His brother’s wife.

Emily’s words rang in Dillon’s head: You don’t even like me.

Dillon snorted.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised she believed that. By his actions these past seven years—avoiding her whenever he could, keeping his distance during family gatherings—he had made it appear that way.

How would Emily react, Dillon wondered, if she knew the truth? That all these years, since before his brother had swept her off her feet and married her, he had been in love with her.

And that the baby she now carried was not her late husband’s, as she believed.

It was his….

Dear Reader,

This May, we celebrate Mother’s Day and a fabulous month of uplifting romances. I’m delighted to introduce RITA® Award finalist Carol Stephenson, who debuts with her heartwarming reunion romance, Nora’s Pride. Carol writes, “Nora’s Pride is very meaningful to me, as my mother, my staunchest fan and supporter, passed away in May 2000. I’m sure she’s smiling down at me from heaven. She passionately believed this would be my first sale.” A must-read for your list!

The Princess and the Duke, by Allison Leigh, is the second book in the CROWN AND GLORY series. Here, a princess and a duke share a kiss, but can their love withstand the truth about a royal assassination? We have another heart-thumper from the incomparable Marie Ferrarella with Lily and the Lawman, a darling city-girl-meets-small-town-boy romance.

In A Baby for Emily, Ginna Gray delivers an emotionally charged love story in which a brooding hero lays claim to a penniless widow who, unbeknownst to her, is carrying their child…. Sharon De Vita pulls on the heartstrings with A Family To Come Home To, in which a rugged rancher searches for his family and finds true love! You also won’t want to miss Patricia McLinn’s The Runaway Bride, a humorous tale of a sexy cowboy who rescues a distressed bride.

I hope you enjoy these exciting books from Silhouette Special Edition—the place for love, life and family. Come back for more winning reading next month!

Sincerely,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

A Baby for Emily
Ginna Gray

www.millsandboon.co.uk

GINNA GRAY

A native Texan, Ginna Gray lived in Houston all her life until 1993, when she and her husband, Brad, built their “dream home” and moved to the mountains of Colorado. Coming from a large Irish/American family, in which spinning colorful yarns was commonplace, made writing a natural career choice for Ginna. “I grew up hearing so many fascinating tales, I was eleven or twelve before I realized that not everyone made up stories,” Ginna says. She sold her first novel in 1983 and has been working as a full-time writer ever since. She has also given many lectures and writing workshops and judged in writing contests. The mother of two grown daughters, Ginna also enjoys other creative activities, such as oil painting, sewing, sketching, knitting and needlepoint.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

She’s hanging on by a thread.

Dillon Maguire ground his teeth. He stood alone in the bay window alcove, a little apart from the others, his intense gaze fixed on his sister-in-law.

Sitting on one of the twin living room sofas flanking the fireplace with her hands folded in her lap, Emily Collins Maguire stared into the middle distance at nothing. For the most part she seemed oblivious to the other mourners crowded into her posh, northwest Houston home. Whenever someone approached her, she raised stricken eyes and murmured a few words, even attempted a watery smile, but as soon as the person moved away she withdrew again into her own private hell.

Dammit, it was barbaric to put her through this, Dillon silently raged. And for what? To honor a man who, in dying, had revealed himself to be without honor?

Dillon glanced around at the other people milling through the impressive house. The fierceness of his gaze caused several of those nearby to regard him with alarm and retreat a few paces.

Just look at them, he thought with disgust. Look at them! Swilling wine and devouring the buffet meal. They huddled together in little groups, chatting among themselves, even laughing discreetly, all the while casting sidelong glances at the widow and whispering behind their hands.

Some were neighbors and friends. A few were family, but most of these people had been Keith’s colleagues at St. John’s General Hospital. Did they see so much death and human agony that they were inured to Emily’s pain? To the humiliation she was suffering?

Oh sure, the doctors and nurses and other hospital staff had all been shocked by the unexpected death of one of their own, and no doubt Dr. Keith Wesley Maguire would be missed. However, Dillon suspected that a lot of these people had come to the funeral, and now the wake, not so much to show respect or to grieve, but out of a sick desire to see how the widow was holding up.

And, of course, to rehash and relish this juicy scandal.

Keith himself had often laughed about what a hotbed of gossip St. John’s was. And it wasn’t every day, after all, that one of the medical community’s most esteemed oncologists died in bed with his mistress.

Though the firemen had managed to put out the blaze before it reached Keith and his lover, the pair had died in their sleep of asphyxiation, wrapped in each other’s arms, naked. Later it had been revealed that the mortgage on the apartment was in Keith’s name.

Dillon’s gaze went back to Emily, and his mouth tightened. On the surface she appeared to be hanging in there, but she was pale as bleached flour. And so tense and fragile she looked as though she might shatter into a million pieces at any moment. Like brittle glass.

No small wonder.

That Emily had received the most joyous news of her life only hours earlier had made Keith’s death doubly devastating. In the space of just a few hours she had gone from euphoria to the depths of despair.

