From Megan Maitland’s Diary

Dear Diary,

Ellie just walked in on me a few minutes ago and laughed because a woman my age would still be writing in a diary like a teenager. But I must admit there are times when I do feel like a teenager, with things around me whirling out of control. So much to do, so much to keep track of. Especially now that William is gone. Three years and I still miss him.

Despite the ups and downs, the demands on my time, it’s been such a wonderful life so far. William was so good to me, helping me turn this dream of mine into a reality. It’s hard to believe that Maitland Maternity is almost twenty-five years old now, but I’m just about to hold a press conference to announce the gala anniversary party. Pretty good for a poor girl who was once lost and pregnant herself. R.J. just knocked on my door, so I’d better end here. It’s “show time”!

Megan

Dear Reader,

There’s never a dull moment at Maitland Maternity! This unique and now world-renowned clinic was founded twenty-five years ago by Megan Maitland, widow of William Maitland, of the prominent Austin, Texas, Maitlands. Megan is also matriarch of an impressive family of seven children, many of whom are active participants in the everyday miracles that bring children into the world.

As our series begins, the family is stunned by the unexpected arrival of an unidentified baby at the clinic—unidentified, except for the claim that the child is a Maitland. Who are the parents of this child? Is the claim legitimate? Will the media’s tenacious grip on this news damage the clinic’s reputation? Suddenly, rumors and counterclaims abound. Women claiming to be the child’s mother materialize out of the woodwork! How will Megan get at the truth? And how will the media circus affect the lives and loves of the Maitland children—Abby, the head of gynecology, Ellie, the hospital administrator, her twin sister, Beth, who runs the day care center, Mitchell, the fertility specialist, R.J., the vice president of operations—even Anna, who has nothing to do with the clinic, and Jake, the black sheep of the family?

Please join us each month over the next year as the mystery of the Maitland baby unravels, bit by enticing bit, and book by captivating book!

Marsha Zinberg

Senior Editor and Editorial Co-ordinator, Special Projects

Dad by Choice
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Prolific romance author Marie Ferrarella claims, “I was born writing, which must have made the delivery especially difficult for my mother!” Born in West Germany of Polish parents, she came to America when she was four years of age. For an entire year, Marie and her family explored the eastern half of the country before finally settling in New York. It was there, at the age of fourteen, that she met the man she would marry, her first true love, Charles Ferrarella.

During her days at Queens College, acting started to lose its glamour as Marie spent more and more time writing. After receiving her English degree, specializing in Shakespearean comedy, Marie and her family moved to Southern California, where she still resides today. After an interminable seven weeks apart, Charles decided he couldn’t live without her, and came out to California to marry his childhood sweetheart. Marie, who has written over one hundred novels, has one goal: to entertain, to make people laugh and feel good. “That, and a really good romantic evening with my husband.” She keeps her fingers crossed that her many fans enjoy reading her books as much as she enjoys writing them.

To Leslie Wainger, my patron saint of all good things.

Contents

PROLOGUE

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

PROLOGUE

THE SOUND OF HER OWN heavy breathing filled her head. Her heart was racing so hard, it felt as if it were on the verge of vibrating out of her chest.

At the end of the alley she stopped running.

As her breathing steadied, she felt a satisfied smile begin to form on her lips, twisting them upward, until anyone seeing her would have ventured to say she looked positively jubilant.

And downright wicked.

But there was no one to see her. Luck had been with her when her patience and her temper had both snapped.

Luck, so much a part of the world she had originally come from, had not been more than a fleeting visitor. Nice to know it was on her side for a change.

A sense of triumph began to take hold. There’d been no one to witness what she had done to claim what was so rightfully hers.

Not hers by any standards passed down through the courts with its legal mumbo jumbo, but that didn’t really matter. It was hers nonetheless. She deserved it. Had earned it. Earned it through all those months of careful planning and plotting. Of empty smiles and emptier promises, of befriending people she secretly hated. And now, finally, it was almost hers.

So close, so close.

Sucking in a huge gulp of air to banish the last of the tiny white pinpricks of light dancing before her eyes, Janelle Maitland Jones hurried back to where the key to her future had been left unprotected on the steps of Maitland Maternity Clinic.

Her smile deepened, but never reached her eyes. Maitland Maternity. How fitting. How damn, ironically fitting.

She almost laughed out loud.

Suddenly, the sound of voices began to mix with the faint buzzing in her head. Raised voices, laced with excitement, all talking at once. Janelle glanced over her shoulder down the alley.

Had someone seen her drag that insufferable bitch’s body back there, after all? Had they seen what she’d done?

But the voices weren’t coming from the alley. They were coming from the direction of the clinic.

Janelle froze in her tracks, horror spilling over her like black tar, smothering her smugness.

Reporters and camera crews had materialized from nowhere, swarming around the back entrance to the clinic. Blocking her view. Blocking off more than her path.

Biting off a vicious curse, she faded into a doorway at the edge of the alley as frustration threatened to overpower her. Caught halfway between heaven and hell, she was completely cut off from her triumph.

Cut off from the money.

So far, so far…

CHAPTER ONE

DR. ABBY MAITLAND was doing her best not to look as impatient as she felt.

Just down the hall in Maitland Maternity Clinic, patients sat in her waiting room on tasteful, blue-cushioned chairs, chosen to afford optimum comfort to women who were for the most part in an uncomfortable condition. She was booked solid without so much as a ten-minute window of breathing space. She’d come into the clinic running slightly behind and praying that no one would see fit to go into labor this morning.

That was when her mother had waylaid her.

Abby had always had difficulty saying no to her mother, not out of a sense of obligation but one of pure affection. It was hard to say no to a woman who had gone out of her way all her life to make sure that her children were happy and well cared for. Today was no different.

Abby supposed that the request to stand by her mother’s side as Megan Kelly Maitland met the press this morning shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Abby had been born into this a goldfish-bowl existence, where almost every detail of her life, and of her family’s, was periodically dissected for newsworthiness. Especially if the media was having a slow week.

These days, with tabloid journalism running rampant on almost every cable channel and lurid headlines leaping out from every supermarket checkout counter, “newsworthy” was usually synonymous with scandalous.

But not in their case, thank God. The Maitlands, with their penchant for charitable donations and the clinic her mother and late father had cofounded all those years ago, were the press’s vanilla ice cream. Comforting, ever-present—but uneventful. The closest they had to a ribbon of contrasting chocolate was her younger brother, Jake, with his mysterious comings and goings and secret life-style.

Lucky Jake, Abby thought as she followed her mother and two of her siblings to the rear entrance. He wasn’t here to go through this with them.

But wealth, Abby knew, brought certain obligations, and she was far too much her mother’s daughter to turn her back on that. Although there were days when she would have loved to be given the opportunity, just to see what it felt like.

Today, for one.

Abby glanced at her watch for the third time in as many minutes. With a bit of luck, this wouldn’t take too long. She absolutely hated being late.

“I don’t see why you need all of us, Mother,” she heard herself murmuring, despite her good intentions.

Megan Maitland smiled as she gently pushed back a strand of Abby’s dark hair that had fallen wantonly into her eyes. The same lock she had been pushing back ever since Abby had had enough hair on her head to run a brush through. A wave of nostalgia whispered through Megan. Her children had gotten so big, so independent.

Her sharp, dark blue eyes swept over her son R.J. and daughter Ellie standing beside her. R.J. was the oldest of the seven, and Ellie and her twin, Beth, were the youngest, with Abby in the middle. Megan wished all her children could be here today when she made the announcement. It was just a silly little press conference, she knew, and they had all promised to come to the party that was being given in honor of the clinic once the plans were finalized. But she missed her children when they weren’t around. Missed the sound of their laughter, their voices.

She was as proud of them as she could be, but there were times when she longed for the old days, when they were young and she could keep them all within the reach of an embrace.

Megan blinked, silently forbidding a tear to emerge. She was becoming a foolish old woman before her time. What would William say if he could have seen her? He would have teased her out of it, she knew, while secretly agreeing with her.

