“Did you have to move here?”

Despite the needling, Sonya hadn’t expected this spurt of resentment. “Barry, I already explained about that. Why does it bother you so much?”

“Because you’re moving in on my friends. I’m fine with you living here, just not having you underfoot every time I turn around.”

Sonya planted hands on hips. “Nobody invited you to drop in to the clinic today. That was your idea, Mr. Editor.”

The veil of indifference dropped back into place. “Whatever.” Recalled to his task, he lifted the camera. “I need a head shot of the clinic’s new doctor for the paper. Try not to act as though you’re facing a firing squad.”

“Aren’t I?”

Dear Reader,

Barry Lowell’s story has woven through the DOWNHOME DOCTORS series, and at last he gets his own romance. If this is your first encounter with the Tennessee town in need of physicians, don’t worry. This book stands completely on its own.

A reporter and editor who as a young man was wrongly convicted of murder, Barry brings a sardonic nature and a complex set of emotions to his first meeting with Dr. Sonya Vega. Having also survived her share of hardship, she refuses to back down from a confrontation. The result? Fireworks!

I found their tempestuous relationship fun to write and hope you enjoy it, as well.

Happy reading!

The Doctor + Four

Jacqueline Diamond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former Associated Press reporter, Jacqueline Diamond has written more than seventy novels and received a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOKclub. Jackie lives in Southern California with her husband, two sons and a cat. You can e-mail her at jdiamondfriends@aol.com or visit her Web site at www.jacquelinediamond.com.

Books by Jacqueline Diamond

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

913—THE IMPROPERLY PREGNANT PRINCESS

962—DIAGNOSIS: EXPECTING BOSS’S BABY

971—PRESCRIPTION: MARRY HER IMMEDIATELY

978—PROGNOSIS: A BABY? MAYBE

1046—THE BABY’S BODYGUARD

1075—THE BABY SCHEME

1094—THE POLICE CHIEF’S LADY †

1101—NINE-MONTH SURPRISE †

1109—A FAMILY AT LAST †

1118—DAD BY DEFAULT †

Special thanks to Marcia Holman for her help

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Fullerton, California—mid-March

Sonya could hardly bear to set the baby down.

He had dark eyes, a tuft of black hair and a sweet little mouth. His incredibly cuddly shape felt right in her arms.

Her heart ached with a longing she rarely allowed herself. And wistfulness. And regret.

“Dr. Vega?” the nurse said softly.

Sonya lowered the newborn into the plastic crib. He was one of eight babies she’d delivered that hectic day. “Yes?”

“A girl called. She wouldn’t give her name, but she left a message. ‘I saw Gina at Hillcrest Park.’ Does that mean anything to you?” Moving to the crib, the nurse smiled down at the baby.

“Absolutely. Thank you.” Sonya had spent several days searching for Gina, who was overdue to deliver.

“One of your special cases?” the nurse asked.

“Eighteen years old, hypertensive, due at the end of February.” That was two weeks ago. “And, need I add, believes she’s invulnerable.”

Because of the high blood pressure she’d developed, Gina Lenox required careful monitoring. Treatment was complicated by her frequent changes of residence and overbearing, gangbanger boyfriend, who went by the name of Duke.

A week ago, she’d canceled an appointment to discuss inducing labor and had left a message saying that she planned to deliver “the natural way.” Sonya’s messages had gone unanswered.

Like many uncooperative cases, Gina might have fallen through the cracks. Other specialists in obstetrics and gynecology at North Orange County Medical Center did their best for such patients, but lacked the determination to track them down.

Sonya had lost a close friend to an ectopic pregnancy. A preventable death, had Lori sought treatment early enough, but she’d tried to hide her condition until too late.

Her death had inspired Sonya to pursue a medical career. She intended to make sure Gina and her baby had a happier outcome.

She’d contacted a girl who’d accompanied Gina on several prenatal appointments and at whose apartment Gina had stayed for a while. Sonya had explained that gestational hypertension could progress suddenly into a dangerous condition termed preeclampsia, which in severe cases might lead to convulsions.

“If anyone else tries to reach me, I’ll be on my cell. I appreciate your help,” Sonya told the nurse. Calls often came through the nurses’ station, since mobile phones were banned in most areas of the hospital.

“You got it.”

At the nursery exit, she stuffed her coverall into a laundry hamper. Thank goodness she had no further patients in labor and had finished her scheduled hours at the hospital-affiliated clinic where she worked.

Sonya’s rapid pace down the hall aroused a twinge in her right knee. Even two years after the accident, she still suffered pangs both physical and emotional, especially when stressed. She’d grown so accustomed to the pain that she hardly noticed.

In her office, Sonya brushed her dark shoulder-length hair out of its chignon. She changed from scrubs into jeans and a knit top so Duke’s buddies wouldn’t peg her as a social worker, then exchanged her low-heeled pumps for jogging shoes.

Because of the hour—5:15 on a Monday evening—traffic was heavy on Harbor Boulevard. Fullerton, a Southern California city with a population of more than 125,000, a thriving economy and a state university, generated almost as much congestion as Anaheim, a few miles to the south.

Sonya tensed each time her compact car approached an intersection. Would she ever lose the instinctive recall of metal crunching into metal and her fiancé’s shout of alarm?

Ex-fiancé. Once the figurative road got rough, he’d taken the first exit.

From Harbor, she made a couple of turns that brought her up winding Lemon Street, lined with thick trees marking the approach to the aptly named Hillcrest Park. How on earth was she going to find Gina in this thirty-seven-acre expanse, assuming she was still here? Well, it wouldn’t be the first wild goose chase Sonya had gone on since the girl had vanished.

She pulled into the parking lot and halted close to a steep flight of stone steps that led to the hilltop park. A tot playground and a striking Spanish-style community center flanked the blacktop.

At this hour, the place appeared deserted except for a silver sedan parked close to the community center. If Duke was nearby, perhaps he’d stashed his green van on a side street. That must be one of the precautions you took when you made your income selling drugs, as she suspected he did.

Great company Gina kept. As Sonya exited into the cool March air, she wished the girl had agreed to stay with her mother and stepfather, who disapproved of Duke.

A movement startled her. Around a corner of the community center appeared a tall man in a business suit intent on framing a detail of the picturesque building in his camera viewfinder.

He descended toward Sonya. She was about to ask if he’d seen anyone when, instead of issuing a greeting or simply minding his own business, he raised the camera and pressed the button.

It flashed. So did her temper.

She wasn’t part of the scenery, and this stranger had no right to capture an image that he could manipulate at will. Sonya had spent enough time around tech-savvy adolescents to know the angles.

“Please delete that shot,” she rapped out as he approached. “You shouldn’t have taken it without asking.”

“Sorry. Is that considered rude around here?” The man had a scar slanting across his forehead, and black eyes that seemed to absorb all the light in the vicinity. He didn’t sound apologetic, nor did he obey her request.

Sonya dropped the matter. She had a more urgent agenda. “Have you seen a pregnant girl about my height?”

He indicated the long flight. “I saw her staggering up that way with a couple of guys. That can’t be good for her, in that condition. Friend of yours?”

“Yes.” Cutting off further conversation, Sonya hurried upward. To her annoyance, the man trailed behind.

Due to the contours of the land, she couldn’t see past the top of the climb, and the rapidly fading dusk cast the area into shadow. What if the man had lied about spotting Gina? Although houses bordered the park on two sides, the sheer size of the place made it unlikely anyone would hear a scream.

Until her accident, Sonya had possessed steady nerves. Now anxiety sometimes threatened her ability to think rationally.

But she refused to yield. Clearing the top of the stairs, she glanced past a flat concrete bandstand to rows of picnic tables, where a welcome figure caught her eye. Sitting alone, Gina hugged herself inside a jacket that barely covered her swollen abdomen. Her heavily moussed shoulder-length hair stuck out in places. Evidently, she hadn’t brushed it since the last time she slept.

That resolved Sonya’s suspicions of the photographer. Even so, she disliked the way he arrived at her side and stood surveying the scene as if invited.

