’t know the difference between a needle and a haystack.”

It was a clever twist to the old adage, and Rachel laughed. “I’m handy with a needle and thread,” she volunteered. Hadn’t Megan said that the mothers were supposed to make the costumes? “But I wouldn’t know my way around a haystack if my life depended on it,” she added jokingly.

“Well, there are no haystacks in this center,” Adam said, and sat down again.

Even sitting, he was tall. In spite of his disheveled appearance, he had the air of someone used to getting his own way. Rachel studied his face. The photographs she’d received all made him appear hard and unyielding, but seeing him in person, she could tell there was something vulnerable about him. Something a little bit broken. She had an urge to soothe him.

Be careful, she warned herself. You’ve always been a sucker for a wounded animal. And where did it ever get you? First time around, you were left alone and pregnant. Second time around, you were simply left alone.

“Officially you start tomorrow, but I’d like to meet with you a little later today, say in about an hour, to go over the costume budget. I want you on thrift-shop duty, like the others. Before we meet, see Doreen. She has some forms you’ll need to fill out.” He leaned forward in his chair. “In the mornings you’ll be teaching musical theater, in the afternoons, improvisation. Classes start on Monday, so you’ll have today and Monday to get oriented. Erika Johnson is a wonderful drama coach, and she’s mapped out all the classes, so you need to meet with her. She’s directing Annie, which you’ll be helping out with as well. You’ll have a desk backstage for your paperwork. In the fall your hours will change. Classes and rehearsals will be held after school and in the evenings. Any questions?”

Adam talked so fast, she felt her head spinning. “I…don’t understand. What are you saying?”

Megan shook her head in mock disgust. “I think she is deaf, Dad. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

He ignored his daughter and flashed his boyish smile at Rachel. “I’m saying, Ms. Hartwell, that you’ve got the job.”

“Rachel,” she said smoothly, trying to conceal her elation. “Apple pie, remember?”

No matter how much he fiddled with the computer monitor, it wouldn’t light up. Dammit, he should be able to figure out this contraption. The problem with technology was that as soon as you got something all figured out, it was already obsolete.

Adam was the first to admit he wasn’t too fond of change.

The screen on his desk suddenly came to life. He sat back on his chair. What had just happened? Good question, Wessler. He wasn’t referring to the computer; he was thinking about the interview. A stunning young woman waltzes into my office as though she’s on some kind of mission, and my brain goes AWOL. How could I have gone against my gut reaction and hired her on the spot?

It had nothing to do with the way she looked. No one could accuse him of that kind of bias. Sure, she was curvy in all the right places, with legs that didn’t quit, but he’d hardly noticed. And he’d hardly noticed her face as he’d gone through the motions of conducting the interview. Her skin was smooth and sun kissed, her smile bright and contagious. Her emerald eyes shone with a passion that, these days, was foreign to him—although he hadn’t paid much attention to her eyes, either.

No, it was because he needed someone to fill in for the teacher he had originally hired for the position. After deciding she would rather act than teach, Susan Dobbs had suddenly quit and left for New York.

Good luck, he thought. New York was full of would-be actors.

But that wasn’t the only reason he had hired Rachel. That wasn’t why his brain had turned to oatmeal. It had something to do with his daughter. Only a blind person couldn’t have seen the way Megan and Rachel had connected. No sighted person could have missed the way Rachel had glowed like a child on Christmas morning when he’d suggested that Megan show her around the center, or how Megan had eagerly complied.

He knew she was more than qualified for the job. This was children’s amateur theater, not Broadway, and she was a teacher with stage experience. But there was something about her, something that didn’t add up. Something he couldn’t define.

Before Megan had barged in, he had decided to turn Rachel down, basing his decision purely on instinct. But the skillful way she’d handled the situation with Megan had convinced him to change his mind. When Erika had cast another girl for the part of Annie, Megan had taken the decision as a personal affront—Megan took everything Erika did as a personal affront—yet in less than a minute Rachel had persuaded Megan to take the part of Grace. It had been nothing short of amazing. And this was why he had gone against his initial reaction and hired her. Someone with as much understanding of kids as she’d demonstrated was what this place needed. Maybe she was just what Megan needed.

He was always on the lookout for anything that might brighten his daughter’s life. She was so temperamental, more so these past two months, ever since his mother had taken a turn for the worse. Recently he’d brought home a puppy from the pound, even though Erika had been against it. “You can’t expect someone so troubled to be responsible for another living thing,” she’d argued. Erika had been wrong. Cinnamon had quickly become Megan’s best friend and confidante, and where the puppy’s health and safety were concerned, Megan was like a doting parent. But she was still so moody.

