In a Heartbeat

Hannah said. “Mr. Man is here.”

Caleb McMann, Erica’s own personal version of Mr. Rogers in the neighborhood, stood holding a tray with three tall glasses of pink lemonade.

However, Mr. Rogers would never appear shirtless, nor would he look as good as Caleb did at the moment. Caleb, with his expanse of tanned, muscled chest and a flirtatious smattering of dark chest hair, banished all pretense of relaxation.

This man is dangerous, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her head. He was temptation to all the things Erica had put behind her, all the emotions she’d sworn she’d never feel again. He was a man to be avoided at all costs.

What was he doing here? Why did he seem so intent on being friendly with her, popping in and out of her house, fixing sinks, building tree houses, bearing doughnuts and lemonade?

What did he want from her?

Dear Reader,

Once again Intimate Moments is offering you six exciting and romantic reading choices, starting with Rogue’s Reform by perennial reader favorite Marilyn Pappano. This latest title in her popular HEARTBREAK CANYON miniseries features a hero who’d spent his life courting trouble—until he found himself courting the lovely woman carrying his child after one night of unforgettable passion.

Award-winner Kathleen Creighton goes back INTO THE HEARTLAND with The Cowboy’s Hidden Agenda, a compelling tale of secret identity and kidnapping—and an irresistible hero by the name of Johnny Bronco. Carla Cassidy’s In a Heartbeat will have you smiling through tears. In other words, it provides a perfect emotional experience. In Anything for Her Marriage, Karen Templeton proves why readers look forward to her books, telling a tale of a pregnant bride, a marriage of convenience and love that knows no limits. With Every Little Thing Linda Winstead Jones makes a return to the line, offering a romantic and suspenseful pairing of opposites. Finally, welcome Linda Castillo, who debuts with Remember the Night. You’ll certainly remember her and be looking forward to her return.

Enjoy—and come back next month for still more of the best and most exciting romantic reading around, available every month only in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

In a Heartbeat

Carla Cassidy

This book is dedicated to my mother,

who, despite her own heart condition,

has lived her life with courage and humor

and has filled my life with love.

Thanks, Mom,

for being a woman I not only love

but also admire with all my heart.

CARLA CASSIDY

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

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

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Prologue

“Mr. McMann! Wait.”

Caleb turned to see the doorman hurrying toward him, a large package in the man’s arms. “Evening, Ricky,” Caleb replied.

The young man flashed Caleb a friendly smile. “How you doing, sir? Haven’t seen you around much these past few months.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of traveling. But, as always, it’s good to get home.” Caleb punched the elevator button.

“It’s nice to have you back.” Ricky held out the package. “This came for you today.”

“Thanks.” The elevator dinged and the door swooshed open. With a parting nod to Ricky, Caleb stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that would take him to his penthouse apartment.

As the elevator carried him up, he looked at the return label on the brown wrapped package. It was from his aunt Fanny. He groaned inwardly. No telling what it contained.

Old age had given Fanny a dose of senility marked by occasional moments of semi-clarity. And in those moments she often sent a gift to her favorite nephew. Sometimes extravagant, sometimes inexpensive, the gifts were almost always utterly useless and often just plain odd.

He shifted the package from one arm to the other as he unlocked his apartment door. There was no sense of welcome as he entered the elegant suite. He’d lived here for almost nine months, but had done almost nothing to make the place his own. It was as sterile and impersonal as the hotel rooms he stayed in while traveling.

He tossed the package on the sofa, then went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. As he walked back toward the living room he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar.

Sinking onto the sofa, he opened his beer, took a deep swallow, then leaned back and sighed in exhaustion. It felt as if he’d been on the run forever, looking over building sites, supervising construction, fighting with zoning commissions, and cursing inclement weather conditions.

He had huge jobs going on in a dozen states, had made more money in the last year than he’d ever spend in his lifetime. But tonight, he was just plain tired…tired of flights, tired of strange motel rooms, tired of work and all the hassles that came with being the owner of a multimillion-dollar construction company.

He finished his beer and returned to the kitchen for a second one. The empty apartment seemed to close in on him, and the silence became suffocating.

Back on the sofa he jabbed the button on the remote to turn on the television, welcoming the white noise that filled the stifling void.

Twisting off the top of the new beer, he eyed the package next to him, trying to guess what Fanny might have sent him. Her last gift had been an ashtray in the shape of a football stadium. Caleb had never smoked in his life.

He set his beer on the coffee table and picked up the package. It took him only seconds to rip away the brown wrapping paper and reveal a plain white oblong box. He pulled off the lid and gently shoved aside the pale pink tissue paper.

His breath hissed inward as he stared at the porcelain-faced, ruffle-clad doll with painted features and long, golden curls. Scarcely breathing, Caleb picked up the card that rested near the doll’s feet.