When Gina spotted Sonya, her face registered a mixture of guilt and defiance. A bit farther off, Duke was arguing with another man so fiercely he didn’t at first notice the new arrivals. Both men had the shaved heads, baggy pants and sleeveless undershirts of gang members.

Sonya caught the words money and need a few more days. Then both men broke off as they spotted her and the strange man, who asked in a low voice, “What’s going on here?”

“This is a private situation,” she said tightly.

“It’s a public park.” Despite his air of indifference, his body language struck her as wary. “The whole situation makes me curious.”

“Curiosity could get you killed.”

He shrugged. “That’s a risk reporters have to run.”

Newsmen didn’t usually wander around parks in search of stories. “For what paper?” she challenged.

“Out of state,” he replied calmly. “I was attending a conference in Anaheim.”

“And you made a beeline for Fullerton because it’s such a hotbed of news?” Sonya had nothing against an undercover DEA agent—that seemed the most probable explanation for his nosiness—but Gina and her baby were more important than some drug bust.

“I had an interview in the area. My flight doesn’t leave till tomorrow, so I took a self-guided tour of local landmarks.” He halted as Duke fixed them with a glare.

“Hey, Doc,” the fellow called. “You bring a narc?” He’d obviously drawn the conclusion from the man’s business suit.

“Don’t be ridiculous! I have no idea who he is.”

The rival gang member seized on his opponent’s distraction to lunge toward Duke, knife flashing. The move happened so quickly and unexpectedly that no one reacted except the would-be victim, who dodged, grabbed his opponent’s arm and wrestled him to the table.

Sonya was trying to figure out the best way to protect Gina. The reporter, if that was what he was, simply watched as if knife fights were a common occurrence.

The pair deadlocked with the knife in the opponent’s hand. “You owe me,” he panted. “I’m sick of your lies.”

“Hey, Frankie, how am I gonna pay if I’m dead?”

The men’s gazes locked. Then the assailant tore free and stepped back, knife upraised. “You’ll pay me tonight. No more crap.”

“My girlfriend’s got some cash. She’ll lend it to me, okay?” Duke waggled his fingers and eased toward Gina. “Give it to me, baby.”

Rigid with suspicion, Frankie waited for the payoff. Sonya figured the amount had to be significant. Where would Gina get that kind of money?

She’d just drawn the conclusion that this had to be a ruse, when something came out of the girl’s purse. It wasn’t a wad of cash. It was a gun.

Duke’s. He’d sunk so low as to draw Gina into his criminal actions, Sonya surmised, although that didn’t excuse the girl for her part.

Duke hadn’t quite reached his target, and the attacker seized upon the gap to leap toward Gina. Apparently, he’d rather risk getting shot than abandon his quest.

“Gina! Get out of there!” Sonya broke off as strong hands grasped her arm and pulled her toward the steps.

“You have some kind of death wish?” the stranger demanded.

“Let go! I have to help!”

“Are you nuts? Unless you’re wearing Kevlar—”

The gun roared. Sonya stumbled and might have fallen without the man’s steadying grip. Her heart thundered so hard she wasn’t certain how much of the ringing in her ears resulted from the blast and how much from panic.

Through her confusion, she realized Frankie had seized the weapon and looped an arm around Gina’s throat. Sonya could almost feel the girl’s blood pressure soaring, but she didn’t observe any sign of injury. Judging by the speed with which Duke fled down an incline to the left, he hadn’t taken a bullet, either.

Frankie forced the girl closer to the adults. Despite the patchy light, Sonya could see sweat beading her face.

The reporter raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. Sonya’s pulse was still racing and her head felt light, but for Gina’s sake, she held her ground. “Let her go. You don’t want her to lose the baby, do you?”

“Duke’s brat? Why should I care?” Frankie included them in a wave of the gun. “That creep owes me five hundred bucks. Somebody’s gotta make it good.”

Surely a nearby resident would hear the gunshot and dial 911, Sonya thought frantically. Yet the situation might turn even nastier if the police showed up.

“I have an ATM card. I’ll get your five hundred.” The photographer spoke with a raspy edge. “Take me instead of her, for God’s sake.”

Sonya’s assessment of the man ratcheted upward. Narc or not, he had guts.

Frankie’s lip curled. “Never mind the hero act. Hand over that ATM card. And your camera.” He waved the gun toward Sonya. “Your purse, too.”

Even with their money in hand, the situation would remain volatile—and the girl appeared increasingly ill. They had to get her free, but how?

As Sonya slipped the strap from her shoulder, she caught a twitch of the reporter’s eye. A signal? Hoping she wasn’t imagining his intention to coordinate a rescue, she braced to follow his lead.

He held out his wallet and started toward Frankie. Cautious, controlled. Drawing attention from the hostage. “The card and my money are in here. There’s quite a bit of cash and some traveler’s checks.”

Sonya approached from the other side, closer to Gina. She dangled her purse just beyond Frankie’s grasp. “Here you go.”

“Hey! What’re you two—” The barrel shifted from the girl’s temple.

In that instant, the reporter flung the wallet into Frankie’s face, ducked aside, then leaped to catch his wrist. While the men battled, Sonya hauled a startled Gina toward the steps.

The girl’s compliance ended when the reporter wrenched the weapon from Frankie. “Let me go, Doc. We’re safe now.”

“Not until we get you to a hospital.” Sonya tried to make her case persuasive. “You don’t look well. Your condition…”

The girl doubled over. “It’s squeezing like crazy! What the hell is that?”

Sonya hung on to her. “It’s a contraction. You’re in labor.” She was groping in her purse for the cell phone, when she saw Frankie smash the reporter’s ribs. As the man staggered, the thug grabbed for the gun.

Another shot shattered the evening. Gina shrieked and Sonya’s head throbbed from the blast. Frankie fled down the incline, while the stranger clutched his ribs in pain. He’d kept the weapon, though.

“Are you hurt?” she asked the newcomer.

“Just…winded,” he managed to gasp.

The contraction over, Gina sagged. “I’m calling an ambulance,” Sonya told her.

“I have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, use some sense!” Then she realized the girl was staring past her.

She spotted a uniformed officer drawing his weapon as he crested the steps. The man must have been patrolling the parking lot and heard the shot. “Police! Put the gun on the table!”

An odd expression flickered across the reporter’s face as he obeyed. Was that fear? But he’d been in much more danger earlier.

While the policeman collected the gun and requested backup on a handheld radio, Gina jerked free of Sonya’s grip. “I gotta go. Duke’ll get mad.”

“No one’s going anywhere.” The name tag read K. Monroe. To the reporter he added, “Do you have a license for the weapon?”

“Officer, that’s not my gun.” He turned to Sonya for confirmation.

To agree meant betraying Gina. Although the girl had probably been carrying the weapon on Duke’s orders, by the time they sorted this out she might have to give birth in a jail ward.

On the other hand, the interloper had put his life on the line. And he seemed a lot more worried about the gun than Sonya would have expected.

“He took it off a guy named Frankie who was holding Gina hostage,” she said truthfully.

“And where is this Frankie now?”

All three of them pointed in the same direction. That appeared to satisfy Monroe, who requested a description and called it in.

“My boyfriend’s waiting for me.” Gina was edging away as he got off the radio.

“Miss, please sit down,” the officer commanded.

Instead, she lumbered down the slope. When Monroe shouted at her to stop, she increased her pace. “Wait!” Sonya told him. “Please don’t scare her into falling.”

The officer hesitated. Gina dodged out of sight past some restrooms.

“That girl requires immediate medical treatment. I’m a doctor.” Sonya ignored the man’s quizzical glance at her clothes. “She suffers from hypertension and she’s in labor. I need to go after her.”

“We’ll put out an APB. We have other officers in the vicinity.”

“I’ve been trying to find her for days!”

He glanced toward where Gina had vanished. “Sorry, ma’am. You’re the one who said not to frighten her. Wait here, please.” He radioed in a description, including the medical condition, then requested ID from Sonya and the stranger.

The man failed to produce a badge. So much for her suspicion about the DEA.

Sonya itched to give chase. Instead, she and the man had to suffer through the police formalities, which included being questioned separately by Monroe and a backup officer. Sonya couldn’t help interspersing her step-by-step account with warnings about what might happen if Gina wasn’t found.