She missed him most of all.

Her smile, soft and gentle, widened as she answered Abby’s question. “For moral support, darling. I need you for moral support.”

R.J. shrugged. Megan knew this was eating into his precious time as president of Maitland Maternity Clinic, but he would never say no to her. Her love for him had been reciprocated from the day she and William had adopted him and his younger sister Anna after their father had deserted them. Although rightfully they could have called her Aunt Megan, she had never felt anything but maternal love for William’s niece and nephew.

“Don’t see why moral support should have to enter into it, Mother,” R.J. muttered, looking more somber than usual. “We’re just announcing that there’s going to be a party celebrating the clinic’s twenty-fifth anniversary. Not much moral support required for that.”

A tinge of pity stirred within Megan. R.J. didn’t smile nearly enough. In this last year he seemed to have become even more work-oriented than ever.

Ellie, her youngest, whom Megan had appointed hospital administrator despite her tender age of twenty-five, grinned at her serious oldest brother.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she cheerfully disagreed. “I think facing the press requires a great deal of moral support.” She exchanged glances with Abby, a bit of her childhood adoration for her older sister still evident. “I always get the feeling they’re waiting for something juicy to bite into.”

“That’s because they are.” Abby could see the trucks from the various cable channels in and around Austin, Texas, through the window that faced the rear of the clinic. “Though I am surprised that so many of them have turned out. After all, this is just a human-interest story to be buried on page twelve.”

R.J. tucked his tie neatly beneath his vest. A glint of humor crossed his lips. “Page twelve? If I have to stand on the back steps of the clinic and grin at those hyenas, it better get us lines on at least page four.”

Abby patted his arm affectionately. “Don’t grin too hard, R.J. Your face might crack.”

Though Abby had always known that R.J. and Anna were really her cousins, there had never been a dividing line between any of the Maitland children. They had all been raised with the same amount of affection, shouldering the same amount of responsibility and parental expectation. As a sister, Abby loved R.J., and as a doctor she worried about him at times.

He pretended to shrug off her arm. “Let’s get this over with.”

Abby cocked her head. The noise outside the back doors had grown from a dull din to something of a roar. “Is it my imagination, or are the natives getting more restless?”

Ellie frowned. “They do sound louder than usual.” She looked at her older sister with a silent question.

Abby in turn glanced at her mother. Whatever it was, they’d find out soon enough. “Ready?”

The tall, regal woman beside Abby squared her shoulders. Wearing a navy-blue suit with white trim at the collar and cuffs, her soft white hair drawn into a French twist, Megan Maitland looked more like their older sister than a woman in her sixty-second year.

“As I’ll ever be,” Megan acknowledged.

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Abby declared.

R.J. pushed open the doors before Abby had a chance to do so. But instead of the forward thrust of raised mikes, invasive cameras and intrusive reporters, they found themselves staring at the backs of heads. To a person, the reporters and camera crews were focusing their attention on something off to the side of the clinic’s rear entrance.

Abby glanced at her brother, who seemed as much in the dark as any of them. “What the—?”

She edged forward. Had someone decided to stage a publicity stunt and dramatically go into labor on the clinic’s back steps instead of coming inside? Maitland Maternity, established by her parents so that no woman would be forced to have her child without medical help, had somehow turned into the darling of the rich and famous as well as that of the emotionally and financially needy. And among those celebrities were some who had what Abby could only term as a bizarre sense of humor.

Because it wasn’t in her nature to hang back where either her family or her professional life was concerned, Abby didn’t wait for her brother to take charge. Instead, she pushed her way farther through the tight throng, determined to find out what had so firmly captured the media’s attention.

The next moment, Abby knew. And it was all she could do to keep her mouth from dropping open.

There was a baby on the back steps. A baby, covered with a blanket and lying in a wicker basket. Looking closer, she saw that there was actually a piece of paper pinned to the blanket.

Abby looked around, half expecting someone to come forward and announce that this was all a stunt of some sort. Or a thoughtless prank. It had to be one or the other. This was where women came to have their babies, not leave them.

From where she stood, Megan was unable to see for herself what all the commotion was about. “Abby, what’s going on?”

“It’s a baby.” Abby tossed the words over her shoulder to her mother.

It was as if the sound of her voice were the flag coming down at the starting gate at the Indianapolis 500. The single sentence unleashed a deafening roar as all the reporters hurled their questions toward her at once.

Abby recognized Chelsea Markum, the fast-rising reporter of Tattle Today TV, a new explore-all news program. The woman was obviously determined to reach the top of her profession and stay there. That meant being first whenever humanly possible.

Pushing her microphone into her cameraman’s hand, she elbowed another reporter out of the way and reached for the baby. Slipping her hands within the basket, she triumphantly picked the baby up.

The mewling sound the infant made was all but swallowed up by the noise surrounding them. But Abby could hear it. It shot straight through to her heart and galvanized her. Her eyes narrowed as she pushed her way closer.

“And there’s a note,” Chelsea declared to the crowd, ripping it from the blanket.

“What’s it say?” someone behind her demanded.

Excitedly, Chelsea read, “‘Dear Megan Maitland. This baby is a Maitland. Please take care of him until I can again.’”

Armed with anger and indignation, Abby physically pushed a cameraman aside to reach the innocent infant, who had been turned into a sideshow attraction.

Without a single word, she took the baby from the reporter and turned away.

Like a hailstorm, questions continued to fly at her from all sides—fast, furious and callous. Abby gave no indication that she heard any of them. All she wanted to do was reach the back doors and walk through them.

Suddenly, R.J. was on one side of her and Ellie on the other, buffering her from the crowd and allowing her to retreat with the baby in her arms. Abby’s stony expression dissolved and she smiled her relief. She saw R.J. hang back a second to pick up the basket. He looked decidedly paler to her than he had when they had walked outside.

He saw it, too, she thought. The ghostly whisper of a scandal had finally found its way to the Maitland door.

Armed with her reclaimed microphone, Chelsea shoved it into R.J.’s face. “Is the baby yours?” she demanded.

Abby bit back the urge to tell the woman what she could do with her question and where she could next put her microphone.

“Whose is it?” The question echoed over and over again from all sides. “Which one of the Maitlands is the father?”

A tall, redheaded man with a trace of mustard on his shirt front pushed a mike at Megan. “C’mon, Mrs. Maitland, we’ve all got a living to make. Which of your sons is responsible for this baby?”

Megan Maitland lifted her chin regally and faced the crowd that had been, only minutes earlier, awaiting her arrival with polite smiles and banal good wishes.

“None of them, to the best of my knowledge.”

Queen Victoria couldn’t have defended the realm better, Abby thought, making eye contact with her mother. But she knew the answer wouldn’t satisfy anyone.

“…Who are you covering for?”

“…Hey, give us a break. We’re not all well-off like you.”

“…You might as well come clean now. It’ll all come out eventually.”

Megan looked sharply in the direction the last question had come from, but she focused on no one, talking to the crowd in general.

“The truth usually does, if we’re lucky,” she agreed. “This press conference is at an end.”

Turning on her heel, Megan waved Abby and Ellie in before her, then followed, leaving R.J. to cover the retreat.

He did, then ushered the women into his office quickly. Caught off guard, his secretary looked startled as they entered. She raised a quizzical eyebrow at Abby before turning toward R.J.

“Don’t let anyone in, Dana,” he ordered. Dana began to open her mouth. “And I mean anyone.” With that, he closed the door to his inner office. Only then did he turn to the others. Avoiding the infant, he looked directly at his mother. “Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”

There was sweat on his brow, Abby realized. Her glance went from the baby to R.J. But the baby was hardly more than an infant, perhaps a month or so old, and no outstanding feature seemed to link them.

Nothing but the slight nervousness her brother was attempting to hide.