A birthday card.

For Katie.

Katie Rose McMann’s birthday was in two days. She would have been seven.

If she hadn’t died.

His crazy aunt Fanny had remembered Katie’s birthday, but had somehow forgotten that she’d passed away nine months before.

A burst of laughter exploded from Caleb’s lips, hysterical laughter that turned into a deep, wrenching sob.

He swallowed against it, fighting for control. He’d done so well. For the past nine months he’d managed to keep command over his emotions, but he felt his control slipping away as another sob choked in his throat.

He stood abruptly, the doll sliding from his lap, banging into the table and tipping over his beer bottle. He had to go…had to escape…had to get away from the dark despair that suddenly blinded him, threatened to paralyze him…threatened to consume him.

Katie. Her name reverberated in his brain, bringing with it a vision of her beloved face. That funny little grin, those bright blue eyes, the mop of golden curls and the chubby cheeks that made her appear half cherub, half pixie.

He stumbled to the French doors that led out onto a balcony. Air. He needed air. God…he couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? What was wrong with him?

But he knew. Grief. He’d been running away from it for the last nine months, but now it had found him. It ripped at him, tore at his insides and he gripped his head with his hands as inchoate moans escaped him.

He stepped outside into the cool air. “Katie.” Her name began as a wail, then swelled inside him until he was screaming it over and over again, sobs shaking him as the night wind blew the sound of her name away.

He screamed her name until it was nothing more than a hoarse whisper of anguish. If only he hadn’t been in such a hurry that day. If only he’d made certain her seat belt was fastened. If only he’d been able to evade the truck that appeared out of nowhere and slammed into their car. But all the if-onlys in the world didn’t matter now. Katie was gone and nothing would ever bring her back again.

Carelessness had killed her. The carelessness of a tired truck driver, and Caleb’s own negligence had killed his baby girl.

He crumbled to the ground, his head bowed to his knees as tears blinded him. Never again would he hold her in his arms, smell the sweet scent of sunshine and bubble bath.

Never again would he see that special little smile, hear the childish giggles that had always made him grin despite his mood. And never again would he feel her warm little arms around his neck, hear her whisper in that beloved young voice, “I love you, Daddy Doodle.”

Grief could kill a man. Caleb knew he had to be dying. The pain in his heart was too great to bear, the emptiness in his soul too abysmal to survive.

It was said that people were never given more burdens than they could handle…but somewhere a mistake had been made. There had been too much loss in Caleb’s life. He’d grieved when his wife had died five years ago, but the grief had been necessarily short-lived. He’d had two-year-old Katie to raise, to nurture and love.

But this…this loss of his child was too much to bear. He wasn’t strong enough for this. How was he supposed to continue existing without the little girl who’d been his world, his life, his heart?

He had no idea how long he remained on the balcony. He cried until there were no more tears, cursed until there were no more words, and finally there was nothing left inside him except a chilling bleakness, an excruciating emptiness.

Wearily, not knowing how to go on, yet not knowing how not to, he pulled himself up and stumbled back into the apartment.

Depleted of energy, drained of emotion, he picked up the box containing the doll that had been the catalyst for his grief and placed the lid back on it. He uprighted the fallen beer bottle and sank onto the sofa.

His eyes felt gritty and his throat burned, but these were only mild discomforts compared to the pain in his heart. He could build enormous buildings, take raw wood and construct beautiful, lasting furniture, but he didn’t know how to piece his soul back together.

Dully, he stared at the television, where the late-night news was just winding down.

“And we end our newscast tonight with a happy story,” the perky blond announcer exclaimed. “Last week we brought you the story of sixteen-year-old Maria Lomax, who’d been blind since birth. Tonight, Maria can see, thanks to a miracle of modern medicine and through the generosity of a very special couple.”

The announcer’s picture disappeared and the screen filled with a picture of a hospital room where a lovely young girl was crying and hugging an older couple.

“John and Linda Corral lost their son a week ago to a motorcycle accident,” the female narrator continued. “But, in donating their son’s corneas, they gave the gift of sight to Maria, who can now see. Earlier this afternoon the couple met with Maria. John and Linda said the meeting provided the closure and healing they desperately needed, and they encourage everyone to consider organ donation.”

Closure and healing. Caleb’s mind worked to wrap around the concept behind those two words. It seemed impossible to comprehend while the agony of loss still encased him. Yet was it possible to find closure and healing? Was it possible to get past the pain that now debilitated him?

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, drawing in deep, uneven gulps of air. There was no going back now. The floodgates of his grief had been opened by the arrival of the doll and he knew now that no matter how far he traveled, no matter how fast he ran, his grief would be inside him, consuming him.