Dillon could not even imagine how she must feel. His own grief was a crushing, hollow ache in his chest, as though someone had cut out his heart with a dull knife. He didn’t know which was worse—the pain of losing his brother, or the anger that threatened to consume him.

A tiny muscle rippled in Dillon’s cheek as his jaw clenched tighter. Damn you, Keith. Damn you! How could you do this to her?

His heart pounded against his ribs, but it was only when the rattle of china drew his gaze downward that he realized he was shaking with fury. He stared at the cup, dancing in its saucer, the quivering, shiny surface of the coffee that he hadn’t touched, surprised that he still held it.

“You’re Keith’s brother, aren’t you?”

Dillon looked up from placing the cup on the grand piano and found himself facing a slender man in his late thirties. His face was vaguely familiar. An instant later Dillon recognized him as one of the partners in the medical group where Keith had practiced.

The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Dr. Garrett Conn, one of Keith’s partners. We met once, several years ago, but you probably don’t remember me. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

Shaking the doctor’s hand, Dillon murmured the expected thanks, but that was all. The man had kind eyes and there was compassion in his voice and expression, but Dillon remained wary. If Dr. Conn was hoping to get the sordid details from him he was barking up the wrong tree.

“Your brother was an excellent physician. Our practice won’t be the same without him. He’ll be sorely missed.” Dr. Conn folded his mouth into a thin line and shook his head. “Such a waste.”

He paused, as though waiting for a response, but Dillon merely fixed him with a level stare. After a moment the doctor went on. “I suppose, being as you’re Keith’s older brother, you’ll be looking after Emily now?”

Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

A wry smile twisted the other man’s mouth. “Keith always said you were an intimidating bastard. Relax. I’m not trying to pump you for information, if that’s what you think. Your brother’s affairs don’t interest me. I leave that sort of tittle-tattle to others,” he said with a nod toward a group of people on the other side of the room. “I approached you because Emily is my patient, and I’m worried about her.”

The statement had no effect on Dillon’s stern expression. “Emily’s doctor is Frank Young,” he challenged. He knew that because the whole family went to Dr. Young.

“Yes, Frank is the G.P. in our practice. My specialty is gynecology and obstetrics.”

Dillon tensed. He shot a sharp glance at Emily, then swung back to Dr. Conn. “Is there a problem with the baby?”

The doctor’s eyes widened. “You know about that?”

“Yes. Keith told me.”

“I see. Actually, that’s a relief. I wasn’t sure that he and Emily had shared the news with anyone. Now at least I don’t have to worry about betraying doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Is there a problem?”

“It’s too soon to tell. The in vitro was performed only last week and the pregnancy confirmed three days ago—just hours before Keith died in that fire. But I have to tell you, the shock of his death, particularly given the circumstances, has put an enormous strain on Emily, and that’s never good.”

“Are you saying she could lose the baby?”

“After emotional trauma like that it’s certainly possible. I talked to her earlier, and she says she’s okay, but I’m concerned. She’s strung tighter than a fiddle string and too pale by far. Has she mentioned having any problems?”

“No. At least, not to me.” But then, he’d be the last person Emily would turn to for help, especially with something as personal as that. She avoided him whenever she could. “Actually, I don’t think she’s told anyone she’s pregnant. I doubt she even knows that Keith told me.”

Keith had called him from his car phone that night. God, had it been only seventy-two hours ago? His brother had said that he was on the way to the hospital to see a patient, but in reality he’d been heading to meet up with his mistress.

Typical, Dillon thought with disgust. Instead of sharing the joy of impending parenthood with his wife, his faithless brother had chosen to celebrate by tearing up the sheets with his latest girlfriend.

“Mmm.” Dr. Conn studied Emily from across the room. “It would be a good idea if someone stayed with her, at least for the next few days until she gets over the initial shock.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see to it.”

“Good, good. Tell her if she experiences so much as a twinge to call me, day or night.” He gave Dillon a sympathetic smile. “Look, I just want you to know that despite his faults, I truly liked your brother. He was a good doctor and a good friend. I know this is a terrible time for you and your family. If there’s anything I can do to help—anything at all—just let me know.”

“If you really mean that, how about nudging your friends toward the door,” Dillon said, nodding toward the clutch of people on the other side of the room. “Emily’s had a rough couple of days. She needs to rest.” And she needs a chance to lick her wounds in private, he added silently.

Dr. Conn chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

When the doctor walked away Dillon’s gaze zeroed in on Emily again, a new worry niggling at him. Why hadn’t she told anyone about the baby? He’d been waiting for her to mention her condition ever since the night of Keith’s death, but she hadn’t said a word.

He studied her delicate profile, her blank expression. What are you feeling? he wondered. Anger? Hurt? Humiliation? Grief?

Hell, she had to be feeling all those things and more, he decided. And who could blame her? Well…who besides Adele, at any rate? His mother always blamed others for Keith’s mistakes and shortcomings.

But what about the new life inside her? How did Emily feel about the baby now? She had wanted a child so badly, and had gone to extreme lengths to conceive. However, now Keith was gone and she’d had her blinders ripped off in the cruelest way possible. Now that she’d learned just what a louse of a husband he’d truly been, did she regret the pregnancy?