Abby dismissed the thought, annoyed with herself that she’d allowed the media circus outside to get to her and dignify the unthinkable with even a silent question. The baby couldn’t be his. He would have admitted it long before now, if it were. R.J. was far too upstanding to shirk his responsibilities. That was one of the reasons he was so perfect to head up the clinic.

But he was human, for all that, a small voice whispered in her head, and humans had weaknesses.

There had to be another explanation. Besides, he wasn’t the only brother she had, she reminded herself. R.J.’s pale color was probably due to nothing more than the shock of a scandal finally touching the family.

“A dribble glass is a joke,” Megan replied quietly, struggling to make sense of the situation. The infant suddenly voiced his displeasure, and her eyes, as well as her heart, were drawn to him. “A baby isn’t a joke.”

Megan experienced the maternal pull she always felt at the sight of a baby. Forgetting for a moment the note, the accusations and the implications that went along with them, she took the infant from her daughter.

A soft warmth pervaded her chest, then flooded through her. She smiled down at the small, scrunched-up face. “Hello, little stranger. Where’s your mommy?”

Holding the child, feeling the small life wriggle against her breast took her back. Back to the times she’d given birth. To the first time she’d held each of her children in her arms.

No, she reminded herself, not each. Not the first one. She hadn’t been allowed to hold that baby. Her father had had the stillborn infant whisked away before she could even see him. Or touch him.

He’d done it for her own good, he had said. To save her heartache. To help her to move on. She had been seventeen at the time, and there had been so much more of life ahead of her. He’d been afraid she’d cling to the memory of a dead baby if she’d held it to her.

But there were times, even now, so very many years later, that Megan wished she’d had just that one opportunity to make a bond. And say goodbye.

She realized that her children were looking at her, concern in their eyes. Waiting.

Forcing a smile to her lips, she returned the infant to Abby. “Take him to Ford and have him checked out. I want to be sure that this baby is all right.”

“And then?” Ellie asked.

Megan pressed her lips together as she passed her hand over the tiny head. She looked down at the infant. And noticed a small bracelet encircling the child’s flailing wrist. “And then we’ll see.”

“Ellie’s just uptight because he doesn’t have any insurance cards for her to photocopy.” Abby was being deliberately flippant, hoping to distract her mother.

Ellie caught on quickly. “Careful, before I photocopy you,” she countered.

Though he kept to himself a good deal, this time R.J. was on the same wavelength as his sisters. “You can’t photocopy something that doesn’t leave a shadow,” he interjected.

Megan knew why they were doing this, why they were bantering carelessly at a time when they should have been shoring up their defenses. To distract her. Even though she had fought so many battles on her own, even though she had managed to rise above her poor beginnings and the tragedy that haunted her to become the respected matriarch of a wealthy socially prominent family, her children still felt they had to protect her.

And she loved them for it. And for countless other reasons. If this baby did turn out to be a Maitland, her feelings wouldn’t change. There would just be one more child to love.

With affection, she terminated the banter. “We’ll discuss the abilities of the copy machine and your sister’s lack of shadow later. Abby, go.” Shooing her off, Megan turned to the remaining duo in the spacious office. She wanted to adjourn to her own office, where she had faced her toughest decisions, had had her finest triumphs. She felt secure there. “R.J., Ellie, come.”

Abby raised a brow and glanced toward her sister. “Ever notice how she treats the kids like dogs?”

“Go,” Megan repeated.

Abby hurried off.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” Dana’s question met Abby the moment she walked out of R.J.’s office.

“I’m not really sure,” Abby confessed. Dana Dillinger was one of her closest friends and she didn’t feel right about brushing her off, but she was really running behind now. “Get R.J. to tell you.”

Dana shook her head and sighed. “As if R.J. could ever share anything but reports and schedules with me.”

Abby raced out the door and hurried to the elevator banks, nodding at several people she knew. Mercifully, the elevator was empty. She got in and quickly pressed the button. Only once the doors had slid closed again did she glance at the baby in her arms.

The eyes were blue, as were those of most infants, and opened wide, as if he were drinking in the entire world around him and storing it up for future reference. Abby felt a tug in her heart, the way she did with each child she held in her arms.

“So, am I really your aunt Abby, or is this just some kind of a hoax?” In response, the baby squirmed. “No offense, little guy, but I really hope it’s a hoax. Not that I wouldn’t mind having you in the family, you understand, but…”

The squirming was followed by a gurgling sound a moment before the infant turned an extreme shade of beet red. A second later, a distinct odor began to rise from the vicinity of his tiny bottom.

How could anything so small smell so bad? she wondered.

“Okay, be that way,” Abby murmured, shifting the baby. This was going to mean a little extra work for Katie, she thought. As if the pediatric nurse didn’t already have enough to do…

DROPPING THE CHART Ford had just given her into the To Be Filed pile, already four deep at nine-thirty in the morning, pediatric nurse Katie Topper turned when she heard the private entrance door opening. She flashed a quick smile when she saw who it was. Then a small furrow formed between her brows when she noticed the baby.

“Abby, what’s up?”

Like Dana, Katie was one of Abby’s closest friends. But if she’d had no time to fill Dana in, she had even less time now. Her mother’s unintentional ambush had cost her more than half an hour. The way her luck was running, she’d probably be called away for a multiple birth on her way back down.

“Got a new patient for Ford to check out.” Abby glanced toward the reception area. There were only three patients waiting their turn with the pediatric surgeon. “Mother’s orders.”

Katie glanced behind Abby, expecting to see another woman entering. “Where is the baby’s mother?”

An involuntary sigh escaped her lips. Abby looked at the infant. “That’s the 64,000-dollar question.”

“But you just said—” Katie began.

“My mother,” Abby clarified. “She wants Ford to check him out as soon as possible.”

The request was unusual. “What’s wrong with him?” Katie sniffed the air. “Other than the obvious. Did you have to bring me a ripe one?”

“Sorry.” Abby laughed. “And to answer your other question—nothing, I hope.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Katie said. She reached for an empty folder. “So, what name do I put on the chart?”

“This—” Abby held the infant up “—is Baby X.”

Katie put down her pen and looked at Abby. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

R.J.’s words, Abby thought. “I wish. Someone just dropped him off on our doorstep. Classic note pinned to the blanket and everything. All that was missing was snow and a heart-wrenching musical score.” She shook her head. It wasn’t the baby’s fault, but that didn’t change anything. “The press is going to have a field day.”

Katie took the baby from her. “The press?”

Abby nodded. “They were there for Mother’s announcement about the clinic’s twenty-fifth anniversary celebration. They liked this story better.” She glanced toward the door leading to the first examining room. It was closed. “Tell Ford I’ll be by as soon as I can manage.”

Katie shifted the baby to her other arm. The outer door buzzed softly, announcing another patient. “What do we do with Baby X until then?”

Abby paused in the doorway, one hand on the knob. “See if you can get him to talk.” With that, she hurried away.

THE DARKNESS ABOUT HER lifted slowly, like a heavy curtain being drawn away. A dull, persistent ache came to fill its place, and it felt as if there was something inching down her forehead just above her brow.

With fingers that didn’t quite feel as if they belonged to her, she touched the spot on her head. A stickiness registered. She looked at her fingers.

Blood.

Her blood.

Why?

She gazed around slowly. The ache wouldn’t allow her to move quickly. She was on the ground, in an alley of some sort, and it was daylight.

Relying on shaky limbs, she managed to rise to her feet. As she did so, she became aware of another sensation.

Her arms felt empty. As if she had been holding something that was gone now.

But what?

Dazed, confused, she looked down at them, trying to remember what it was she’d lost.

Trying to remember anything at all.

But there was nothing but a huge void.

She couldn’t remember.

Anything.

A noise caught her attention. Like a magnet of hope, it drew her around.

There was a man standing at the end of the alley. A man dressed in blue. A policeman.

He looked at her uncertainly, stepping forward. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

A sob caught in her throat as she made her way toward him. “Yes.”

Suddenly the world began to shimmer. Spinning, it retreated from her until there was nothing left but a tiny opening for the light to squeeze through. And then, even that was gone.