He opened his eyes as a surge of energy ripped through him. For his own sanity and survival, it was time to look for his own healing, his own closure. And that’s exactly what he intended to do.

Chapter 1

She stood in her backyard, tossing a big, colorful ball up in the air, then catching it. Although she pretended to be interested solely in her game of catch, Caleb felt her gaze lingering on him with interest.

It had been the same for the past three days. Each afternoon, the little girl came out to play. The first day, she’d remained close to her house, eyeing him across the distance of her yard and his.

The second afternoon, she’d moved to the center of her yard, playing with the ball and watching Caleb as he worked to replace the rotten railings on the porch of his new home.

Today, she was playing near the fence that separated the two properties, and Caleb had a feeling this time she would talk to him.

The thought of connecting with her filled him with incredible anticipation and an equal amount of dread. Everything he’d done in the past month had been in the hope of making contact with Hannah Marie Clemmons.

When he’d arrived in St. Louis two weeks ago, he’d rented a motel room, only intending to drive by the house where she lived, hoping to see her alive and well, playing like any other normal, healthy five-year-old. He’d thought that would be enough.

It wasn’t.

It had been on one of his drive-bys that he’d noticed the big old two-story house next to the one where the little girl lived, was for sale. His reasons for buying it were twofold. First and foremost, it offered immediate proximity to Hannah. Secondly, his hands had itched to turn the handyman’s nightmare into something regal and wonderful again. In the past year, he’d gotten so caught up in the running of his business, he’d forgotten how much he loved to build…to do the physical labor of transformation.

He’d needed a vacation from the business, had needed to get back to what he loved. And this house, neglected and in total disrepair, offered such an opportunity. He figured he’d renovate the house, and sell it when he decided it was time to return to his life in Chicago.

“Hey, mister.”

Caleb looked up from the four-by-six he’d been measuring.

She stood at the fence. “Could you get my ball?” She pointed to the ball, which rested near where he’d been working.

“Sure.” Caleb’s fingers trembled as he picked up the bright red globe. This would be his first, really up-close look at her. He walked to where she stood at the fence.

Brown eyes. He’d hoped they’d be blue…as blue as the spring sky overhead…as blue as his Katie’s. Hannah was a pretty little girl, with gamine features framed by a curtain of long, dark hair. The utter antithesis of blond-haired, blue-eyed Katie.

As he handed her the ball, the familiar weight of grief crushed against his chest. What he wanted to do was scoop her up in his arms, breathe deeply into her hair, see if she smelled like Katie…that wonderful blend of sunshine and little girl.

“Thank you,” she said with a bright smile, then she turned and ran back toward the tiny house where Caleb knew she lived with her mother.

The agony inside his chest expanded as he watched her go. The little girl who lived because his little girl had died.

Caleb wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the renewal of the anguish of loss. He stumbled through the back door of the house, half-blinded by tears he’d thought he no longer had the capacity to cry. Sinking into a chair at the table, he drew in deep, steadying breaths, wondering if this all wasn’t an incredible mistake on his part.

He hadn’t realized it would be so hard. Where was the healing, the closure he’d come here to find? Maybe his expectations had been too high. After all, grief was a long process. Surely he couldn’t expect to be healed by a single meeting with Hannah.

Time. That was what he needed. Time to get to know Hannah, who was forever bound to him through a miracle of modern medicine.

He didn’t want to tell Hannah or her mother about his connection to them. His grief was private, and far too big a burden for them to bear.

He’d come here to meet them with two goals in mind. The first was his need to witness that Hannah Clemmons’s life was good, that she had all the things he’d ever wanted Katie to have.

The second reason was his longing to find out what the heart remembered. When the doctors had taken Katie’s heart and placed it into Hannah’s chest, had any memories been transferred, did pieces of Katie’s soul somehow migrate into Hannah? He knew the very idea was probably crazy, but it was a hope he hadn’t been able to let go of until he discovered the truth for himself.

The next afternoon he was once again working on the porch when Hannah came out into her backyard. She didn’t even pretend to be playing catch, but rather walked right up to the fence and offered him a sunny smile.

“Did you buy that house?” she asked.

Caleb nodded. “I sure did.”

“It’s a wreck,” she said with childish candor.

He smiled. “Yes, it is. But, I’m fixing it.”

“It’s a big house. It’s gonna take lots of fixing.” She smiled again. “What’s your name?”

“Caleb. Caleb McMann.”

“I’m Hannah. Hannah Marie Clemmons. And my mommy’s name is Erica.”

Caleb walked over to where she stood at the fence. Just like yesterday he felt a curious mix of interest and anxiety. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Hannah.”

She giggled, and the sound of girlish joy wrapped around Caleb’s heart and squeezed painfully tight. Did all little-girl laughter hold that special timbre of gaiety, that sense of utter elation?