Oh, hell, did she want to end it?

Worse, if she had the baby would she resent him or her and reject the child?

As his mother rejected him?

Reluctantly, Dillon’s gaze switched to his mother. Adele Maguire and Dillon’s sister Charlotte, and her husband, Roger Boyd, sat on the sofa opposite the one Emily occupied. Clinging to her daughter for support, Adele wailed and wept bitterly and ignored Emily.

Dillon’s mouth curled. As far as Adele was concerned, no one, not even Keith’s widow, could possibly be experiencing the pain and loss that she felt over his death.

The prospect of a grandchild—particularly Keith’s child—might mitigate Adele’s grief somewhat, Dillon mused. More importantly, it might even make her more accepting of the daughter-in-law she had merely tolerated for the past seven years. Emily had to know that. Still, she kept silent. Why?

Dillon was still pondering that when Dr. Conn and the other partners and their wives approached Emily and his family to offer final condolences and bid them goodbye. Noting with relief that others were beginning to collect their coats as well, Dillon went to see them out.

For what seemed like hours, he stood in the foyer, shaking hands and accepting condolences and perfunctory offers of help. By the time he closed the door behind the last person his patience was almost at an end.

“Well, that’s it,” he announced, returning to the living room. “All the wagging tongues have finally left.”

His sister’s two children, Leslie and Roy, had retreated to the den at the back of the house to watch television. In the dining room Ila Mae, Emily’s housekeeper, had already started putting away the leftover food and gathering up the stray dishes scattered around.

Adele dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and shot him an annoyed look. “Must you always be so crass?”

Dillon shrugged. “Ignoring the truth doesn’t change it. I’ve never heard so much malicious whispering in one place before. But I suppose you have to expect that when someone gets caught practically in the act.”

Emily made a small, distressed sound and turned her face away, and Dillon immediately winced.

“Sorry, Emily,” he murmured.

He could have kicked himself. Dammit, man, what were you thinking? Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he was a thoughtless clod.

Adele sniffed and dabbed her eyes again. “I don’t know why everyone is being so unkind and judgmental. It should be obvious that if my son turned to another woman then he wasn’t getting the affection and emotional support he needed at home.”

“Dammit to hell!” Dillon roared.

Charlotte closed her eyes and groaned.

“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s the truth,” Adele insisted with an indignant lift of her chin.

“The hell it is!” Towering over his mother, Dillon jabbed the air with his forefinger, just inches from her nose. “Don’t you dare try to blame this on Emily.”

“No, Dillon, please,” Emily murmured. “It…it doesn’t matter. Really.”

“It matters,” he insisted, never taking his furious gaze off of Adele. “All of his life, no matter what underhanded thing Keith did, no matter what mistakes he made, no matter who he hurt, you made excuses for him. It was always someone else’s fault, never your precious Keith’s. Well, if you think I’m going to let you get away with it this time, think again.”

“How dare you sa—!”

“Oh, I dare. Your precious son cheated on his wife because he was spoiled rotten, thanks to your coddling. He grew up thinking the world revolved around him and that he should have whatever he wanted when he wanted it, regardless of who he hurt. Face it, professionally, he may have been a respected doctor, but on a personal level he was selfish, self-centered and incapable of fidelity.”

“How can you be so cruel?” Adele wailed. “That you, of all people, would talk about Keith that way. He was your brother!”

“And I loved him. But, dammit, I wasn’t blind to his faults.”

He took off his suit coat, dropped it onto a chair, then stripped off his tie and tossed it on top. By the time he had unfastened the top three buttons on his shirt Adele looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon. Paying her no mind, he exhaled a long sigh and muttered a heartfelt, “Thank God. For the past eight hours that thing has felt like a noose around my neck.”

“You’d be accustomed to wearing proper attire if you did so more often,” his mother said with a disdainful sniff.

“I hate wearing suits and ties.”

Just as he hated being cooped up in a fancy office. Over the years, as his company had grown and prospered, he’d had to endure both more and more—especially when he met with bankers or attorneys or clients. Thankfully, he was still able to spend much of his time on the construction sites in a hard hat and work clothes.

Adele dabbed at her eyes again. “I don’t know why I try. You’ll never be anything but a common workman.”

Though she meant it as an insult, Dillon wasn’t offended. In his opinion there was nothing demeaning about good, honest labor. He liked working with his hands as well as his mind, and he was proud of what he’d accomplished.

Besides, he wondered how many “common workmen” his mother knew who owned a multimillion-dollar construction company? One they’d built from the ground up on their own?

He kept quiet, however. Defending himself to her was pointless. No matter what he said or did, she would find fault.

Adele loved Charlotte well enough, but Keith had always been her favorite, her “golden boy” as she was fond of calling him. In her eyes, Keith could do no wrong…and Dillon could do no right. It was a fact of life that he had accepted long ago.

Emily barely registered the exchange between Dillon and Adele. Her anger and hurt had turned to a deep, dark feeling that hung around her shoulders like a lead cape, weighing her down so much she could barely function. She longed to climb into bed and curl up into a ball of misery beneath the covers and shut out the world. The last thing she wanted right now was to be around people, especially Keith’s family.