Frustratingly, her interview lasted even longer than the man’s. He paused, as if to speak to her, but at a word from the other officer, he headed toward the parking lot.

Finally, she received permission to leave. She knew the police were simply doing their jobs, but she wished they’d give her concerns a higher priority. Since more than half an hour had passed, clearly no one had managed to pick up Gina.

Weary and upset, Sonya trudged down the staircase. She hesitated at the sight of the tall man leaning against his car, silhouetted in the glow of a security light.

Why was he waiting? Her annoyance dissipated as she remembered his attempt to substitute for Gina as a hostage. Under other circumstances, she might even welcome his presence after the way he’d leaped to her rescue with old-fashioned masculine protectiveness. She hadn’t believed that existed anymore.

“Barry Lowell.” He extended a hand.

“Sonya Vega.”

His palm felt large and slightly rough. When they shook, he winced as if his ribs hurt. “You’re sure you didn’t break something?”

“Just bruised. Believe me, if I’d cracked a rib, I’d be writhing on the ground,” he said dryly.

Even so, he’d suffered for her sake, and Gina’s. “I didn’t know reporters were so good with their fists.”

“I can hold my own.” He neither bragged nor pretended false modesty, she noted with grudging approval. “Planning to hunt for that girl?”

“Someone has to.” She ignored the two cruisers on the far side of the lot, dome lights still flashing. In one, an officer sat talking on his radio. Sure, the police would keep an eye open, but they obviously didn’t consider this an emergency.

Barry reflected briefly before saying, “I don’t usually get involved in other people’s business, but…”

“Oh? That wasn’t the impression I had when you followed me into the park.”

A smile fleeted across his face. “You were on an errand of mercy. I had a suspicion the situation might get rough, which it did.”

Sonya recognized, and rejected, an impulse to play the poor helpless female. Okay, so tonight’s events had shaken her. But life had taught her not to lean on anyone, no matter how tempting.

And she was tempted, much as she loathed her own weakness. Tempted to rely on the big strong man the way she’d once trusted her fiancé. Maybe because she found this guy unnervingly appealing.

Better get moving, fast. “Well, I appreciate the chivalry, but I’m in a hurry.”

“To land in the middle of a shootout?” he demanded. “Frankie will go hunting for Duke to collect that debt, and Duke’s already lost too much face in front of his girlfriend, which means he’ll have to fight back.”

“Then I’d better find Gina before they start World War III,” Sonya responded sharply. “I certainly don’t get the impression the cops are having any luck.”

“So you’re taking on the job,” Barry concluded. “Okay. I’ll help.”

Capable as the guy seemed, she disliked his presumptuousness. And having a male protector along might escalate tensions with Duke. “You’ve shown you can defend yourself, but do you have any experience with gangs, Mr. Reporter?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Also knives and crude homemade weapons. You see a lot of those in prison.” His jaw worked. “I’m an ex-con. That’s why I was disturbed about getting caught with a gun.”

The admission surprised her. The clothes and refined speech, touched by a slight Southern accent, didn’t fit her idea of a crook. As for the sexy male vibes he radiated, Sonya usually wasn’t attracted to losers.

Still, lots of people rehabilitated themselves after a rough adolescence. Perhaps he’d mixed with the wrong crowd when he was younger. By now—mid thirties, she guessed—he’d evidently pulled his act together.

That didn’t make him a suitable companion for the night’s mission. She was having enough difficulty winning Gina’s trust without dragging in a stranger. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”

He folded his arms, studying her. “You’re not used to accepting help, are you, Doc?”

“I’m not stupid enough to rely on men. They don’t stick around when you need them.” She hadn’t meant to reveal that much. Or to sound so bitter.

“If I were describing you for the paper, I’d say prickly as a cactus,” he observed. “Except that it’s a cliché.”

“Cactuses survive pretty well in the desert.”

He renewed his request. “Why not let me ride shotgun…figuratively speaking?”

“The answer’s no.” She couldn’t tell him that she found him a little too handsome. Or that she wasn’t quite as independent as she’d believed. “Much as I hate to break off this little flirtation, I’ve got a couple of lives to save. Enjoy your trip home.” She clicked open her car door.

“I didn’t realize we were flirting.” He appeared amused at the suggestion.

“That was sarcasm.”

“Ah. My favorite means of communication.”

Darn it, she liked him. And wondered again at her vulnerability. Had she really sunk to seeking support from a confessed ex-con? Talk about red flags!

Sonya slid inside. “Goodbye, Mr. Lowell.” She started the engine, and felt his eyes follow until she cleared the lot.

Only as she accelerated did she consider that she had neither a plan nor any idea where to search. Gina and Duke had moved out of their last known apartment several weeks ago. He had no relatives in the area, and she was estranged from hers.

The girl’s mother and stepfather refused to have anything to do with the boy since he’d made a pass at one of her younger sisters. Gina had nearly left him over the incident but had relented, apparently so desperate for an emotional connection that she was willing to believe her sister had lied.

In Sonya’s opinion, the girl was trying to fill the void left by her long-absent father. The well-meaning stepfather had entered her life too late.

If only Gina had grown up in a loving family like the Vegas. Sonya missed her parents a lot.

They’d sold their restaurant in Fullerton several years ago and were spending their retirement traveling in a motor home. Her sister, Franca, and brother Ben, who were close in age and considerably older than Sonya, had bought homes near each other in Arizona. Her brother Don served in the air force, and her once-close group of cousins had scattered around the country.

As she scanned the sidewalks on the slight chance of spotting Gina, Sonya acknowledged that eagerness for a home was part of what had made her susceptible to a romance with an older doctor. She’d ignored the subtle warning signs about Reuben Nestor, a forty-four-year-old internist with hospital privileges at North County Med Center.

He’d been handsome and attentive, with an air of solidity. Like Sonya, he’d longed to have kids. She’d accepted his explanation that he’d divorced his first wife not because she suffered from multiple sclerosis but because they’d argued constantly.

Two years ago, on a clear evening like this, Sonya and Reuben had been heading to dinner when a drunk driver had barreled through a red light and smashed into Reuben’s car, pinning Sonya. Although the seat belt and airbag had saved her life, severe pelvic injuries had required emergency surgery.

She’d awakened to learn that she’d undergone a hysterectomy due to the severe bleeding and tearing caused by her crushed pelvis. Barely into her thirties, she’d lost the ability to have children.

Reuben had assured her it made no difference, and they’d talked about adopting, or hiring a surrogate. But as Sonya endured a painful recuperation and rehabilitation, the two of them had drifted apart.

For a while, she’d blamed herself. Perhaps she was too absorbed in the physical problems and grief over the loss, she’d supposed.

Three months post-accident, without warning, Reuben had announced his engagement to a twenty-something nurse. The betrayal had forced Sonya to face the agonizing truth that he hadn’t truly loved her. Faced with a setback, he’d sidled right out the door and found someone problem-free to marry. He’d abandoned her when she’d needed him, just as he’d dumped his first wife.

Since then, she’d dated a couple of guys. Once the relationships began to grow serious, however, both had decamped after she revealed her inability to have children.

Alone. That wasn’t how she’d pictured her future, especially coming from a large, loving family. Sometimes she ached for a man to hold and laugh with, but most likely she’d eventually adopt a child.

She rarely thought about Reuben these days. Meeting Barry Lowell and experiencing that old tug of longing must be what had stirred the memories.

A rumble of hunger reminded Sonya that she’d missed dinner. Might as well head for Tacos & Burgers, a teen hangout where she could grab a bite while keeping alert for Gina.

She’d rather stop at El Hidalgo, the restaurant her parents had operated for many years and where she used to work after school. Better cuisine, more soothing atmosphere. But tonight she was on a mission.

Rounding a corner, she glanced in the rearview mirror. A silver sedan swerved in her wake.

No mistaking the driver, who didn’t even bother to keep a distance. Had she not been so distracted by her thoughts, she’d have noticed him sooner.