She was high-strung because she was gifted, Erika insisted. Someone with that much talent should be in a special school. The Manhattan School for the Arts had a few openings, but time was running out. Adam had to make a decision soon, to secure a place.

Then there was his mother. He had to make a decision about her, as well.

He stared out the window. Middlewood was a pretty town, with neatly laid-out streets and yards. The downtown streets were lined with antique stores and trendy cafés, and something was always going on—a festival, an exhibit, an organized walk through the hilly grounds. The town was growing fast, and change was something he had trouble with.

The phone rang, taking him by surprise. It’s about time that thing worked, he thought, picking up the receiver. But after what he heard on the other end, he found himself wishing that the connection hadn’t been fixed. Not that he was ever inaccessible. These days, with one crisis after another at home, he made sure he was never without his cell phone. After a brief conversation he hung up and placed his head in his hands.

He thought back to the past. Except for his years at Berkeley he’d lived in Middlewood all his life. After graduation he married his childhood sweetheart, Cathy, and began teaching at the local high school. Five years later they adopted a baby, and for ten more years they lived a normal, happy life. Then, on the day of their fifteenth anniversary, Cathy had been driving back from the hairdresser’s and his world had collapsed.

No, he wasn’t very good at handling change. But things were changing, and he felt powerless to stop them.

He was about to leave his office, when he remembered his umbrella. The sun shone in through the open window, and the day outside was bright and clear. He was sure the forecast was wrong, but the last thing he wanted was to be caught by surprise as he walked across the parking lot. Like change, surprise was something he didn’t handle well.

“Through those doors is the passageway that leads to the arena,” Megan said. “Isn’t that neat? You don’t even have to leave the building.”

“Do you skate?” Rachel asked hopefully.

“No, I don’t have much time for sports, with acting classes and rehearsals and helping out at home. Dad plays hockey, though. He says it helps him unwind. But I guess that kind of skating is different.”

They passed through the main corridor and entered the theater. “This place is wonderful,” Rachel said. “I never figured on it being so large!”

“It seats five hundred. Middlewood might be a small town, but we have a reputation for supporting the arts.” Megan motioned to the orchestra pit. “We even have our own symphony. They’ll be doing the music for Annie.”

Rachel was touched by Megan’s obvious pride in her community. “When do they plan on finishing in here?” she asked as they made their way to the stage. She craned her neck and looked up. A big burly man was standing on the catwalk, hammering.

“Sometime next week. At least that’s what Farley says.” Balancing herself with one arm, Megan swung onto a crate and sat down. “I suppose I’ll have to introduce you to Erika.” She rolled the name off her tongue as if it had a sour taste.

“You don’t like her, do you?”

“Let me put it this way. If we were putting on The Wizard of Oz, she’d be perfect in the role of the witch. I’m just hoping that someone will drop a house on her. Maybe then I won’t have to move away.”

In her careful scheming Rachel hadn’t considered that Adam would ever leave Middlewood. She felt a cold knot form in her chest. “Your father just took on a new job. Why does he want to move?”

“He’s not moving, just me,” Megan answered. “To some kind of finishing school. Did you ever hear of anything so stupid? A finishing school in this century! Erika calls it an art academy, but she can’t fool me. The Manhattan School for the Arts is just a place where East Coast parents can dump their kids.”

“I take it you don’t want to go.” Rachel’s mind was whirling. She supposed she could always apply for a position at the school, but why would they hire her? The Manhattan School for the Arts was world renowned. It wasn’t a small private school in Hartford, and it certainly wasn’t Middlewood.

Megan shrugged. “At least I won’t be living with Erika. She’s been chasing after my father ever since Mom died. Dad says they’re just good friends, but if I know Erika, she’ll have a ring on his finger before the end of the summer. She wants me out of the picture, except Dad doesn’t see it that way. He says she only wants the best for me.”

Rachel had just been reunited with her daughter. She couldn’t lose her again. “Have you told your father how you feel?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound desperate.

“What do you think? But he only listens to Erika. He listens to practically everything she tells him, and these days she’s telling him that I need a mother. Puh-leeze! Just what I need, a mother who ships her kid off to boarding school. Look, I don’t mind if Dad gets married again. It would be kind of cool to have someone around, someone who could help me with my costumes. But not Erika.”

Rachel didn’t miss the loneliness in her daughter’s voice. “I’d be happy to help you with your costumes,” she said softly.

Megan looked at her thoughtfully, then flashed her a bright smile. “I remember. Handy with a needle, clueless about haystacks.” She lowered her voice. “Get out that needle, Rachel. You might need it as a weapon. Here comes the wicked witch of the West.” She gestured to a slim, petite woman coming up the aisle toward them.