She started when Dillon sank down on the sofa next to her. He’d left the space of a cushion between them, but just having him that close made her feel crowded. Uneasy.

Dillon always had that effect on her. He towered a foot over her puny five feet four inches, but it was more than that. There were those massive shoulders and bulging biceps, those big, callused hands. His brawny chest tapered down to a washboard abdomen and narrow hips that any male model would envy. Dillon was such a physical man and so overwhelmingly masculine he almost gave off an aura. Whenever she was around him she felt it hitting her in waves.

Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he heaved a long sigh. “Thank heaven that’s over.”

Emily gripped her hands together tighter and briefly closed her eyes, perilously close to tears. Dear Lord, he can’t be half as thankful as I am, she thought. Now if they would all just go home, as well, and leave her alone.

Word of Keith’s infidelity and the sordid details of his death had spread like wildfire. She had been aware of the pitying looks and whispered comments that had swirled around her all day. It had taken every ounce of pride and strength that she possessed just to get through the funeral and the wake with her head held high, but the strain had taken its toll. She felt shaky and fragile, as though every nerve ending in her body was frayed and threatening to give way.

If she was going to fall apart, she wanted to do so in private, not in front of Keith’s family. Especially not in front of Dillon.

From the beginning he had not liked her, nor had he approved of her marrying Keith. He was always so somber and remote, so in control. She was fairly certain he would disapprove of even the hint of hysteria on her part. Besides, she had no intention of allowing him to see her that vulnerable.

“There was a nice turnout for the service,” Charlotte offered lamely to fill the uncomfortable silence that had stretched out.

Adele sniffed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t there be? Everyone loved Keith. He was a wonderful man and a prominent, respected physician. He was also handsome, bright and utterly charming.

“And the most wonderful son any mother could ask for,” she added in a quavery voice as fresh tears welled in her eyes. With a choked sob, she buried her face in her hands again and gave in to another storm of weeping.

He was also a womanizing cheat, Emily added silently, but she kept the thought to herself. There was no point in angering Adele. In her mother-in-law’s eyes, her younger son had been perfect, and nothing anyone could say would convince her otherwise.

Dillon’s mouth twisted as he stared pityingly at his mother, but he said nothing.

Patting Adele’s heaving shoulders, Charlotte rocked her back and forth and murmured words of comfort.

“Excuse me, Miz Maguire.” Ila Mae appeared in the arched doorway leading into the foyer, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m finished. The food is stored away, kitchen is cleaned and the dishes are washing in the machine. Is there anything else you’d like me to do before I leave?”

“No. Thank you, Ila Mae.”

“I hate to leave you here in this big house all alone. You sure you don’t want me to stay the night? My mister would understand.”

“No, really. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine.”

When Ila Mae had gone Charlotte looked at Dillon again over the top of their mother’s head. “I think Roger and I had better take Mother home now, too. I’ll give her a sedative and put her to bed.”

“Good idea,” Dillon agreed.

“I’ll go round up the kids,” Roger volunteered and headed for the den.

Emily barely resisted the urge to sigh with relief. Thank heavens.

“Yes. Yes, take me home,” Adele cried. “There’s nothing left for me here. My wonderful son is gone.”

Emily pressed her lips together. She knew that Adele’s grief was genuine, but her mother-in-law’s constant lauding of Keith was like pouring salt into an open wound. Emily just wanted them all to go.

Finally everyone was bundled into their winter coats and gloves, but Adele’s mouth began to quiver piteously again as they prepared to leave. She cast a tragic look around the foyer as though she expected never to return, and whimpered, “I still can’t believe he’s gone. That I’ll never see my son again.”

She turned an accusing look on Dillon. “If I had to lose a son it should have been you. Not my Keith.”

“Mother!”

“Adele!” Charlotte and Emily gasped in unison.

“Oh, Mother, how could you? That’s a horrible thing to say.”

Adele looked away, her mouth pinched so tight the tiny creases around her lips radiated like a starburst. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. That’s how I feel.”

Emily was so shocked that for the first time in three days she forgot about her own pain. She stared at her mother-in-law and wondered how she could utter such a heartless statement, no matter how grief-stricken. Especially to one of her own children.

“She didn’t mean it, Dillon,” Charlotte insisted, laying her hand on her brother’s arm. “She’s just upset, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry about it, sis.” He shrugged off the cruel comment as though it meant no more to him than an offhand remark from a stranger.

Dillon bid Roger good-night, kissed and hugged Charlotte and the kids, and, to Emily’s surprise, dutifully kissed Adele’s cheek. She turned her head away at the last instant, barely allowing his lips to graze her skin, and even though it was Dillon, Emily felt terrible for him.

When at last they were gone she closed the door and turned to him with a sympathetic look. “Charlotte is right, you know. She really didn’t mean it.”

“She meant it.”

“Oh, no. You mustn’t think that. That was just grief talking. Adele loves you.”