Grimly, Sonya hit her signal and pulled into the restaurant lot. If Barry Lowell imagined he could force her to accept his misplaced charity, she had news for him, and it wasn’t the kind he’d want to put in his paper.

Chapter Two

Barry had done some foolish things in his life and had paid the price. He was well aware that chasing a woman who’d told him to butt out could bring unpleasant consequences. But much as he respected Sonya’s courage, she came to all of a towering five feet four or five, and he hadn’t noticed her toting an Uzi.

His interest had started with the spark he’d felt the first time their gazes had met, and the confrontation in the park had aroused his admiration. He’d witnessed firsthand the risk she ran by continuing to pursue the girl.

He’d grown up shielding his sister from her occasionally zany impulses. Now, like an idiot, he was watching over a stranger. Crazy. Stupid. But the woman intrigued him. Simultaneously vulnerable and mad at the world, she reminded him of himself.

Barry didn’t intend to stick around any longer than necessary. He had no interest in romantic entanglements until he cleared his name and righted an egregious injustice.

He’d been railroaded. And the fallout dogged him to this day.

At the age of eighteen, he’d been sent to prison for five years. The cut on his forehead, from attempting to break up a knife fight, was only an external sign of the scars he bore. Following his release, he’d traced a fruitless odyssey in an attempt to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming an international reporter. Although he’d earned a journalism degree, his status as an ex-con had relegated his résumé to the bottom of every heap in a highly competitive field, and while he’d managed to sell some articles, they paid too little to live on. He’d spent years traveling and freelancing while working odd jobs, hoping for a break that never arrived.

He supposed he’d been lucky to inherit the editorship of the Downhome, Tennessee Gazette after his father’s death and mother’s disability. Nevertheless, he chafed at the tedium of covering city council meetings and town squabbles.

Although the residents generally accepted him, he still caught suspicious glances, and even the town’s new, fair-minded police chief had declined to reopen the case. The only people who believed in him were his mother and his sister, Karen, director of the local nursing home.

Barry would never truly fit into his hometown. He was moody and sharp-edged in a community full of cozy characters, the scar on his forehead a visible reminder of those years in hell. And no matter how his sister urged reconciliation, he refused to forgive the man whose testimony had sent him there, the man who’d once been his best friend.

Sonya gave the impression that, at some level, she’d undergone a devastating experience of her own. Not prison, surely. But for the first time in quite a while, he felt neither impatient nor caustic with a woman.

Curious, rather. And a little protective.

He stuck to her tail all the way to the fast-food hangout. From her irritated expression as she exited the car, she didn’t appreciate the interference.

An unaccustomed impishness propelled Barry to shout, “Hey! Thanks for showing me where to eat.”

Glaring toward his window, she snapped, “There are laws against stalking.”

He feigned innocence. “A guy’s gotta have dinner.”

“Use the drive-through lane. Stay away from me.” Her frown didn’t waver. “You set one foot inside that restaurant and I’m calling the cops. At a guess, that’s the kind of trouble you don’t need, right, Mr. Ex-Con?”

The rebuke stung. “Have it your way.”

Barry drove past, disappointed and angry that his well-intended gesture had met with such revulsion. Yet why was he so wound up about a woman he’d barely met?

He joined the drive-through line. In addition to burgers, the menu board listed several odd entries that some California maniac must have invented, like fish tacos with guacamole. For the heck of it, he ordered one.

While waiting, he reviewed the stories planned for next week’s Gazette. Via e-mail, he’d already filed an article about the Anaheim newspaper conference to his assistant, Brent Wichita. Today’s interview with a family who’d moved from Downhome to Fullerton remained on his tape recorder and camera. He planned to write it tonight at the hotel room.

The car ahead departed and Barry rolled to the cashier’s window. The opening gave a clear view of the restaurant’s interior, with orange booths crowded at this dinner hour.

“That’ll be three seventy-one,” said the cashier.

Barry handed over a five. Inside, he spotted Sonya at the counter. The sculpted eyebrows gave character to her heart-shaped face, and her full mouth pursed with worry.

Why did she care so much about Gina? They didn’t appear to be related, as he’d first assumed. Of course, a baby’s life might be at stake, and despite the girl’s bravado, she was young and confused.

He of all people ought to empathize. But Sonya had made it plain this was not Barry’s concern.

Good. He had enough problems without adding to them.

The cashier was handing him the order when, through the window, he saw three men in gang clothing enter the restaurant. One of them was Frankie.

Beside Sonya, Frankie leaned down and said something Barry couldn’t hear. Her face a frozen mask, Sonya shook her head.

The men left. Relieved, Barry collected his food and moved forward.

In the front lot, two of the men piled into a jalopy while Frankie strolled off. The vehicle backed into a slot right beside Sonya’s compact, easily identifiable by the hospital parking sticker.

Their actions gave Barry a bad feeling. Frankie had made tracks, probably because he already faced arrest for the earlier attempted robbery, leaving his buddies to wait.

What did they plan to do? Presumably, they’d already asked about Duke’s whereabouts. More alarmingly, they might assume Sonya had identified Frankie to the police. As he’d learned in prison, guys like this tended to exact revenge for the slightest offense.

He considered calling 911. The men hadn’t committed a crime yet, though, nor had Barry forgotten Sonya’s threat to report him for stalking.

He parked at one side and tried the fish taco, which wasn’t bad. He finished it in a few bites, although his ribs ached with every swallow.

Cars came and went. Busy joint for a Monday night. Barry kept hoping a cruiser might arrive unbidden and scare the guys off, but no such luck.

Sonya emerged at last. The two gangbangers eased out of the car.

As Barry weighed his response, an SUV blocked his view. Rap music pounded from the speakers, obliterating other sounds.

At last the SUV departed. In the spotty illumination, he saw Sonya struggling as the two men hauled her toward their vehicle. Despite the earlier activity, there was no one else around. Not a single witness except him.

Barry put the sedan into gear. Hitting both the gas and the horn, he screeched to within inches of the men’s bumper.

Startled, they released Sonya. As they reached inside their jackets, probably for weapons, he flicked up the car’s locks.

She grabbed for the door. Saw him, and hesitated.

“Get in!” he bellowed.

She had the sense to obey. Kept her head low, too. Smart lady.

Barry stomped the accelerator. “Hang on.”

They peeled out. Behind them, one thug stood waving a gun indecisively as the other dived into the jalopy.

“Phone the cops.” Barry zoomed onto a side street.

“Not until we find Gina.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! Those guys tried to kidnap you.”

“We can’t afford to delay.” She peered into the side mirror. “No sign of them.”

Although he suspected the men had been too disorganized to catch up, he took nothing for granted. “They could be planning to cut us off. You know the town. Tell me where to go.”

She guided him through a series of turns. Finally, it became clear they really weren’t being pursued.

Barry’s pulse still pounded with a mixture of excitement and fear. Beside him, he felt Sonya trembling.

“Cold? Rentals don’t come equipped with blankets, I’m afraid.” But most likely her shivers had another source. “That must have been a traumatic experience, two men grabbing you.”

“I’m fine.” She hugged herself. “Don’t worry. If I’m about to go into shock, I’ll recognize the symptoms.”

“Name three.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Confusion, clammy skin and dizziness. Also profuse sweating, a thready pulse, shallow breathing and chest pain.”

“Sure you didn’t omit anything?”

“Unconsciousness.”

He ought to let well enough alone, but that wasn’t Barry’s nature. “Still planning to report me as a stalker?”

In the lowering darkness, streetlights glittered off her large eyes. “Not if you behave.”

“How’m I doing so far?” When she hesitated, he added, “A little appreciation wouldn’t go amiss.”

She searched for a moment before coming up with, “Thank you. I was really in trouble.”

“You’re welcome.” They cruised a boulevard between rows of shops. His sister would have gone on a spree had she been with him, he mused, with so many art galleries and fine restaurants as well as boutiques offering clothing, antiques and furniture.

Sonya stared out. “I don’t dare go back for my car. I could use your help.” The request obviously didn’t come easily.

“And here I planned to spend a fascinating evening in a hotel room working on my laptop,” he joked.

“Sounds like a hot time.”