“Get down from there, Megan,” the woman said, approaching the stage. “What’s the matter with you? It’s dangerous in here with all this construction. It’s like a war zone. Where have you been? Your father’s been looking everywhere for you.”

“Hey, don’t aim those fake nails at me,” Megan said, not moving from her perch. “I was only doing what he asked me to do, showing Rachel around. And it’s not dangerous in here. Farley’s way upstage. It’s not like he’s going to drop a hammer on anyone’s head.”

The woman directed her attention to Rachel. “So you’re the new teacher,” she said coolly. “I’m Erika Johnson.”

“Rachel Hartwell. I’m glad to meet you. I understand we’ll be working together. And please don’t be angry with Megan. She’s been so helpful. She’s been giving me a tour.”

Rachel made a quick assessment of the woman standing next to her. Erika was poised and sophisticated in a raw silk jacket that closed in a deep vee, and a matching midlength skirt that was slit down the side. Definitely out of place in this dangerous war zone, Rachel thought.

Two gray eyes bored through her. “You must have misunderstood,” Erika said. “We won’t be working together. You’ll be reporting to me.” She turned to face Megan. “Your father had a phone call. There was a minor crisis involving your grandmother, but it’s nothing you need to worry about. He had to go home, but he’ll be back later to pick you up.”

“Nothing I need to worry about? She’s my grandmother!”

“Don’t shout at me, Megan. Those were his words, not mine.”

“Yeah, right. Hey, Ricky, I’ve got a great idea. Maybe you can send Grandma away to boarding school, too. Oops, I forgot. They don’t ship grandmothers off to boarding schools the way they do kids. They lock them away in homes.”

“Watch that mouth of yours,” Erika retorted. Then, as though catching herself before she went too far, her voice took on a sugary tone. “That’s our Megan for you,” she said to Rachel, “always the drama queen. She’s one talented little girl.”

“Little snot, you mean. Admit it, Ricky, you can’t wait to get rid of me.”

Erika blew out an exasperated breath. “I refuse to get into this again, especially in front of a stranger. In any case, rehearsal is about to start. They’re all waiting for you in the cafeteria.”

Megan hopped off the crate. “See what I mean? Even now she’s trying to get rid of me. You coming, Rachel?”

“You go on ahead. I have to fill out some papers for Doreen, and then later, when your father returns, I have to meet with him to discuss the costume budget.”

Megan set off down the aisle. “If you’ll excuse me,” Rachel said to Erika, “I’d better get started on that paperwork.”

“Just one minute.”

What now? Rachel thought.

“I realize that Megan can be a handful, but I don’t want you giving her extra attention. For one thing, it wouldn’t be fair to the other children, and as a friend of the family, I can tell you that extra attention is precisely what that child doesn’t need.”

Who did this woman think she was, talking to her this way? This was the woman who had Adam’s undivided attention? This was the woman who presumed to take on the role of Megan’s mother? “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. Let me remind you that Mr. Wessler is a very busy man, so I would appreciate it if you directed all your questions to me. And that includes any questions regarding the budget—although I fail to see how the financial details of this center are any of your concern.”

Erika was acting like a jealous shrew. Which was crazy, Rachel thought. Or was it? She hadn’t missed the frosty way the other woman had scrutinized her. Although Rachel wanted to tell this impossible woman exactly what she thought of her, she held back. Her sounding off would only get back to Adam, resulting in an invitation to leave. “I see,” she said in a controlled voice.

“There’s one more thing. Adam is very particular about the image he wants this center to project, and I don’t want anything to embarrass him. He mentioned that you were a few minutes late for your interview. The ceremony is at seven-thirty tomorrow evening. Please don’t be late.”

“Ceremony?” Rachel said, confused. “What ceremony?”

“The center’s official opening. Friday night, seven-thirty sharp. Didn’t you see the signs on the wall?”

No, but Rachel could see the proverbial handwriting, all too clearly. It was warning her that Erika was someone to be reckoned with. “No, I guess I missed them. But it doesn’t make any difference. I won’t be going.”

“Oh? You have something better to do?”

“I’d like to come, but I don’t have…I didn’t bring…”

“The attire tomorrow is casual. This is Middlewood, not Hollywood. No one dresses up here. Even that old suit you’re wearing would be adequate.”

What did she mean by “that old suit”? Who made her the fashion police? “I guess I can dig something up,” Rachel said, wanting to tell this woman where she and her attitude could go.

“Good. Now that you and I understand each other, I have a feeling we’ll get along just fine.”