Dillon gave her an under-the-brow look. “C’mon, Emily. You’ve been in this family for seven years. You know better than that.”

He turned and headed back into the living room. Emily hurried after him.

“I know that Adele isn’t always nice to you—”

“Now there’s an understatement.”

“And I know that Keith was her favorite,” she continued. “I’m not condoning that, mind you. I don’t think it’s right for a parent to favor one child over another. But just because Adele did that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you, too. Mothers love their children, no matter what.”

Resuming his seat, Dillon stretched his legs out in front of him, rested his head against the sofa back and looked at her from beneath half-closed eyes. “Yeah, that’s what they say. But it doesn’t always work out that way. As far back as I can remember she’s never been able to stomach the sight of me.”

“But—”

“Look, it’s okay. That’s just the way it is. I accepted it a long time ago.”

She opened her mouth to argue more, then shut it again. What was she doing? This was Dillon. The man was self-sufficient, remote and tough as old shoe leather. He didn’t need anyone. Apparently not even his own mother. If Adele’s hateful comments didn’t bother him, why should she be concerned? She had enough pain of her own to deal with. She had neither the will nor the energy to worry about other people’s problems.

Wearily, Emily resumed her seat, this time on the sofa across from the one on which Dillon sat. She turned her head and fixed her gaze on the blaze crackling in the fireplace without really seeing it. She felt numb and empty inside, as though her body were just a hollow, aching shell.

How could she have been so blind? Seven years. For seven years she had believed that she had the perfect life—a storybook marriage to a handsome, charming doctor who adored her, a lovely home, an active social life, friends, financial security—all the things she’d dreamed of during her lonely childhood. Now she knew that it had all been an illusion.

Unconsciously, her hand splayed over her flat belly. The only thing that had been missing from hers and Keith’s perfect life had been a baby, and he had even managed to give her that in the end.

Was that the problem? Had she been so focused on getting pregnant these past few years that she had lost sight of her husband’s needs and desires? Had she neglected him? Had he been unhappy with her?

No. No, she didn’t believe that. She and Keith had gotten along beautifully. In seven years they’d rarely had a cross word, for heaven’s sake. And Keith had wanted this baby as much as she had. Like her, he had been jubilant when Dr. Conn had telephoned them with the news on Monday afternoon.

So why had he turned to another woman? When had it started?

“Are you all right?”

Emily jumped and her head whipped around. She experienced a little shock when her gaze met Dillon’s. She had forgotten he was there.

“I…yes, I’m all right.”

“Maybe you ought to turn in. You’ve had a rough couple of days, and tomorrow isn’t going to be a piece of cake either.”

“Tomorrow?”

“You meet with your attorney to settle the estate and see where you stand financially. Remember?”

“Oh, yes. That. I’d forgotten.”

Emily eyed Dillon’s relaxed posture. She had expected him to leave with the others, or at least soon after. Instead he looked as though he had settled in for a long stay.

“You’re probably right.”

She climbed to her feet, but when Dillon failed to do the same she paused. “Uh, thank you for your help, with the funeral arrangements and all. I really appreciate everything you’ve done these past couple of days.” She began edging toward the door, hoping he’d take the hint. Dillon just continued to watch her from beneath those hooded eyes.

“No thanks necessary.”

“Yes, well…thanks anyway.”

She edged another few inches closer to the door, but still he didn’t move. Emily shifted from one foot to the other and clasped and unclasped her hands. Finally she decided that the best way to deal with Dillon was head-on.

“Uh, I don’t mean to be rude, but as you said, I probably ought to try to get some sleep.”

“Good idea.”

Relief poured through her. With a nod, she turned and started for the foyer again, but his next words brought her up short.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the guest room across the hall from you.”

She whirled around. “What?”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now. So I’ll be staying here for a few days. I put my bag in the guest room earlier.”

“No, really, that’s not necessary. If I’d wanted company I would’ve let Ila Mae spend the night. I really do prefer to be alone.”

“That may be, but I’m staying.”

Emily’s nerves began to jump. As her anxiety grew she forgot all about caution. “Look, Dillon, you don’t understand. I don’t want you here. In case it hasn’t occurred to you, at the moment I’m not feeling all that well-disposed toward any male with the name Maguire.”

Unfolding himself from his slouched position, he slowly rose to his feet. He towered over her, his face carved in granite. “I’m not Keith, Emily,” he said in a voice that cut like honed steel.

Belatedly, she realized that butting heads with Dillon perhaps wasn’t the wisest course of action. He was the strong, silent type, but when aroused he had a formidable temper.

In the best of times he intimidated her, and at the moment she was feeling too shaky and beaten down to even attempt to do battle. “Look, I appreciate the offer. Really, I do. But it’s unnecessary. I’m fine.”

“How about the baby? Is he fine?”

She sucked in a sharp breath and gaped at him, and once again her hand went automatically to her stomach. “How did you—?”

“Keith called me from his car a couple of hours before he died.”

Emily’s shoulders slumped. She sank down onto the arm of a nearby chair and cupped her hand over her forehead. She should have known. Though they had been as opposite in personality as any two men could be, Keith and Dillon had always been close.