Barry enjoyed being around this sharp-edged woman. He had a fleeting image of her in bed, a high-voltage bundle of sexual impulses. Tantalizing. And dangerous to reflect on. “I’m at your disposal.”

“I apologize for threatening you earlier, Mr. Lowell.” She released a long breath. “Under normal circumstances, I don’t act that way.”

He stopped at a red light. “Nobody addresses me as Mr. Lowell except my lawyer, and I prefer to hear from him as little as possible.”

If he’d expected a smile, Sonya failed to comply. “Gina’s in labor. She’ll deliver tonight or tomorrow, and it’s not going to be pretty. Sorry, but I’ve temporarily lost my sense of humor.”

“I understand your concern, but you could have been killed,” he reminded her. “Other doctors don’t risk kidnappings and gunfights to pursue their patients. Why’s the girl so important?”

“A friend of mine died from a messed-up pregnancy when I was in high school.” With the back of her hand, she brushed aside a tear. “Those guys and their stupid argument over a debt! Can you believe them? As if it mattered!”

“It matters to them,” Barry noted. “I’ve seen men kill for less.”

In prison, he’d had to adapt to an entirely new culture, and fast. Fortunately, his fellow inmates had valued his help in writing pleas for money, visits and retrials. Although his balancing act hadn’t always worked—witness the scar—he’d mostly managed to stay on the right side of the various factions.

Her hands clenched. “Just help me find Gina, okay?”

“Sure thing.” He entertained no illusions about where he stood. If he got in the way of Dr. Vega’s rescue attempt, she’d sacrifice him without a qualm. Okay, maybe with a slight qualm.

The journey might be worth his while, though. He’d like to find out what knife had twisted inside Sonya’s gut to make her so guarded. And he wouldn’t object to saving a life or two, either.

Thank goodness word of his soft side wasn’t likely to travel back home. He’d hate to ruin his reputation as a curmudgeon.

When the light changed and Barry started forward, Sonya grabbed the edge of her seat. Startled, he looked for whatever had frightened her, but saw only a placid flow of traffic. “Does my driving bother you?”

She released her grip. “I was in a bad accident a couple of years ago. We got hit without warning.”

That might explain the darkness he sensed. “We? Was someone killed?”

“No. The other motorist had a few bruises, and I went to the hospital for several weeks. The man I…the driver in my car emerged just peachy.”

He noted the hesitation in reference to her male companion. A key to the past, indeed. “You recovered.”

“It took a while.”

He had a good grasp of the arduous process involved in physical therapy. “Something similar happened to my mother. A tractor smashed into her car and left her a paraplegic.” She’d been on the way home from conducting an interview at dusk. In the aftermath, Barry had moved home to take over the family paper.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Sonya asked.

“No. The farmer got off without a scratch, and Mom was alone in the car.” Although her injuries restricted her ability to write, Barry treasured the insightful articles she still occasionally contributed to the Gazette. “I’m glad you survived in one piece.”

Sonya tapped the dashboard. “We have to figure out where they’ve gone.”

He refocused on their target: a pregnant girl about to give birth. “If she’s in labor, why not a hospital?”

“Her idiot boyfriend has convinced Gina that childbirth is a natural process, which I guess means she’s supposed to drop the baby in the field. In truth, I think he wants to keep her under his thumb.”

She continued explaining as Barry navigated the busy downtown. Apparently, Duke was a drug user and occasional dealer who’d run afoul of several suppliers, including Frankie. He moved frequently and never left a forwarding address.

The doctor got busy instant-messaging Gina’s friends. She was too thin, Barry thought, stealing a sideways glance. Worried too much, didn’t eat properly and worked long hours, he guessed.

While scanning the sidewalk on the off chance that Gina was simply wandering through the area, he mulled her options. What about a midwife? A few years ago, his community had lost both its doctors, a married couple, when they’d retired. Until a new physician had arrived, a registered nurse midwife named Estelle Fellows had handled routine cases and referred complicated pregnancies to specialists in a nearby town.

Sonya checked her cell phone and registered dismay. “Nobody’s heard a word.”

Barry slowed as he spotted two young women walking together. One was pregnant but, on closer inspection, bore little resemblance to Gina. “Maybe she’s consulting a midwife.”

“Licensed midwives around here are usually affiliated with medical groups. When she passed her due date and skipped an appointment, I put out word she’s missing and possibly in danger. If she shows up at one of them or at a hospital, I’m hoping we’ll get a request for medical records and our staff will page me.”

“Very efficient.” Barry considered it reassuring that the institutions in highly populated Orange County at least cooperated. “Does she remain your patient?”

“That’s up to her. She has the right to choose her physician. All I care about is that she receives proper treatment.” Leaning against the seat cushion, she rested her eyes.

“On your feet all day?” Barry hazarded.

“Eight deliveries.”

He whistled and waited for further comment. No elaboration. She was a woman of few words, unlike his sister, who could argue him to a standstill.

What about an alternative healer, someone isolated from medical authorities? “There might be an unlicensed midwife,” he suggested.

Sonya sat up straighter. “I should have thought of that! There’s a woman named Lourdes Garcia who delivers babies with no red tape. I met her once when she brought a woman to the hospital in an emergency.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Mrs. Garcia is smart enough to recognize when she’s in over her head.”

The implicit contradiction aroused Barry’s curiosity. “If she’s operating illegally, why hasn’t she been arrested?”

“A lot of undocumented immigrants in Southern California are scared of authorities. I’d certainly prefer that mothers employ Mrs. Garcia rather than give birth unaided.” Sonya took out a personal organizer, apparently seeking a phone number.

“Got an idea where she works?”

“Usually, she goes to patients’ residences, if they have one. But it’s possible Gina’s girlfriend knows where she lives. Hold on.” After dialing, she spoke tersely and listened for a minute, then hung up. “Okay, I’ve got the address. Turn right at the next corner.”

He followed directions as she guided him through Fullerton, her small body leaning as if to urge greater speed. Eagerness must have displaced her fear of an accident.

“I’ve met some dedicated physicians, but none as involved as you. Don’t you have a private life, Doc?” he queried as he drove.

“Why should you care?” she snapped.

“I’m insatiably curious. It’s one of my finer characteristics.”

“Oh? What are your less pleasant ones?” She indicated an upcoming turnoff. “Right at the real-estate office.”

They veered onto a side street. “I’m antisocial. Hate small talk. Crabby. Sometimes forget to shower on deadline.”

“Women must adore you in—where did you say you’re from?”

They reached a modest residential street lined with cottages and a few duplexes. Across the way, an elderly man walked a dog. On the corner, a couple of kids dodged and squealed as they zapped each other with Silly String.

“Tennessee,” Barry answered. “A town named—”

“There!” she broke in. “The blue house, third from the corner. That’s Duke’s van in front. Obviously, they’ve joined forces again.” As he eased toward the curb, she added, “Don’t stop here. They might get suspicious.”

He found a spot three houses down. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m going in alone.” She started out.

“Whoa.” Barry touched her shoulder. It felt delicate beneath his large hand, and her loose hair played across his wrist. “I’m coming, too.”

“No way. You look like a narc.”

“I’ll get rid of the jacket.” He released her. “Don’t you think I’ve earned a little trust?”

Her expression softened. “You want the truth? I’m scared to march in there by myself. But we can’t force Gina to leave, and I’m having a hard enough time winning her cooperation as it is. I have to handle this alone.”

Barry hated to think of her getting hurt. “This guy Duke seems possessive. He might turn violent.”

She bristled. “Hey, Mr. Reporter, do you have fantasies of playing the hero? Because like I told you, I prefer to handle this solo.”

Only a macho jerk would insist on running the show. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

Her appreciative smile vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “You’ve done your good deed. I’ll have an ambulance transport us to the med center, or get a cab if she refuses. Go home. I don’t want to get used to anyone watching over me.”

She exited abruptly. Her pace along the sidewalk quickened to a near run.

That was odd phrasing. I don’t want to get used to anyone watching over me. As if she feared her own weakness. Preposterous. Barry had never met a person less weak-minded than Sonya.