Oh, we’ll get along, Rachel thought. As long as I stay out of your way and you stay out of mine. Except that staying out of each other’s way would be impossible now that they would be working together.

Correction. Rachel would be working for her. That, Erika had made clear.

Rachel was still angry when she handed the completed paperwork to Doreen.

“You’ve met Erika,” the older woman said, grimacing.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Try not to let her get to you. She likes to think she runs this place, but there’s one thing about Adam you should know. At times he might seem like a pushover, but don’t let that fool you. No one tells him what to do.”

“What are you getting at, Doreen?”

“I’m saying that Erika is all bark and no bite.”

Maybe so, Rachel thought as she made her way back to Adam’s office, but until she knew exactly what kind of enemy she was dealing with, she would play it safe.

And Erika was an enemy. She was making Megan unhappy, and that alone was enough cause for Rachel to call out the National Guard.

Adam wasn’t in his office, and Rachel wasn’t sure if she should wait for him or go home. When Erika had told her that all matters concerning the job were to go through her, the message had been clear: stay away from Adam. Yet if Rachel didn’t wait for him, Adam might consider her irresponsible. She was in a no-win situation.

She looked at her watch. Good heavens, it was nearly five! The paperwork had taken longer than she’d thought. Well, that decided it. He’d said he wanted to meet in an hour, and an hour had long passed. She headed down the corridor, noting that all the windows had been shut. At the front door she stopped and groaned.

A little rain she could handle, but a person would need more than an umbrella in this weather. She would need a rowboat. Rachel had no choice but to wait it out.

To pass the time, she decided to check out the rink. She went back into the main corridor and found her way to the indoor passageway that led from the center to the arena.

She peered through a small oval window. Inside the arena all the lights were on, and she felt a twinge of disappointment. If she’d known it was open, she would have brought her skates.

Now that would have looked ridiculous, she thought, grinning. Who brought skates to an interview?

She opened the metal door and went inside. What was that noise? Whish, whish, clunk sounded over and over, a pattern in her ears. Curious, she walked over to the bleachers and sat down.

On the ice, Adam was swinging a hockey stick as though it were a weapon. He’d changed into sweatpants and a sleeveless jersey. Tied by its arms around his waist, a sweatshirt hung down like a backward apron. He was shooting pucks, one after the other, smashing them against the sideboards. After exhausting his supply of artillery, he would gather it up and start the process over again.

Rachel’s nurturing instinct switched on like a light-bulb. Here was a man with a problem. Here was a man in pain.

She watched him steadily, mesmerized by the way he would glide across the ice and then suddenly stop to make his hit. Whish, whish, clunk. He wasn’t a bad skater, she decided. Her gaze followed him as he moved across the rink. The suit he’d worn earlier had concealed his muscular build, his massive shoulders, his athletic stance. She found herself wondering what it would be like dancing with him on the ice, being lifted into the air by those powerful arms, feeling his hands gripping her waist….

She pushed the thought aside. It was a ludicrous notion. Besides, hockey wasn’t figure skating. She doubted if Adam Wessler could adapt to a different set of rules—even if it was just about skating. He was a stickler, all right. She couldn’t believe he had hired her after she’d had the audacity to show up late for her interview! My, my, a full minute late—the minute she had spent outside the tall glass doors of the center, deliberating whether to turn around and run. It also irked her that he had mentioned her tardiness to Erika. The two of them deserved each other, with their picky ways.

Erika, picky? Another word came to mind, but Rachel was loath to repeat it. Just what was that woman’s problem? Erika had acted as though she considered Rachel a personal threat. As if Rachel could be interested in a man so…fastidious. Not in this lifetime, no matter how many scars he had.

Erika had it all wrong. She was the threat, not Rachel. As far as Rachel was concerned, anyone who even looked the wrong way at Megan was a threat, and Erika had done more than her share of glowering.

If Rachel honestly believed that Erika cared for Megan, she would back off, as painful as that would be. She would pack her bags and head back to Hartford. All she really wanted was to make sure her child had a mother watching over her, someone who had Megan’s best interest at heart. Adam was Megan’s legal father, and he had a right to choose whomever he wanted as his wife.

Unless his choice was wrong. Unless the woman he chose was planning to stash his daughter—Rachel’s daughter—away in some boarding school.

“No one tells him what to do,” Doreen had said.

Maybe no one could tell him what to do, but Erika was talking and he seemed to be listening. Maybe Adam and Erika deserved each other, but there was no way Rachel would allow that woman to have a say in Megan’s life.

As though sensing her presence, Adam looked up. She smiled and waved.

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