“I see,” she said finally. “Well, if it will put your mind at ease, the baby is fine. So you see, there’s really no reason for anyone to stay.”

“Give it up, Emily. I’m not leaving.”

“Why are you doing this?” she snapped in frustration. “You don’t even like me.”

For an interminable time he simply stared at her. Then he tipped his head toward the stairway in the foyer. “Go to bed, Emily. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. With a sigh, she turned and headed for the stairs. She simply didn’t have the strength to do battle with him right now.

Dillon remained where he was and watched her go. When she was out of sight he walked over to the drinks cart and poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniels from the crystal decanter. He tossed back half the drink in one gulp, then refilled the glass and wandered over to the window.

He gazed past his reflection into the gloomy night. Sometime since they’d left the cemetery a Texas “blue norther” had blown in, turning the weather nasty. Wind whipped the bare trees into a frenzy and sleet clicked against the window panes. Dillon sipped his drink, his face somber, Emily’s last words ringing in his head.

You don’t even like me.

He snorted. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that she believed that. In a way, by his actions these past seven years—avoiding her whenever he could, keeping his distance during family gatherings—he had made it appear that way.

Dillon turned away from the window and ambled over to the arched doorway. He leaned a shoulder against the jamb and looked up the stairway in the direction of Emily’s bedroom. How would she react, he wondered, if she knew the truth—that all these years, since before his brother had swept her off her feet, he had been in love with her.

And that the baby she carried was not Keith’s, as she believed. It was his.

Chapter Two

Emily had barely slept since Keith’s death, and that night was no different. Merely knowing that Dillon was across the hall made her uncomfortable, but mostly it was grief and anger that kept sleep at bay.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, tormenting herself, imagining her husband with his mistress, laughing with her, kissing her. Making love to her.

Why, Keith? she asked over and over. Why? How could you do this to me when you claimed to love me?

Had she missed something? Had there been signs all along? Subtle indications that her marriage was in trouble? Emily scoured her memory and spent hours soul-searching, but over and over she came up empty.

Keith had seemed perfectly happy with their life together. They never fought, rarely ever exchanged so much as a cross word. They enjoyed each other’s company, and their sex life was good.

He had often talked about their future, how, someday he would take a leave from his practice and they would spend a whole summer traveling through Europe, and how when he retired they’d buy a boat and sail around the world.

Emily frowned. Was that it? Could he have been worried that having a child would tie them down?

That didn’t seem likely. Keith had been as eager to start a family as she. Well…almost as eager. She had been thinking of little else for the last couple of years. But certainly he’d been overjoyed when Dr. Conn had telephoned them on Monday with the good news.

“So why did you turn to someone else,” she whispered to the shadows on the ceiling. Was it her? Something she’d done? Or hadn’t done? Wasn’t she pretty enough? Smart enough? Interesting enough? Oh, Lord, wasn’t she woman enough?

Like bees buzzing in her brain, Emily’s thoughts bedeviled her into the wee hours of the morning, until finally exhaustion overtook her. She slept fitfully, and woke a little before eight feeling sluggish and headachy. She was vaguely aware that something was different this morning—something besides Keith’s absence—but she was too muzzy-headed to work it out.

She staggered into the adjoining bathroom, downed two Tylenol and stepped into the shower.

Emerging a short while later wrapped in a long, terrycloth robe, her wet auburn hair combed back from her face, she headed downstairs for a wake-up cup of coffee. The instant she stepped into the hallway and her gaze touched on the guest room, she remembered Dillon.

She stopped and caught her lower lip between her teeth. The door was open, and after a moment she crept across the hall and peeked inside. The bed was made and the room was neat as a pin. There was no sign of Dillon.

Of course, she thought with a sigh of relief as she glanced at the clock on the night stand. This was Friday. He had left for work hours ago.

Tightening the tie belt on her robe, she headed for the stairs.

The aroma of coffee and sausage drifted from the kitchen as she approached the door. Evidently Dillon had made himself breakfast before he left. Emily hoped he’d brewed a full pot of coffee and left some for her.

Pushing open the swinging door, she stepped inside the kitchen and came to a halt. “Dillon. What are you doing here?”

He turned from the stove and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Good morning to you, too.” He looked absurdly masculine with a mixing bowl in one hand, a wire whisk in the other and one of Ila Mae’s ruffled aprons tied around his lean middle.

He went back to whipping the contents of the bowl with brisk efficiency. “Why are you surprised? I told you last night that I was going to stay here.”

“Yes, but…I thought you would be at work by now.”

“I’m not going in for a few days.”

“Oh, please. You don’t have to do that on my account. Haven’t you just started an important job? An office complex or something?”

“An indoor shopping mall.”

“I see. Well, I wouldn’t want to take you away from that.”

“No problem. I have an excellent crew. My foreman can handle things for a few days. If something comes up, he has my cell phone number.”

He turned back to the stove. “You’re just in time for breakfast. I was about to cook pancakes.”

Only then did Emily notice that the table was set for two.