Boneless, she fell to the ground.

CHAPTER TWO

KYLE MCDERMOTT SHIFTED in his chair. He’d lost count of how many times now. Had he been wearing the jeans he so rarely put on these days, he would have rested his ankle across his thigh. But that wouldn’t fit, given the three-piece suit he was wearing. Besides, it would somehow seem disrespectful to the other occupants of the room, most of whom looked as if they hadn’t been truly comfortable in months.

He glanced at his sister. He knew that Marcie had been uncomfortable for a while now. She was the reason he was here, suffering and growing progressively more agitated.

Kyle didn’t like waiting, had never been able to tolerate it. And even if he could have, he wouldn’t have liked waiting here, in a room full of women whose bodies were in various stages of pending motherhood. He felt out of place, the lone male in the midst of some secret female sorority he had no right to be invading.

As far back as he could remember, Kyle McDermott had never thought of himself as an actual people person. His talents lay in other directions. It was only because he loved his baby sister, Marcie, that he was here. And paying dearly for it.

Trying vainly to stifle an exasperated sigh that begged to be exhaled, he glanced at his watch. Forty-seven minutes. Forty-seven minutes past the scheduled time for Marcie’s appointment.

Where the hell is that doctor?

Never raising her eyes from the magazine she was flipping through, Marcie leaned over in his direction. “It’s not going to go any faster if you keep looking at it.”

“I don’t want it to go faster. I just want your doctor to get here.”

He was trying to keep his voice down, but it seemed as if every set of eyes had turned in his direction. He should never have let Marcie talk him into coming along. It was bad enough having to be her coach, without enduring this.

“When I told you to get your doctor’s first morning appointment, I didn’t think he started at noon.”

“She.” The word left her lips tersely. Marcie gave up the pretense of reading and closed the magazine. “Can’t you even remember that? I must have told you a hundred times.”

“A dozen,” he corrected out of habit, remembering now. Of course, he knew Maitland was a woman. It had just slipped his mind, that’s all. He saw Marcie’s brows draw together the way they always did when she stubbornly dug in. He didn’t want another argument. This was neither the time nor the place. For the sake of peace, he tried for a truce. “Sorry, Marce, I’m preoccupied.”

“You’re always preoccupied.”

It wasn’t the first time Marcie had flung the accusation at him. And to a certain extent, it was true. His mind was always going off in a dozen different directions, taken up by a myriad of details. Maybe that was why she’d turned to Billy Madison in the first place.

This bickering wasn’t going to get them anywhere, Kyle thought. And the only thing worse than sitting here in the middle of a room full of pregnant women was arguing with his sister in a room full of pregnant women. He shouldn’t have come today. If it really meant that much to Marcie to have him along on an office visit, next week would be better for him.

Fed up and tired, Kyle began to rise. Marcie’s hurt look came as no surprise. He fielded it. “Listen, I’d better go. I’ll leave the car for you and I’ll call a cab.”

Marcie reached out to catch his arm, then stopped herself. “Afraid you’ll miss your precious meeting?”

If they hadn’t already been at the center of everyone’s attention, they were now. He’d raised her better than this, Kyle thought. But then, he reminded himself, if he’d truly raised her well, she wouldn’t be in this condition.

Kyle gave up trying to be discreet, though for the moment, he sank back down in his chair. “At this rate, I’m afraid I’ll miss the rest of my life. Your doctor doesn’t seem to respect the fact that other people have schedules, too.”

Having said nothing out of the ordinary and certainly nothing that wasn’t true, he saw no reason for Marcie’s suddenly wide eyes.

Until he heard the voice behind him.

“Oh, but I do, Mr. McDermott. It is Mr. McDermott, isn’t it? I’m assuming that since you’re lecturing Marcie and you definitely look older than eighteen, you have to be the big brother she’s been telling me about, and not Billy.”

It wasn’t often that Kyle could be accused of being caught off guard. Since his father’s death more than ten years ago, when he’d suddenly found himself sole guardian of his younger sister, he’d tried to be prepared for all contingencies way ahead of time. But the woman’s voice, amused, low and reminiscent of aged bourbon taken slow on a long winter’s evening, did just that.

And the sight of her did even more.

Having expected to see a dour, matronly looking woman in sensible black shoes, an austere hairdo and utilitarian clothing, he was momentarily rendered speechless by the slender brunette in three-inch heels and a fashionable, light blue suit that looked as if it had been made for her.

The blue brought out her eyes.

He had no idea why he thought that, or even noticed. He wasn’t given to details like that. Not about people, only about microchips and semiconductors, like the one he’d perfected—the one that was responsible for his fortune.

Well, Abby thought, it seemed as if good looks ran in the family. Marcie McDermott had struck her as a beauty the first moment she’d met the poised teenager. On her brother, Kyle, those dark good looks were even more arresting, although on him they seemed to come with a certain edginess.

That could have been due to the frown on his lips.

Gamely, Abby put out her hand, feeling just a tad like someone bearding a lion in its den.

“Hi, I’m Abby Maitland, Marcie’s doctor, and I’m sorry about the delay.” She looked around the waiting room. It was more packed than she’d expected. Some of her patients had turned up early for their appointments. Murphy’s Law. “Ladies, I’ll see you all in due time. I’m afraid I was unavoidably detained, but I’ll try to make up for it.” Crossing to the inner area, she nodded a greeting at her nurse. “Lisa, please show Marcie into room 1. I’ll be there in three minutes. Faster, if the buttons on the lab coat don’t give me a hard time.”

The nurse she’d addressed as Lisa, a willowy blonde, came to the doorway, a chart in her hands. “Looks like you’re up, Marcie.” But when Kyle rose to accompany his sister, Lisa stopped him with a slight shake of her head. “Not yet, Mr. McDermott. I’ll come get you when we’re ready.”

Great, Kyle thought. More waiting. Now he really couldn’t leave. He didn’t want Marcie to come out and find him gone. God knows what she’d think or do then. For the most part, she’d always been a levelheaded kid, he thought, but this pregnancy had thrown her off.

As it had him. With effort, he banked down the resentment that rose within him.

Kyle sank back onto the seat, resigned. How had he gotten to this place in his life? he wondered. Wasn’t this where the good part was supposed to come in? He’d struggled hard these last fifteen years to get through college and make a go of his business, at times financing things on a shoestring that seemed as if it would snap at any second. He’d made sacrifices to keep the company going, a great many sacrifices. He knew his romance with Sheryl had been a casualty. She hadn’t been willing to share him—not with his dream and not with his sister. So he’d made his choice, stuck with the plan. All so that he and Marcie could finally be in a position to have everything they ever wanted or needed.

So that Marcie would never want for anything.

Now here they were, fifteen long years later. His company was bordering on going public and his sister was bordering on unwed motherhood.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He looked at his watch again.

Lisa returned to call another patient in, this time to room 2. Before Kyle could ask her how much longer this was going to take, she turned toward him and smiled.

“Mr. McDermott?”

He was on his feet instantly.

Lisa opened the door wider and stepped back. “Dr. Maitland says you can come in now.”

“How very gracious of her.”

Passing the nurse, Kyle struggled to curb his temper. It wasn’t the doctor’s fault that Marcie had gotten herself pregnant. And it wasn’t her fault that Marcie adamantly refused to marry the boy who had gotten her into this condition, despite all Kyle’s assurances that he would set them up and help pay for her education and Billy Madison’s, as well. But it was the doctor’s fault that he was now drastically behind schedule. He didn’t tolerate lateness well, not in himself and not in others. That wasn’t how things got done.

His father had always been late. Late to work, late to pay the bills. Late with everything. That’s why he had never amounted to anything, and why, when he died, there had been a mountain of debts for Kyle to pay off.

He walked into room 1 to see his sister lying on the examining table. A wave of discomfort washed over him. His eyes darted toward the doctor. “Is this going to take long?”

Busy preparing the monitor, Abby glanced in his direction. “Not too.”