She sobered and eyed him curiously. “Are you going to build a tree house in that tree?” She pointed to the old oak that towered over his backyard.

Caleb tilted his head and looked speculatively at the tree. “Now that you mention it, those thick limbs make a perfect place for a little tree house, don’t they?”

Hannah nodded. “One with real windows and pink curtains, and you’d let me come over and play in it anytime I wanted.”

A burst of laughter erupted from Caleb, surprising him. Maybe he would build her that tree house she dreamed of. After all, he had time on his hands and it would obviously make Hannah happy. And that was what this was all about, right? It had been almost a year since he’d had anything to laugh about. It felt good…natural.

“Hannah.”

They both looked toward Hannah’s house, where a young woman stepped out the back door. The first thing Caleb noticed about her was her hair, a long curtain of dark strands that gleamed with red highlights in the afternoon light.

“That’s my mommy,” Hannah explained.

As the woman drew closer, Caleb saw the immediate physical resemblance between mother and daughter. Like Hannah, Erica Clemmons had petite features and large eyes, only unlike Hannah’s, Erica’s were the blue of a summer’s day.

“Hannah, you shouldn’t be bothering people,” she admonished as she approached.

“I’m not bothering people,” Hannah protested. “I’m just talking to Mr. Man.”

“Hi. Caleb McMann.” Caleb held his hand out over the top of the fence.

She hesitated a moment, then shook the hand he offered. “Erica Clemmons.” She dropped her hand and placed it on Hannah’s shoulder. “I hope she hasn’t been bothering you.”

“Not at all,” he said hurriedly. He smiled at Hannah. “She’s been very neighborly.”

Erica looked at his tools strewn about, then at the towering house. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” she observed.

“Yeah. It’s going to take a lot of time, but it’s mostly cosmetic. The structure is sound.”

“Mommy said if she had a million dollars she’d buy that house,” Hannah quipped.

Erica blushed and Caleb realized she was quite pretty. “If I had a million dollars, I’d do a lot of things, sweetheart.” She turned and Caleb knew she was about to leave. He didn’t want her to go…not yet.

“I’ll bet your place used to be a part of this house,” he said.

She looked at the small structure she and Hannah called home. “I think somebody told me at one time that it used to be the carriage house of your place…or maybe it was the gardener’s cottage.”

Once again she placed a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “It’s time for you to come inside.” She looked at Caleb. “Good luck with your work, Mr. McMann.”

“Thanks.” Caleb watched them go, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he wanted…what he needed. But he knew his brief interaction with both Hannah and her mother wasn’t enough.

“Belinda says her mommy lets her stay up until real late, and she gets to go to bed whenever she wants,” Hannah complained when her mother told her it was bath and bedtime.

“Belinda is older than you,” Erica reminded her. “And Belinda is full of beans.”

Hannah giggled. “What kind of beans?”

“Lima beans.” Erica laughed as her daughter’s face wrinkled in disgust.

“Hi, Peaches.” Hannah greeted the apricot poodle who bounded across the kitchen floor, her toenails clicking across the linoleum. She scooped up the dog and laughed as a little pink tongue licked her cheek. “Peaches doesn’t want me to take a bath. She wants me to play with her.” Hannah looked up at her mother with big brown, appealing eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Erica took the dog from Hannah’s arms. “You aren’t about to get out of taking a bath.” She put Peaches on the floor and the poodle instantly sought refuge beneath the table, obviously thinking the bath was for her.

They went into the bathroom, where Erica started the water in the tub while Hannah undressed. “Lots of bubbles,” she commanded, watching like a miniature drill sergeant as her mother fixed the water to her liking.

Once Hannah was happily ensconced amid the bubbles and warm water, Erica left the bathroom, knowing her daughter would dawdle, playing with bath toys until the water cooled.

Walking back into the kitchen, Erica silently listed all the errands she needed to run the next day. Before she got halfway through them, she was mentally exhausted. It seemed like exhaustion had been a part of her life forever, but more so lately than ever before.

It was odd. She’d functioned so well for so long, and now that Hannah was finally relatively healthy, Erica felt particularly fragile.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, gave Peaches a biscuit, then stood at the kitchen sink. Peering out the window that offered a view of the house next door, she fought against the sadness of another dream lost.

She’d hoped the big old house would remain empty until she could afford to buy it. It had been a silly, unrealistic dream. She owed enough money that she and Hannah would probably never live in a house that had their names on the deed.

Caleb McMann. She thought of the man who’d bought her dream house. Nice-looking man. With his dark hair and blue eyes, those wide shoulders and lean hips, he was what Sherry would call a hunk. Probably a very married hunk, she thought. Not that she cared.