Dillon set the bowl and whisk aside, then filled a mug with coffee and plunked it down on the opposite side of the island counter and motioned for her to join him. “The coffee is decaf, so you don’t have to worry about hurting the baby. Come on over. You can keep me company.”

Keeping company with Dillon was the last thing Emily wanted, but she was still too muzzy-headed to think of an excuse to leave. Giving the belt on her robe another tug, she reluctantly crossed the room and hitched up onto one of the high barstools on the opposite side of the kitchen island from where he was working.

“I, uh…I had no idea you cooked,” she said, watching him pour batter onto a hot griddle.

Dillon darted her a look, his blue eyes glinting beneath ebony eyebrows. “There are a lot of things about me that you don’t know.”

“Yes. I suppose there are,” she murmured. Oddly, she felt as though she’d just been chastised, though she couldn’t imagine why. Falling silent, she cradled the mug in both hands and sipped her coffee while she watched him deftly flip perfect, golden pancakes.

Despite his success and wealth, she had always thought of Dillon as tough and brawny, slightly rough around the edges, but yesterday at the funeral he had looked astonishingly smart in his custom-made suit. However, this morning, dressed in jeans and an old gray sweatshirt, he looked more like the Dillon she was accustomed to seeing—that is, if you overlooked the apron around his waist. That bit of ruffled material might have made some men look effeminate, but not Dillon. If anything, by stark contrast, it emphasized his compelling maleness.

The sleeves of his sweatshirt were pushed up to his elbows, and Emily’s gaze zeroed in on his muscled forearms and broad wrists, sprinkled with short black hair. His big, workman’s hands wielded the spatula with amazing grace and dexterity that spoke of long practice.

As always, just being in the same room with Dillon made Emily uneasy. His great size and that staggering masculinity alone were intimidating. Added to that, he was too intense, too remote and brooding.

It was funny how siblings could be so different, she mused, sipping her coffee. In looks, Dillon was a rough-cut version of Keith, bigger, brawnier, more intense, but with the same black hair and clear blue eyes, the same strong facial bone structure. In Keith’s case the combination had added up to debonair and handsome, whereas in Dillon’s the same features had produced a rugged, harshly masculine face.

In personality, however, Dillon was nothing at all like either his vivacious older sister or his glib, charming younger brother.

He had never been anything but polite to her, yet she’d always sensed that he didn’t want her as a sister-in-law.

“There. All done.” He came around the end of the island carrying a platter piled high with pancakes and sausage and put it on the table. “C’mon, let’s dig in while it’s hot.”

“I’m really not much of a breakfast person,” Emily began, but he silenced her with a look, and when he held out a chair for her she sighed and slid off the barstool. She just didn’t have the energy or the will to fight him.

Dillon settled into the chair across from hers. He picked up the platter and filled first her plate, then his own.

“Oh, no, please. I couldn’t possibly eat all this.”

“Eat,” he commanded, giving her a stern look. “You need to keep your strength up. These past three days you’ve barely touched your food. That’s not good for you or the baby.”

She wanted to argue, but of course he was correct. Trust Dillon to hit upon just the right argument. With a sigh, Emily poured syrup over the pancakes and picked up her fork.

Though the food was delicious, she had no appetite, and she had to force herself to take small, nibbling bites. It was as though the grief and depression weighing her down had numbed all her senses. She seemed to be functioning in a haze, oddly disconnected from the world around her—even from her own body. Except for her heart. It was an aching knot in her chest.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Concentrating on finishing her meal and getting out of there, Emily jumped when Dillon spoke.

“Would you answer a question for me?”

Her head came up and she shot him a sharp look. “That depends on the question.”

“I know that for years you’ve been wanting to start a family, and that you were overjoyed to finally get pregnant, but how do you feel about the baby now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you still want it?”

Emily’s fork clattered to the plate. She stared at him, stunned. Reflexively, her hand splayed over her flat tummy. “Of course I do. How could I not? I don’t know how you can even ask such a—” The look on his face stopped her. “Oh. I see. You mean, now that I know Keith’s true colors, do I want his baby?”

“Something like that,” Dillon admitted, watching her in that intent way he had.

“Just because Keith fathered this child, that doesn’t necessarily mean he or she will inherit his character flaws. This will be my child, too.”

“If that’s how you feel, then why didn’t you tell anyone you were pregnant?”

Emily looked down and fixed her gaze on her fingers, plucking at the napkin in her lap. “I don’t know, exactly,” she mumbled. “I just didn’t want to.”

Lord, she didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to talk, period. Or be around anyone. All she wanted was to be left alone. Then she could crawl back into bed and curl up under the covers and give in to the terrible pain and lethargy that threatened to smother her.

“Why not?” Dillon persisted.

“For one thing, I didn’t want to give the wagging tongues anything else to gossip about.” She kept her gaze lowered, avoiding his, and plucked at the napkin.

“You could’ve told the family. The news may have mitigated Mother’s grief a bit and maybe even gotten her off your back.”

Emily shook her head. “Actually, if I had a choice, I’d never tell Adele. You know how she was about Keith. I’m afraid she’ll see this baby as a substitute for him and try to take over. Once I tell her, I’m sure I’ll have a battle on my hands. I’m just not up to that right now.”