Maybe it was the tension of thinking that one of her brothers might be responsible for the baby she’d just left with Ford. Or maybe it was knowing that, at the very least, because of this baby her family had suddenly become the target of every journalist, photographer and news media wanna-be.

Or maybe she just didn’t like Kyle McDermott’s distant attitude. Marcie had confided a few things to Abby in moments of dire unhappiness. Things that hadn’t put the too-too-busy Mr. McDermott in the most flattering light, despite his chiseled, killer looks, his high cheekbones and that dark, flowing mane of hair that seemed just a bit out of place when paired with the expensive suit he had on.

Whatever it was, Abby found herself hanging on to the tattered ends of a far shorter temper than she normally possessed.

The monitor was ready. She walked over to Marcie, but she was still looking at Kyle.

“Most people view this as a miracle, Mr. McDermott, one not to be hurried through like a car wash. This is a very precious time. You get to make the baby go where you want it to and do what you want it to—except for kicking,” she added with a smile as she looked at Marcie. “They really don’t listen when it comes to that, no matter what diplomacy you use.”

Marcie’s swollen abdomen was partially exposed, and Kyle watched as the doctor with the sharp tongue rubbed some sort of jelly on it. He loved Marcie more than anything in this world and had thought, until this thing with Billy had come up, that he was pretty much privy to all her feelings. But right now he felt intrusive, as if he were somehow invading her privacy. It was the same at the birthing classes. He was out of his depth, had no business being there.

Kyle turned away, not sure where he should look.

As she watched him, Abby’s lips twitched in amusement. He certainly didn’t look like the delicate type.

Can’t tell a book by its dust jacket.

Kyle shoved his hands into his pockets and addressed the wall beyond Abby’s head. “I don’t mean to sound as if this isn’t important to me, it’s just that—”

“You’re running behind schedule, yes, I know.” This man was flirting with an ulcer, if he didn’t already have one. But that was his problem, not hers. “You made that very clear. I’m afraid most of us are running behind schedule practically from the day we’re born. I suspect your niece or nephew might be a few days behind schedule, too.” Amplifier in hand, she looked at him. “Ready?”

Kyle really didn’t know if he was or not. He knew it was absurd, but he felt nervous about this. That was why he’d turned down Marcie’s previous requests to come with her to the doctor’s office. But after the argument they’d had last night, he knew this was the only way she would even speak to him.

Masking his emotions, he nodded. “Yes.”

Abby placed the amplifier against Marcie’s abdomen and began to slowly move it around.

Straining to catch the faintest sound, he heard nothing. Was there something wrong with the baby? Concern edged out discomfort.

“I don’t hear anything,” Kyle said.

Brows drawn together in concentration, Abby held up her hand for silence. “Wait.” And then a smile like late-summer sunshine curved her mouth. Triumph filled her eyes as she looked up at him. “There. Now listen.”

He drew his eyes away from her, because she was none of his concern. He was only here because of Marcie. A strange bittersweet emotion filtered through him as he listened. He’d watched Marcie’s small body become progressively wider and thicker with child, and yet, somehow, it had all seemed like a fantasy.

Until now. Now there was a heartbeat, and he heard it.

Perhaps that was why he’d resisted this meeting so much, even though he had reluctantly begun accompanying Marcie to her birthing classes, going there in place of Billy, whom he would have thought the more likely choice. Because hearing made it real.

He realized that Marcie’s doctor was waiting for him to acknowledge what he heard. He lifted a shoulder and let it drop, not really sure what she wanted from him. “Sounds like hoofbeats.”

Abby paused, rolling his words over in her mind. She listened closely herself. She’d been doing this for a while now, but had never thought of the sound she was monitoring quite that way. The description made her smile.

“I suppose, in a way, it does.” Satisfied that everything was fine, Abby put the probe back into place and moved the monitor aside. “And the beats are getting closer.” Positioning herself beside Marcie, she gently helped the girl into a sitting position. “Not much longer now, Marcie-girl.”

The familiar nickname gave testimony to the bond between Marcie and her doctor, and cinched the silent debate Kyle had been having with himself ever since the drive over here. It was very clear to him that he wasn’t getting anywhere with Marcie in his campaign. He wanted to convince her to give her child a last name and marry the boy she professed to love so much. Billy was more than willing to marry her, but that didn’t seem to be enough to sway Marcie. She was perversely adamant in her refusal, and Kyle could only conclude that she was doing it strictly to annoy him.

But he only wanted what was good for Marcie and he wasn’t about to allow her to cut off her nose to spite her face—and him. Not for the first time, he wondered what had become of the little girl who had been his faithful shadow, who had tried so hard to please him. Who’d been so afraid that he would die, too, and leave her alone in the world.

Now she didn’t seem to care what he thought.

Maybe this doctor of hers could accomplish what he couldn’t. He didn’t care how it came about, as long as it did.

“Okay, Marcie, you’re doing great,” Abby said, making a final notation in her chart. “All systems are go.” She flipped the chart closed. “Continue taking your vitamins, get plenty of rest, and I’ll see you next week.”

But as Abby began to leave, Kyle took her arm, stopping her. She raised her eyes to his quizzically. Was there something she hadn’t covered to his satisfaction?

He dropped his hand when she looked at him. Without meaning to, Kyle lowered his voice. It seemed to rumble as it met her ear. “Doctor, could I see you alone for a minute?”

To his surprise and no small annoyance, since she had been the one to keep them waiting, the doctor glanced at her watch. There was just the slightest hint of an apology in her voice.

“I’m afraid it’ll have to be just for that one minute. As you pointed out, we’re both running behind, and I’m sure you noticed all those women in the waiting room.”

This wasn’t going to get said in a minute, and he had enough pressure on him without being timed by a woman who barely came up to his shoulder. Kyle bit back the urge to point out that if she hadn’t come in forty-five minutes late, she wouldn’t be so far behind and might have a few minutes to spare for reasonable requests.

He thought a moment. “All right, after hours, then.” For a change, he had some time to himself this evening. “What time do you get through?”

He made it sound as if she were a worker on an assembly line, Abby thought, able to tell him when she knocked off for the night. She supposed that to a man who, according to the business section in the Herald, was on his way to becoming Austin’s next billionaire, she probably was.

She sank her hands into the lab coat’s deep pockets. “The posted hours on the door say five o’clock.” She’d never shut her doors at that time, even on the first day. “With luck, six.”

Kyle nodded. That worked out perfectly. His last meeting was at four. Barring something unforeseen occurring, he should be finished around five-thirty. Even given the traffic at that hour, he could probably make it back here before she had a chance to escape. He had a feeling that consultations with her patients’ older brothers were not a high priority with the woman.

“Fine, I can be here by six-thirty. That should give you a little time to catch your breath.”

His phrasing seemed to amuse her. Despite her hurry, she paused at the door. “Will I be needing to catch my breath?”

He ignored the strange sensation that ran through him as he watched a quirky smile lift the corners of her generous mouth. At a loss as to how to answer her, he plowed ahead as if she hadn’t asked. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

After getting off the table with some difficulty, Marcie combed her fingers through her flattened hair. “He’s going to try to get you on his side.”

“Side?” For Marcie’s sake, Abby gave no indication that she knew anything about the ongoing argument between the girl and her brother. She had a feeling that Kyle McDermott didn’t take kindly to people being privy to what went on in his home behind closed doors. She looked at Kyle now, pretending to wait for enlightenment. “As in a debate?”

“As in railroading,” Marcie muttered resentfully. Obviously frustrated, she tried to jam her swollen feet into her shoes. The dark flats slid to the side, foiling her efforts.

Kyle bent down, captured her shoes and helped her on with them, Abby noted. He seemed to do it without conscious thought, as if helping Marcie was automatic.

Watching, Abby changed her mind about the refusal that was on the tip of her tongue. At least the man had some redeeming qualities. “Six-thirty it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

She was gone before Kyle could say anything more.