He supposed he ought to comply with her wishes. Drive to the hotel, throw the remainder of his belongings into a suitcase for the flight tomorrow and spend the rest of the evening writing the tale of ex-townsfolk who’d migrated to the land of overpriced cottages and Mickey Mouse.

But he suspected he’d have trouble concentrating while his thoughts lingered on a brittle woman who’d inexplicably touched his heart. A woman with a determined jut to her chin and, he suspected, heartbreak in her past.

In the rearview mirror, he watched her ascend a roofed porch. A pause, and someone admitted her. Gone. At risk, and not a darn thing he could do about it.

He decided to stick around, just in case.

The man with the dog had vanished. The shrieking kids ran out of string and slammed their way into a house. Long minutes ticked by.

Sonya didn’t emerge. She’d have to assess the situation and persuade the girl and Duke, possibly enlist the midwife’s support. Ten, fifteen minutes at least.

Barry flipped through radio stations and listened to a couple of songs. Then he found an all-news station from L.A., but it was broadcasting the same reports he’d heard earlier in the day.

This was taking too long.

Dr. Sonya Vega might put rescuing a patient above her safety, but he didn’t. A covert glance through a window ought to lay his concerns to rest. Then he’d leave peacefully, with no one the wiser.

After exiting the car, he made his way toward the house. Heavy curtains blocked the front windows, so he circled through a side yard past a couple of garbage cans.

The kitchen entrance stood ajar. Barry surmised someone had been interrupted while taking out the trash.

Nevertheless, entering without permission constituted trespassing. He’d gone to great lengths to avoid trouble in the ten years since his release, aware of how easily an ex-con could land behind bars. Both Tennessee and California had three-strikes laws, which also carries harsh penalties for a second felony, and if his presence was misunderstood, a burglary conviction would put him away for a long time.

Maybe he should mind his own business, despite the fact that retreat ran counter to his instincts. Walk away and never look back.

Then, inside the house, a woman screamed.

Chapter Three

Standing on the porch, Sonya was relieved when Lourdes Garcia herself opened the door. It had crossed her mind, after she’d so blithely dismissed Barry, that the midwife might have moved. Or might refuse to let her in.

On the woman’s round face, relief warred with anxiety. “Doctor, please hurry!”

The long room across the front of the house resembled a makeshift infirmary. Obviously, the woman treated clients here more often than Sonya had realized.

To her right, empty couches and plastic resin chairs faced a TV set in an overstuffed living room that probably doubled as a waiting area. To her left, two cots were wedged into the dining area, where a wheeled cart held basic obstetrical equipment including medication and syringes, baby scales, plastic sheets and clean towels, and a device for reading blood pressure.

The sole patient, Gina, lay across a cot with a cold cloth on her forehead. Duke must have hidden when the bell rang, either in a hallway or via a swinging door that Sonya assumed led to the kitchen.

Mrs. Garcia gestured toward the girl. “Her blood pressure is too high. She jumps when I touch her. Must go to hospital.”

“How high’s the pressure?”

“One-forty over ninety.”

That alarmed Sonya, as did the hyperreflexivity, a sign of eclampsia. “How frequent are the contractions?”

“Four minutes.” Good. That meant delivery could still be hours away.

“Have her waters broken?” A negative response. That was good, too. “Other symptoms?”

“Headache. Also, her eyes hurt.”

“Everything’s blurry,” Gina broke in, near hysteria. “My head’s splitting. What’s wrong, Dr. Vega?”

“You have a condition related to your high blood pressure. I explained earlier that this could happen. If we don’t get you to the hospital, it could be very, very dangerous.” To Lourdes she said, “She hasn’t suffered any seizures?”

“No, no, thank the Lord.”

An angry male voice interrupted. “She’s fine.” Duke appeared in the hallway, a knife in one hand. “Deliver the baby and quit fussing.”

“She could die. I’m calling an ambulance.” Sonya took out her cell.

“Put it down!” Angry, jittery, clearly suffering from drug withdrawal, he thrust the knife toward her. It barely missed her arm.

Sonya jerked back. Unwillingly, she folded away her cell. In the throes of a drug craving, he might kill her and scarcely remember it.

“Duke, I’m scared,” Gina wailed. “My head hurts and…oh, no!” She swore mightily as a contraction hit.

Lourdes rushed to her side, giving instructions on how to breathe to distract from the pain. Sonya attached a blood-pressure cuff and took a reading.

Labor had worsened the pressure. Even in an operating room, there was a possibility the girl might suffer a stroke or other deadly complications. “You have no idea how serious her situation is.”

Duke’s lip curled. “You have no idea how serious I am, Doc.”

Sonya couldn’t stand by any longer. “If you don’t want to be involved, then leave.” Into her phone, she tapped 911. “I’m not letting my patient die to suit your ego.”

From the device, a dispatcher’s voice announced, “Police and fire emergency.”

Sonya barely had time to shout the address before the man lunged at her. Gina screamed.

Desperately, Sonya searched the medicine cart for a weapon. A cord scissors fit into her hand. Terrified, knowing the instrument was inadequate, she waved it in front of her.

In that instant, someone shoved the kitchen door outward and Duke turned in a flash. Barry! Thank God he’d come.

The thug dived forward. Barry kicked his wrist and sent the knife skittering, then tackled his opponent.

The two of them skidded across the floor. With a crunch, Duke’s head smacked the wall. As he lay dazed, Barry twisted his arms behind him.

Sonya spoke into the phone. “This is Dr. Sonya Vega. We have a medical emergency. And we need the police.” She repeated the address.

On Barry’s face, she read a mixture of dismay and understanding. He didn’t relish the prospect of dealing with law enforcement again, but someone had to take custody of Duke.

Gina gasped. Another contraction, so soon? Sonya could only pray that intervention would arrive in time.

MIDNIGHT WAS APPROACHING when Sonya finished the C-section and sent Gina to the recovery room. The young mother had pulled through surgery without difficulty and, after holding her baby for a long, joyful moment, was sleeping deeply. Baby Girl Lenox weighed a healthy seven pounds eight ounces, had good color and showed excellent reflexes.

In the maternity waiting room, Sonya explained about the night’s events to Gina’s mother and stepfather. “I hate that boy!” her mom, a fortyish woman named Alana Martin, declared when Sonya had finished.

“He’s facing charges of assault,” she assured the couple. “Gina swears she’s finished with him.”

Duke’s willingness to jeopardize her life had apparently removed the young woman’s blinders. Maybe she finally understood that he was incapable of loving anyone.

“We’ve arranged for her to stay with my sister in Oregon, if she agrees,” Alana went on. “Mary would like to adopt the baby, but even if Gina decides to keep her, she can stay as long as she wishes.”

Adopt the baby. Sonya felt a twinge of envy. Oh, how she’d love to be the one…but getting involved on a personal level with a patient would violate her professional ethics. Besides, she was in no position to adopt. Not yet.

When? asked a small inner voice.

Tonight had shifted Sonya’s priorities, she realized with a start. She’d discovered at the gut level that life might end at any moment. After she’d been held hostage, nearly kidnapped and attacked with a knife, putting her dreams on indefinite hold seemed an unbearable prospect.

She wanted…well, more than she had any reason to expect. For two years, she hadn’t let a man close in any sense, yet tonight she’d found herself drawn to a stranger.

And the way she’d isolated herself, far from family, too overworked even to think about adopting—she couldn’t go on like that. She had to start living while she had the chance.

At the moment, however, she was in no position to contemplate specifics. “Your granddaughter should be available for viewing in the nursery once the pediatrician finishes his exam. Or you can return in the morning. You must be tired.”

The stepfather stifled a yawn. After a glance at his eager wife, however, he volunteered. “We’ll stay here.”

What a good husband, especially considering he might have to work in the morning. Where did a woman find a guy like that?

“Congratulations,” Sonya added.

“We’re deeply grateful,” the fellow said.

“And thrilled!” his wife added.

Sonya had collected her purse and was on the way out before she remembered that she’d left her car at the burger joint. She proceeded to the nearly empty lobby, one of the few spots in the hospital that permitted cell-phone use, and was about to dial a cab company, when a tall figure uncoiled from a seat.