“GOT ONE FOR YOU, Daisy.”

The matronly-looking woman glanced up from her desk at the police officer ushering the young waif into Serenity Shelter’s tiny office.

The older woman’s face was lined, but her soft brown eyes were kind and she smiled in response to the policeman’s words as she rose from behind her desk. “So, where did you find this one, Rick?”

Rick hooked his thumbs onto his belt as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “In an alley. She was wandering around, dazed.”

Daisy sighed, nodding her head. She peered closer, drawn by the bruises that were just beginning to form. “What’s your name, lamb?”

The policeman answered for her. “She doesn’t know her name.”

Daisy’s eyebrows puckered closer together over a remarkably thin nose. She lowered her voice. “Something wrong with her?”

Rick shrugged, the helpless feeling growing. The young woman he’d found turned to look at him without saying a word. She’d been quiet all the way over here. Quiet on the way to the police station, as well. He supposed losing her memory didn’t leave her with a whole lot to say.

“There’s a bump on her forehead, just where her hair falls over it.” He nodded vaguely in her general direction. “Maybe that did it.” He sucked air in through his teeth. “She says she can’t remember anything.”

“I can’t,” she said softly.

Daisy believed her. The young woman looked as if the sound of her own voice surprised her. Daisy had never had any children of her own. Everyone who passed through the doors of Serenity Shelter was her child. Compassion filled her as she slipped a wide arm around the young woman’s small shoulders.

“Don’t you worry none—it’ll come back to you. But for now, you need a name.” Cocking her head, Daisy looked at her, trying to see beyond the bruises. Trying not to judge whoever had given them to her. That wasn’t her job. “You look a little like my niece, Sara. How about I call you Sara? Would that be all right with you?”

Newly christened Sara nodded her consent.

That settled, there was more. “Has she been seen by a doctor?”

Rick shook his head. “When I checked her for priors and came up empty, I was going to send her to the clinic.” He hesitated. This went beyond duty, but sometimes you had to. “But I thought, in view of the circumstances, maybe you’d want to take her there yourself.”

Daisy snorted. “Checked her for priors, indeed. A sweet-faced little thing like this? Anyone with eyes can see how innocent she is.” And then she nodded. “Yeah, I guess I’ve got time to take her to the clinic. In between my pedicure and my massage.” The sound emitting from her lips was more of a crackle than a chuckle. “Let’s get you checked out, honey, and then we’ll see where we can fit you in.”

Nowhere, Sara thought. I fit in nowhere. She looked at them. They meant well, these people, but they had no idea how it felt to have nothing to think about, nothing to remember.

Daisy reached for her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, then paused. She saw the look in Sara’s eyes. “It’ll come back to you. Whatever brought you here, it’ll come back.” She nodded at Rick, who then took his leave. “You don’t know how lucky you are, not remembering. Some of the stories I could tell you…”

Sara didn’t feel very lucky. The only feeling she had was a vague sense that something was missing. Something vital. Because there was nothing else, she clung to that as she allowed herself to be ushered out into a world she didn’t recognize.

DRAINED, ABBY DROPPED into her chair. The last patient had finally left several minutes ago. She heard the front door close, telling her that Lisa was hurrying home to her twin boys. They’d packed a lot of work into one day. It was 6:19, and they had seen their full load, plus two unexpected patients who’d pleaded emergencies in order to see her. And Mrs. Calvert had had her triplets two weeks early, to add to the excitement of the day.

Abby wondered if it was poor form just to curl up on one of her examination tables and go to sleep.

“You’re not getting enough vitamins, Abby-girl,” she murmured to herself, trying to summon enough strength to get back on her feet again.

She needn’t have bothered. At 6:20, the telephone rang. The flashing red light told her it was coming in on her personal line. Abby pulled the last remaining pin from her hair, and it came tumbling down her back as she reached for the receiver. At least it wouldn’t be a prospective father calling her to frantically proclaim, “It’s time.” Given her druthers, she really didn’t want to have to face another woman in the throes of labor tonight.

Taking a deep breath, she brought the receiver to her ear. “Abby.”

“Abby, it’s Mother. Put on that little television set you have in your office and turn to channel eight.”

Her mother rarely called her at work, and when she did, it wasn’t to tell her to watch something on television. This wasn’t going to be good.

Opening her side drawer to retrieve the remote control, Abby braced herself. “I take it by your tone, I’m not about to be entertained.” She aimed the remote at the set and pressed the power button.

“Only if your sense of humor has suddenly turned bizarre.”

From the sound of it, her mother was struggling to keep a tight rein on her emotions. Concern took a firmer hold on Abby.

The color on the set came into focus. Flipping quickly, she found Channel 8 and the program that had prompted her mother to call her.

“Son of a gun.”

There, smiling up into the camera, was Chelsea Markum—the reporter Abby had taken the baby from this morning. Along the bottom of the screen scrolled the teaser: “Which of the Maitland Men Sired This Baby?” Beside the reporter was a fuzzy photograph of the baby, obviously lifted and freeze-framed from the video taken earlier.

Stifling an exasperated sigh, Abby leaned forward and turned up the sound.

“…Just as the Maitlands’ PR department released word of a silver anniversary party in the works to celebrate the clinic’s twenty-five years of service, we finally learn that there are skeletons in the very proper Maitland closet, after all. No matter how well respected the family, they obviously have something to hide. Something they’re not proud of. So the question still remains—”

Annoyed, Abby turned off the television set. “Ignore it, Mother.”

Her mother’s voice was calmly logical. “How do I ignore the baby?”

The tension headache that had been building all day now threatened to take Abby’s head off. She pressed her fingers to both temples and massaged, knowing it wouldn’t help. “Good point.”

“I’m calling a family conference tonight.” Megan had always been in tune with her children, so her next words came as no surprise to Abby. “If you’re too tired…”

She was, but she also knew that she had to be there. This was serious and it affected them all. Abby pushed away from the desk. “No, I’ll be there.” With effort, she tried to sound brighter. “I just saw my last patient a few minutes ago and I’m free for the evening. I can be at the house in about twenty minutes.”

“I appreciate it.”

Abby could hear the relief in her mother’s voice. “See you.”

She hung up, then suddenly remembered that despite what she’d said to her mother, she wasn’t free. Marcie McDermott’s brother was coming to try to browbeat her into doing heaven only knew what.

“Not tonight, McDermott,” she murmured.

But as she reached for the telephone, Abby realized that she had no idea what his number was. He’d failed to give her his card. Probably to avoid having the appointment called off, she thought, getting to her feet.

Maybe the number was in Marcie’s file. Lisa had been too busy today to take care of the filing. That meant the files were still stacked on the side of her desk in the order the patients had been seen. Marcie’s would be on the bottom.

As she went into the outer office, now dim and eerily still after all the life that had crossed its floors today, a knock on the door startled Abby.

Crossing to it, she saw the outline of someone tall and broad-shouldered through the frosted glass.

McDermott.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmured to herself.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE LOOKED HARRIED, Kyle thought, when Abby opened the door to admit him. And her eyes looked tired. The kind of tired that came from juggling too many balls at the same time.

He’d seen the same look staring back at him from the mirror.

Would that work to his benefit or not? Would she give in quickly because she was tired, or would it make her irritable and resistant? He was hoping for the former. The argument he’d had with Marcie on the way home nearly nine hours ago was still fresh in his mind. That about filled his quota for the day. Lately, all Marcie did was argue with him, if she spoke to him at all.

He noticed that Abby wasn’t moving aside to let him enter. Behind her, the office was in semidarkness.

“I’m early,” he told her.

That was probably meant to be another crack about her arriving late this morning, Abby figured. The smile she forced to her lips was as fake as the Monopoly money she used to play with as a child. “I’m sorry but I’m fresh out of roses to pin on you.”

So it was going to be like that, was it? “I’m not interested in roses, Doctor, I’m interested in your support.”