Barry Lowell greeted her with a crooked grin. “Care for a ride?”

Rumpled suit. Dark stubble sprouting on his jaw. She felt an uncharacteristic impulse to rub her palm across his cheek.

He must be crazy to stick around, especially after the trouble she’d put him through. Yet having him here felt wonderful. She couldn’t resist a knight in shining armor, especially one who’d saved her life more than once tonight. He’d also waited for hours in what had to be the world’s most boring lobby.

She’d wondered where a woman found a guy like this. Well, she’d just stumbled across one. What was holding her back?

“I’d love a ride.” She smiled with pure gratitude. “If you’re sure?”

“I didn’t hang around all evening to admire the decor,” he said wryly.

She accompanied him toward the front entrance, grateful for his strength. “I can’t believe you gave up your sleep simply to do me a favor.”

“I’m used to pulling all-nighters.”

“Me, too.” An ob-gyn had to be able to subsist on catnaps.

“Besides, I wanted to hear how the whole thing came out.” He regarded her inquiringly.

“Gina’s fine. So’s the baby.”

“Mission accomplished.” He adjusted his long stride to her shorter one, limping a little, perhaps from the blow he’d suffered at the park. The struggle at the midwife’s house must have hurt like fire.

Sonya hoped he’d had a doctor examine the damage while she’d been in surgery. But if he hadn’t chosen to, she didn’t intend to volunteer. Suggesting he remove his shirt might raise possibilities she wasn’t ready to explore.

The double doors opened automatically. Outside, a chilly spring breeze made her shiver. “Cold?” Barry asked.

“Not very.”

“My jacket’s available.”

She experienced a hunger to be surrounded by fabric bearing his scent and his warmth. Bad idea. “Really, I’m fine.”

“I’ll crank up the heater. Hey, how often do you get to use those things in Southern California?” He appeared remarkably cheerful. Clearly a night person.

“Fairly often, after dark.” Just thinking about the chill made Sonya begin shivering in earnest. Inside the car, waiting for the blast of the heater, she recognized that her reaction didn’t stem entirely from the temperature.

She kept visualizing the glimmer of a knife and hearing Duke’s threats. Just before the police had arrived at Mrs. Garcia’s, he’d sworn to get revenge on Sonya for interfering. Thank goodness he was locked up.

But for how long? Once he learned Gina had flown the coop in earnest, he’d be doubly infuriated, which made Fullerton potentially a very dangerous place.

Not tonight, though. Not with Barry beside her.

“You okay?” He upped the heater another notch.

“Delayed reaction.” She forced the violent images from her thoughts. “I expect I’ll have nightmares. Par for the course.” After the accident, they’d haunted her for months. “I’d rather not have to go through therapy again.” Although she’d found it helpful, her practical nature hated devoting so many hours to her own problems.

“Many people recommend it,” he advised. “Personally, I prefer getting even.”

The remark startled a laugh from her. “I like your style.” After providing directions in case he’d forgotten the restaurant’s location, she added, “Did the police hassle you?” She’d left with the ambulance while Barry had been suffering through yet another interview

“Happily, no.” He adjusted the vents to send more heat in her direction. “Guess they didn’t check me out too thoroughly, or maybe they don’t have access to out-of-state records. I’m glad they left Mrs. Garcia alone, too. Think they’ll pester her later?”

The situation could prove delicate. “They can hardly ignore the fact that she’s operating an illegal clinic in her house. They’ll have to include it in their report.”

“Do you suppose she’ll be charged?” He sounded a little angry. But then, the prospect of the midwife’s being arrested disturbed Sonya, too.

“Since no one was hurt, it should be treated as a misdemeanor. The sentence may be suspended if she agrees to stop practicing.” Ironically, Sonya reflected, California law allowed a woman to give birth attended by an untrained friend or relative, but not by a woman like Lourdes.

“She certainly doesn’t belong in jail.” Barry fell silent, staring through the windshield into the dark.

Sonya wished he’d say what he’d been convicted of, but, since he didn’t, she considered it rude to ask. Probably ancient history, and besides, he’d proved his true worth tonight.

A single street lamp illuminated the exterior of the restaurant. The lot was empty except for her compact, and the windows had gone dark.

Barry halted. “I’ll wait till you get it started.”

“I’m grateful. You’re quite a gentleman.” Despite the absence of a ring, she supposed he might have a girlfriend or a wife. “The lady in your life had better appreciate it.”

“The only ladies in my life are my sister and my mother.”

She felt a ridiculous jolt of pleasure. For heaven’s sake, their acquaintance was to last at most another minute, Sonya mused as she got out.

When her feet hit the pavement, her knees went wobbly. A powerful sense memory swept over her of rough arms, dragging her.

She clung to the side of the sedan. If only her legs would stop shaking! She hated this weakness.

A door slammed and Barry strode around. His arms surrounded her.

“Panic attack,” she mumbled against his chest, and tried to declare that it was already past. Too bad the clattering teeth gave her away.

“I’m surprised you held up this long.” His baritone soothed the tremors. “Get back in and I’ll drive you home. You can collect your car in the morning.”

“They might tow it.”

“We’ll leave a note.” From an inside pocket, he retrieved a pad and jotted Medical emergency. Will return in the a.m. He stuck the note beneath the wipers. “If you drive in this condition, you’ll cause an accident. Which, I gather, is yet another trauma you should avoid.”

He was right. Sonya huddled into her seat. “Sorry for acting like a wimp.”

Barry took the wheel. “Are you kidding? You went through hell for that girl.”

“I’d do it again.”

“Not tonight you won’t.”

After explaining how to reach her condo, Sonya closed her eyes and luxuriated in the illusion of being cherished and cosseted. Having Barry drop into her world just when she needed him was an amazing fantasy.

A man who understood her implicitly. A man she would never have to tell about her inability to bear a child because he’d be flying across the country and out of her life tomorrow.

Cocooned in the car, she released her anxiety. Perhaps because the moment seemed divorced from reality, a sense of euphoria replaced her fears and worries. A trick of the mind, no doubt, in reaction to the unexpected support, but hey, it beat taking Valium.

The condo complex lay silent in the moonlight. Barry escorted her along a walkway lined with white-flowered bushes.

“Is that jasmine?” He indicated the landscaping. “The scent’s overpowering.”

She inhaled deeply. “Jazmín,” she confirmed, instinctively pronouncing it haz-MEEN.

“Is Spanish your native language?” He waited as she stopped outside the unit and fumbled for a key.

“I’m bilingual. My parents are from Costa Rica. They were little when their families fled, though, so they grew up here, and so did I.” She found the key in a side compartment.

“Fled?” he queried. “Costa Rica doesn’t sound like a place you’d want to run away from.”

“There was a revolt about fifty years ago. Both sets of grandparents were forced into exile.” Her world history classes hadn’t mentioned the event, but it certainly mattered to her family. “The U.S. granted them asylum.”

“Did they ever go back?”

“Only to visit. They brought me with them when I was about ten. I remember beautiful beaches and a bustling marketplace. And friendly people.” She eased inside. Barry hesitated only a beat before accepting her unspoken invitation.

Inviting a man into her home at this hour might not be the wisest choice. With her mood elevated, however, Sonya didn’t see the harm.

A lamp brought out the room’s intense hues: pumpkin walls, a blue sofa with patterned cushions and a framed red-and-orange weaving above the corner desk. The intensity energized her.

“Whoa!” Barry pretended to shade his eyes.

“I’m going to rustle up an omelet. Care for some?” Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d grown.

“Sure. Can I help?” He tossed off the question as if accustomed to accompanying women into kitchens. Perhaps he was.

At the restaurant, Sonya’s mother had supervised the cuisine while her father had run the service operation. As for Reuben, he wouldn’t have dreamed of offering to cook. Yet Barry struck her as genuinely interested in helping. “Well, sure.”

He caught her off guard a second time by rinsing the breakfast dishes in the sink and loading them into the dishwasher. As she pulled a bowl and a frying pan from beneath the counter, Sonya was surprised to find him so domestic.

He joined her at the refrigerator to study the contents. Although they didn’t touch, her body registered his sheltering nearness with pleasure.