“So I gather.” Abby leaned against the door she was holding ajar. “Listen, Mr. McDermott—” She paused a second, pressing her lips together. There was a pithy way to phrase this, but for the life of her, she couldn’t summon the energy to think of it. She just wanted him to go away. “I know I said that I would see you after hours, but I’m afraid something’s come up.”

Kyle hadn’t gotten where he was in life by allowing himself to be summarily brushed aside. “What?”

His question took Abby by surprise. Someone else would have told him it was none of his business, or hidden behind the convenient excuse that there was a baby on the way and she had to rush off to deliver it.

But Abby didn’t like evasion and she liked lying even less. Living by the “do unto others” edict that had been so firmly impressed upon her as a child, she had no option but to tell him the truth.

She didn’t have to be friendly about it, though.

“If you must know, I’ve been called to the house for a family meeting.”

“You hold meetings?” He didn’t know all that much about the Maitlands, only what he read in passing, and by reputation. He wondered if they were all cold, passionless people who were emotionally distant from one another. It would seem logical that they would be, if family get-togethers were referred to as “meetings.”

Though normally easygoing, Abby felt herself taking offense at the tone he used. What right did he have to question her or her family? “We do when there are babies dropped on our doorstep and fingers pointed at us.”

Kyle stared at her. “You lost me.” He’d had no opportunity to listen to the radio on his way over; he’d been dictating a letter. He had no idea what she meant.

“No, but I’m trying to.” With a toss of her head, she turned on her heel. Walking back to her office, she shed her lab coat as she went.

Kyle followed. She wasn’t wearing the suit jacket he’d seen her in earlier, he thought. And she’d done something to her hair. Let it down. It made her look younger. Softer.

He couldn’t help noticing, when she swung around again to face him, that the beige turtleneck sweater she had on clung very appealingly to her breasts. Especially as she drew in a deep breath. He realized that he was staring and raised his eyes to her face again.

She should have just politely shut the door on him, Abby thought. She wasn’t any good at excuses. “I know that this must seem like I’m trying to brush you off—”

“Good call.”

Kyle knew she was going to try to make it a done deal if he didn’t say something to stop her. He needed this woman backing him up if he was going to have a prayer of convincing Marcie to be sensible. It wasn’t hard to see that his sister thought the world of Abby Maitland. The woman was the first role model Marcie had turned to since…he couldn’t remember when.

Sensing that she was a person who could be appealed to on an emotional level, he went that way. “Look, Doctor, it might not seem like it to you, but I really love my sister and I only want what’s best for her.”

Given her track record as far as men went, Abby knew that she wasn’t always the best judge of character when it came to the opposite sex. But she believed he was sincere. Or at the very least, that he believed himself to be sincere. He’d proven that by making time in the “busy schedule” Marcie had complained to her about. And there was the matter of the birthing classes. Marcie had signed her brother up as her partner. It spoke to Abby of a strong bond, no matter what words might be flying around to the contrary.

That all counted for something.

Tossing her lab coat over the back of her chair, she reached for her jacket and proceeded to put it on. “Yes, I believe that you do.” The right sleeve was giving her trouble as she tried to push her arm through. Par for the course today, she thought. “But I really do have to be at my mother’s…”

Her voice trailed off as she felt a pair of strong, masculine hands easing the jacket onto her shoulders. She hadn’t even realized that he’d moved behind her. Something akin to a misty premonition zigzagged through her before vanishing. She hadn’t a clue what that was all about, and had less than no time to ponder it.

Turning around, Abby found herself a hairbreadth away from him. Surprised, she felt a spike of adrenaline shoot through her. The pounding in her head increased, and she winced involuntarily.

He saw the pain in her a second before she winced. “What’s the matter?”

“Tension headache.” A vague shrug accompanied the confession she knew she should have kept to herself. She wasn’t a complainer by nature. Not even when her heart was hurt. No one in the family had any idea just how deeply she’d been wounded by Drew Brandon’s duplicity. It was something that, for the most part, she kept to herself. Only a couple of her friends even came close to suspecting the extent of the damage Drew and his womanizing had done.

The familiar term evoked a half smile. Kyle nodded in mute sympathy. “Had more than my share of tension headaches. Sit down.”

Where did he get off ordering her around? Abby raised her chin. “I don’t have—”

He was beginning to see what it was about Abby Maitland that Marcie related to so well. They both appeared to be stubborn as hell. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he gently but firmly pushed her down into the chair. She glared up at him with eyes that were accusing and wary at the same time.

Did she think she had something to fear from him? The thought surprised him. He could handle himself in any given situation, physical or otherwise, but it had never occurred to him to use anything but his powers of persuasion when it came to women.

Kyle purposely made his voice calm and reasonable. “As you pointed out, we’re all running behind from the moment we’re born. A couple more minutes won’t put you much further in the red.” So saying, he turned her chair around so that her back was to him.

He noted that she perched more than sat—probably debating whether to bolt, he decided.

This served her right for agreeing to see him after hours, Abby thought, annoyed at her carelessness. As the daughter of wealthy parents, she knew all the precautions she was supposed to take. But she often thought of them as imprisoning her rather than keeping her safe, and she tended to be lax, preferring to think of everyone as nonthreatening.

She wasn’t all that sure about Marcie’s older brother, however. Nonthreatening wasn’t a word she would have equated with Kyle McDermott.

She felt his hands on her shoulders again, just shy of her neck. Strong, powerful hands. Hands that could easily do damage, given cause. Stiffening, she tried to rise. “I really don’t—”

The last words of the sentence failed to emerge as a shock wave shot through the top of her head in response to the pressure he was applying to the knotted muscles of her shoulders. A slight gasp escaped before she could stop it.

A whisper of guilt slipped through Kyle at the sound. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. “It’ll probably feel worse before it starts to feel better,” he warned, working his fingers farther into the rigid area.

“Too late.” She tried to brace herself and found that she couldn’t. All she could do was hold on and hope she didn’t make a fool of herself. “I think you just took off the top of my skull.”

Abby felt his hard torso against her back as he leaned forward, inspecting the area in question. She could have sworn she felt his breath move along the suddenly sensitized flesh beneath her hair.

“Nope, it’s still there.”

“Good,” she said, exhaling slowly. Why was her pulse suddenly racing? Her brother Mitchell had warned her about pacing herself and working too hard. She should have listened to him. She was paying the price for that now.

“I’ve gotten very attached to it,” Abby heard herself say.

Like thick molasses, relief moved slowly along the shoulders he was kneading up to her neck, then made its way by micro-steps to her temples. Stunned, surprised and feeling strangely light-headed, Abby took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly.

“Better?”

The question seemed to drift to her out of nowhere, parting a haze as it came. “Yes. A little.” With effort, she forced herself to turn the chair to face him, though the magic the man performed was seductive.

As was the feel of his hands on her shoulders.

Abby raised her eyes to his, trying not to cling to the sensation he’d created. “And that’s all I’m going to have time for.”

Kyle had no idea why a smile was forming within him. He’d come here to make his arguments, to win her over to his way of thinking. Humor had no place in this; the issue was too important. And yet here he was, smiling at her for expressing the same sentiments that drove him.

“Afraid they’ll start the meeting without you?” He echoed the question that Marcie had accusingly put to him earlier, momentarily seeing her side of it.

Abby found that she had to grip the armrests to get herself up. She felt like warm liquid seeking a vessel to rest in. But at least the tension headache was miraculously gone. Her eyes held his, and despite herself she was fascinated by the half smile.

“Someone pointed out to me today that it’s disrespectful to be late.”

She was tossing his words back at him. Odd that he didn’t mind. Kyle inclined his head. “You’re a quick study.”

“Whenever possible.” On her feet again, telling herself that the wobbly feeling in her thighs was a result of not finishing the single sandwich she’d allowed herself for lunch, Abby hesitated as she studied Kyle’s expression. Damn it, but she truly did believe he was sincere. “If this is really that important to you, you’re welcome to follow me to the house and wait in the library until I’m free. With luck, it won’t take too long.”