“Potatoes.” He indicated a bag in a lower bin. “Those would fry up nicely.”

“I wasn’t planning to fix an entire meal,” she protested.

“I’ll do it.”

She met his amused gaze. He’d assumed she would understand what he meant.

“This ought to be interesting.” Sonya retrieved the ingredients she’d sought: eggs, milk, jalapeños, cheese and mushrooms.

In addition to the potatoes, Barry fetched olive oil, garlic salt and a couple of onions from the cupboard. After tossing his coat across a chair, he found a peeler and got down to business. They worked side by side, him at the cutting board and her setting up by the stove.

He stripped away the skins with practiced speed. The possibility that he’d been assigned to a prison kitchen crossed Sonya’s mind. Again, she dismissed any such discussion as disrespectful of him.

“What’s your kitchen like at home?” she asked, instead.

“Large and old-fashioned. My sister and I share a house.” He didn’t appear to resent her curiosity. “Mostly we eat carryout or Karen fixes dinner, but once in a while the spirit moves me to get creative.” A peeling landed on his shirt. He plucked it off, leaving a damp spot.

“Aprons. I should have thought of that sooner.” From a drawer, Sonya produced a pair of large ones. She set a red-and-white check beside him on the counter and adjusted the pink flowered one over her top and jeans. “Do you do laundry, too, or foist that on your sister?”

He rinsed a couple of spuds, splattering water on his shirt in the process. “She’d skewer me if I tried. Would you mind putting that on me? My hands are dirty.”

She’d never tied an apron on another person before, Sonya mused as she assessed the logistics. “You’ll have to bend a little.” When he complied, she slipped the upper loop over his head and let the apron fall in front.

Reaching for the strings required putting her arms around him. A large, hard-muscled shape filled Sonya’s grasp, and she hesitated to let go. Not only because she’d missed holding a man, but because Barry simply felt right.

Then she heard his breath catch. If she wasn’t careful, she might inspire a thoroughly male reaction that she didn’t intend.

Or did she?

Sonya tied the ribbons, grateful that he couldn’t see her flushed face. “That ought to do the trick.”

“Thanks for the personal service.” A dry attempt at humor.

She got busy cracking eggs, her arms humming with the feel of him. When she adopted children, she vowed, she was going to hug their wiggly little bodies all day. But kids weren’t what she ached for right now.

Barry progressed from peeling to cutting up the vegetables. “May I borrow a jalapeño?”

She handed him one. “That’s an interesting recipe.”

“I’m inventing as I go.” He examined the spuds in front of him. “Hmm. Little red spots.”

What spots? At this late hour, they might be an optical disturbance. “You should sit down.”

“I meant, I’m visualizing them. What am I thinking of? Pimientos!”

She smiled at her goof. “Try the pantry.”

Barry returned with two small jars containing pimientos and capers. “A south-of-the-border theme.”

“Capers are more French or Italian than Latino,” she noted.

“My mother’s of French descent. Okay, it’s a multicultural dish.” He heated oil in a pan and transferred the ingredients before washing up. “This will take longer than the omelets. You should wait a few minutes.”

“I’ll set the table.” Sonya removed two plates from a cabinet. The motion tipped her off balance, right into Barry.

Two large hands clasped her waist and his breath tickled her neck. She wished he’d turn her around, lower his mouth and drive caution away.

Instead, he released her. A Southern gentleman, unfortunately.

She didn’t have the nerve to admit how much she wanted the embrace to continue. That could lead only one place, and she had better judgment. But almost wished she didn’t.

“Sorry I’m so clumsy.” After transferring the plates to the table, she arranged napkins from a basket.

Barry studied her. “You don’t have to apologize. Just send clear messages, okay? Whatever suits you is okay with me.”

How could she send clear messages with her impulses in conflict? “I’m so off-kilter I’m not sure what I mean.”

“Given my record, I have to be careful not to misinterpret. So I’ll follow your lead.” He was in dead earnest.

He’d hit the ball into her court. Lob it back. Kiss him. Then what? Go to bed with a stranger?

A sizzling noise distracted Sonya. “The potatoes!”

Barry grabbed a spatula and flipped them. The bottoms had gone dark brown. “Another minute and I’d have let you down.”

“Let me down?” Sonya activated the burner under her pan.

“I promised to help with the meal,” he clarified.

“We could always pick the unburnt parts off the top.”

He grinned. “There’s a girl after my own heart.”

For reasons that didn’t bear examining, she hoped so.

She tended her pans in silence, keenly aware of the narrow space between them. Sonya wished he’d talk more about what he did in—where had he said? Tallahassee? The questions that popped into her mind, however, were inane: So tell me, are your palm trees taller than our palm trees? Do you get a lot of hurricanes? How’s the humidity in Florida?

At last they switched off the burners beneath the crisp potatoes and appetizing omelet. Sonya could almost taste the spicy aromas as they carried large servings to the table.

She sampled the potatoes first. “This is fabulous. You just woke up my taste buds.”

He’d started with her creation. “Your eggs beat anything at Tacos and Burgers, I guarantee you.” Indicating the plate, he added, “Folding an omelet this neatly is an art form.”

“I learned from my parents. They used to run a restaurant.” She lifted another large forkful of potatoes.

“Glad you’re not a picky eater.”

“Surgery always works up an appetite.” Physical activity didn’t stimulate her hunger nearly as much as the intense mental effort.

“I like a woman with passion.” He dug in, leaving the double entendre hanging in midair.

She decided not to touch it. Besides, she was eager to hear more about his world. “How long have you worked at the newspaper?”

“Six years, since my mother’s accident. She was the editor. I’m the only other remaining journalist in the family, so I replaced her.”

“The only other remaining journalist?” The phrase struck her as odd.

“My father used to edit the paper. He died while I was in prison.” For an instant, Barry grew cold and distant, a glimpse of an alternate self. The loss must have hit him hard. Then he shrugged. “I was lucky to find a job in my field.”

“You’re both a reporter and an editor?”

A nod. “It’s great not having anyone with veto power over what I write. Leaves me free to needle public officials and deflate the arrogant, although they show an incredible talent for reinflating.”

She could tell he enjoyed the subject. “You’re lucky to have found your niche.”

“I can’t complain.” Upon reflection, he amended, “Yes, I can. My dream was to establish myself as an international correspondent or an investigative reporter. I still fantasize about setting the world on fire—not that it’s likely to happen.”

“What’s stopping you?”

The hardness returned. “Lack of a portfolio, and a little something called a criminal record.”

“You don’t have to be an angel to work as a foreign correspondent.” She recalled movie images of seedy types in dinner jackets, lounging in tropical bars. Barry would look incredibly sexy in an outfit like that. A woman might be tempted to seduce him out of it.

“Anyone can call himself a reporter and post stories on the Internet,” came the reply, mercifully short-circuiting her thoughts. “I’m both more practical and more egotistical, which means I’d like a real news organization behind me, along with a paycheck. So far I haven’t come close to getting hired.”

“You should go for it anyway.” Sonya had no right to give advice, she supposed. “Sorry. I’m sure you’ve reviewed all the angles.”

“Yes. Besides, I’ve got a few things to prove down home.” Scooting away from the table, he transferred the dishes to the counter.

Meal over. Time to go.

She didn’t want him to. Especially not when he’d just turned stiff and remote again. He deserved a happier ending to the evening.

“In my book, you’re a hero,” she told Barry. “Sorry I forgot to mention that earlier.”

“Glad we both lived to tell the tale.” In the sink, he filled the pans with water. “These should soak.”

“Thanks.”

Watchfulness, ruefulness, resignation—she read those emotions on his face as he removed the apron and picked up his jacket. He’d earned so much more, and suddenly she yearned to share the sense of trust and closeness he inspired. Even if it only lasted for one night.

“Don’t go.” Her words stilled his movements.

“Be careful what you ask for.” He waited. I’ll follow your lead.

Sonya rose. “For once in our lives, let’s do what we want. No strings and no regrets.” In case that wasn’t clear enough, she added, “Make love to me.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” he answered, and drew Sonya into the powerful, hungry embrace she’d been longing for all evening.

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