Tacitly, Kyle accepted the invitation, knowing it was not a choice. “I get the feeling that there’s no other way to see you except on your terms.”

He made it sound as if she were drafting a treaty. “I don’t have terms, Mr. McDermott. I just have a very busy life.” She pulled open the bottom drawer. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.”

Abby raised her eyes until they met his. He surprised her. She hadn’t really thought that he would agree; it was just an offer she felt compelled to make because he had vanquished her tension headache. And because he’d looked, for just a moment, like a determined white knight.

She was far too easygoing for her own good, she chided herself. But now that she’d made the offer, she knew she couldn’t very well rescind it. That wouldn’t be playing fair.

With a sigh, she pulled her purse out of the drawer and let the drawer slide back into place. “All right, the address is—”

That she felt she had to actually give it to him amused Kyle. “Everyone knows where Maitland Mansion is.” What went unsaid was that, as a teenager, he used to drive by the estate in his second-hand car whenever the opportunity presented itself, vowing that someday he’d have a mansion just like it. And a life just like the Maitlands’. A life that commanded respect.

“All right, then.” Resigned, she led the way out. “Let’s go.”

SHE DROVE TOO FAST, Kyle thought, following Abby’s bright red Jaguar up the winding hill that led to her family’s estate. He wondered if her speed was a natural outpouring of residual energy, or if she just had an incredibly heavy foot.

Or maybe she was trying to lose him.

In any case, a doctor should have known better than to drive like that. She didn’t weave in and out of traffic, but that was only because there was no other traffic.

He decided that being in a hurry was a natural part of Abby Maitland’s makeup.

The Maitland estate was located a mere ten blocks from the clinic, but upon driving into the compound, housed behind tall, imposing electronic black gates, Kyle felt as if they had entered another world. In the distance, the stately white house rose up in front of him. Four sprawling floors reaching up to the sky beneath a light clay-tiled roof that seemed more reminiscent of an old English castle than a Texas mansion.

There was a guest cottage on the premises, barely visible off to the side. Hidden from view were the tennis court and the pool that Kyle knew were located at the rear of the property. The tennis court alone was larger than the lot on which his boyhood home had stood.

The rich sure knew how to live, he thought. It was a talent he was still trying to acquire. But work kept getting in the way. Another skill he had yet to acquire, he knew, was the ability to delegate. But he couldn’t overcome the nagging fear that if he wasn’t involved in all phases of operation, everything would break down and come to a grinding halt. Being on the leading edge of communications technology meant never slowing your pace.

It looked as if Abby hadn’t been blowing him off about the “meeting,” after all, Kyle thought as they approached the mansion. There was a squadron of cars parked in the circular gray-and-white paved driveway. He quickly surveyed the various makes and models. They would make an automobile aficionado drool.

It was difficult not to feel out of place, even behind the wheel of a Mercedes. He supposed that was because no matter what the numbers on the ledgers said, deep down he was still that scrawny, awkward kid in his cousin’s hand-me-downs.

Kyle was beginning to have doubts that he would ever be entirely free of that image.

But for now, he pushed that negative thought aside, just as he had countless other times during the early years of his business when all his efforts looked as if they might blow up in his face. It had taken fierce determination for him to believe in himself, but it had paid off.

He was as good as any of these people, Kyle told himself. He just had to hold on to that thought.

After pulling up beside Abby’s car, Kyle turned off the engine and got out quickly. Abby was already ahead of him, waiting on the bottom of the steps that led up to the massive front door. Kyle lengthened his stride, sensing she would only wait a moment. “You drive too fast.”

The blunt observation surprised Abby. People who wanted to win you over to their side didn’t start out by admonishing you. It seemed the man was full of contradictions. He was also undoubtedly accustomed to getting his way, if not through sheer force of will, then by his looks. She found herself wondering if any woman had ever said no to him—and meant it.

“So my brothers say,” she acknowledged, inclining her head. “I tend to do that when I’m running behind.” The look she gave him was long, penetrating and deep. “I’m sure someone like you can understand that.”

He could, but he also knew better. Life had taught him that. “Better late than never,” he countered. When she raised a quizzical brow, he added, “My mother drove like you do. She died in a car crash a little more than sixteen years ago.”

Caught unprepared, Abby could only murmur, “I’m sorry.”

He said nothing, merely shrugged as he fell in beside her. There was no point in going over what was in the past and couldn’t be changed. He was interested in the present, and how it could influence the future.

Kyle drank in the splendor that was Maitland Mansion. The word grand seemed hopelessly insufficient. It took him back to the boy he’d been. The dreamer. “I’ve always wondered what it looked like inside.”

The admission made Abby smile. He probably didn’t realize that he sounded almost wistful. Taking the lead, she hurried up the steps. “Then wonder no more.”

She rang the doorbell even though she had a key. Harold would be there to open the front door before she ever located her key within the jumble of her purse.

The stern face that appeared when the door was opened broke into a wreath of smiles as recognition sank in. Clear blue eyes crinkled with pleasure. “Miss Abby, how nice to see you again.”

She could remember a time when the tall, stately man had seemed larger than life to her. Now there was a touch of frailty hovering over him that tugged on her heart strings. “Hello, Harold.”

She surprised Kyle by brushing her lips over the butler’s cheek. The pale complexion grew pink where her lips had touched it.

“Am I the last one?” she asked, walking in.

Harold nodded. “They’re all in the living room.” He inclined his head in that general direction, but his eyes rested on Kyle. There was not even the slightest spark of curiosity in them. To Harold, curiosity was a plebeian sentiment. What he needed to know he would be told, by and by.

Abby glanced toward the living room. The doors were closed. Not a good sign. She wondered if anything had been decided yet.

The slight, almost imperceptible clearing of a throat made her remember the man at her side. And her manners. “This is Kyle McDermott. Mr. McDermott, this is Harold, without whom everything in the Maitland household would fall to pieces.”

The modest smile threatened to take possession of the butler’s entire face. “You flatter me, Miss Abby.”

She caught the old man’s arm in a quick, affectionate embrace. “Not nearly enough.” She released her hold. Time to see what was going on. “Please show Mr. McDermott to the library, Harold.” She spared Kyle a quick glance. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I’m sure you will,” she murmured, hurrying away.

Kyle watched her for a second, noting that the gentle sway of her hips increased as she picked up speed.

“This way, sir.”

It sounded more like a command than a request. Turning away, Kyle followed the older man.

The butler was silent as he led the way down a hallway discreetly showcasing fine sculptures and paintings that looked vaguely familiar from an art history course dating back to Kyle’s freshman year in college.

He wondered if he should be dropping bread crumbs to help him find his way back, in case the good doctor forgot about him. He would have been willing to bet that more than one person had gotten lost here.

“May I bring you some refreshments?” Harold asked as he opened the double doors that led into the library.

The room more than deserved its name. The mingled scent of lemon oil, leather and roses greeted him. For a moment, Kyle didn’t acknowledge the butler’s question, as he looked around the room. It rose two stories, with books residing on dark oak shelves that completely lined three of its walls. In the rear of the library, stairs led to an alcove that housed more books and a long table.

Had Abby done her studying here? Kyle wondered. Or was this all for show? “Quite impressive.”

“The Maitlands all like to read, sir. Some of the books here are over two hundred years old,” Harold told him. “About the refreshments?” A gray brow rose.

Kyle shook his head, still looking around. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

Harold remained standing where he was. “It might be a while, sir.”

Kyle looked at the man, feeling as if he had been given a subtle hint. “In that case, make it a scotch. Neat.”

A small smile played along the very thin lips. “We’re never messy here, sir.” With that, Harold turned and discreetly faded, more than walked, from the room. He closed the doors behind him.

Was that for privacy, or to seal him in? Kyle had a feeling it was the latter.

Over the years Kyle had found that the kind of books people kept on their shelves gave him useful insight into the people themselves. So, with nothing else to do, he began reading the lettering along the leather spines.

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