Emily raked her spread fingers through her hair. It was almost dry now, and curling around her face and shoulders. “Anyway…I…I wanted to hold on to this one thing, the one bright point in this whole mess. My little secret.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Can you understand that?”

“Yeah, I think so. Actually, you’re probably doing the smart thing keeping the news from Mother for as long as you can.”

“So…you won’t tell her?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “We don’t communicate all that often. Trust me, she won’t hear it from me.”

Emily’s shoulders drooped with relief. Despite his less-than-perfect relationship with his mother, she had half expected him to take Adele’s side.

“You do realize that you’re going to have to tell her eventually, don’t you?” he prodded gently. “Pregnancy isn’t something you can hide forever.”

“I know. But I’d like to put it off for as long as I can.” Secretly, she harbored the fantasy that she’d never have to tell her mother-in-law.

Adele had never cared for her. It wasn’t personal—at least, Emily didn’t think so. Keith’s mother simply had not believed any woman was good enough for her precious younger son. Emily didn’t expect to hear much from Adele in the future, if she heard from her at all, which suited her just fine.

Listlessly, Emily picked up the fork again. Nibbling a bite of pancake, she let her mind drift. She didn’t want to think about that right now. She didn’t want to think about anything.

Covertly, Dillon watched the way she picked at her food. She was so withdrawn she was barely conscious of him or anything else. Surely that depth of depression couldn’t be endured for long, he thought.

He was trying to think of a way to distract her when the telephone rang, shattering the quiet of the kitchen.

Emily jumped. “Oh, Lord, who can that be? I…I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Take it easy. You don’t have to. I’ll get it,” Dillon said, rising.

Snatching up the receiver of the wall telephone, he growled, “Maguire residence.”

“Dillon. I was hoping I’d find you there,” his sister said. “I tried calling your place but I got no answer.”

“I’m helping Emily with the legal red tape.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. I suppose someone from the family should, but to tell you the truth, it just never occurred to me. I guess I was too focused on getting Mother home before she made another scene.”

“Yeah, I appreciate that. So, why’d you call, Charlotte?”

“Well, it’s Mother. She, uh…she says she needs to get away for a while. So she’s decided to go home with Roger and me.”

“What about her job?”

“She’d already talked to the head of the university about taking an emergency sabbatical, and they’re being very understanding. Midterm starts soon, so it’s a fairly good time. It’ll be difficult, but President Toomy is sure he can find a substitute professor to fill in for Mother.”

“How long does she plan on being away?”

“Until the fall semester starts.”

“I see.” Typical, he thought. His mother was going to be gone for nine months or so, but she couldn’t bring herself to call and tell him herself. She had to get Charlotte to do it for her.

“I’m sorry, Dillon,” Charlotte said softly. He didn’t have to ask for what. Both of his siblings had always been aware of their mother’s animosity toward him.

“Yeah, well, par for the course. Tell her I hope she enjoys her visit.”

“Uh…actually, there is one other thing.”

“Shoot.”

“She wants to know if you’ll keep an eye on her house while she’s away, maybe stop by every few days and water her plants and make sure everything’s all right?”

Dillon gave a snort of mirthless laughter. “Sure. Why not.”

“Oh, good. She’ll be relieved. She said to tell you she’d leave the key under the mat.”

She’d have to, Dillon thought. She refused to give him a key of his own to her elegant little town house.

“So, when are you leaving?” he asked.

“Actually…we’re heading for the airport in a few minutes. We’re booked on an early afternoon flight to Sarasota.”

Silence stretched out as Dillon absorbed that. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that she’d bothered to let him know at all. If she hadn’t needed him to look after her precious plants, she probably wouldn’t have. “I see. Well, have a good flight.”

When he turned from hanging up the receiver, Emily held her coffee cup cradled between her palms and gazed out the window at nothing.

“Looks like you got a reprieve,” he said, taking his seat again. “Mother is going home with Charlotte and Roger. They’re flying out this afternoon.”

Emily blinked and looked at him. “Really? Just like that? Without even saying goodbye?”

“Apparently.” He polished off his coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Can you be ready to leave by ten-thirty?”

“Leave?”

“You have an eleven o’clock appointment to meet with your attorney. I’ll drive you.”

Emily groaned. “Do I have to? I know what the will says. Everything comes to me.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Life goes on, and the first of the month is coming up.”

“So?”

“So you’ll have to pay bills—car payments, mortgage payment, utilities, that sort of thing. Then there’s the funeral costs. Your attorney will have to file the will with the Probate Court before all the assets can be released to you.”

“I suppose you’re right. Oh, Lord, I have no idea where to start. Keith always handled those things.”

Dillon frowned. “Are you telling me that you have no knowledge of your personal finances? How much you have? What you owe? What your investments are? Dammit, Emily, that’s crazy.”

“You don’t have to act as though I’m a twittery fluffbrain. I did offer to take on the job after we married, but Keith insisted on turning everything over to Bob Larson. He’s our tax attorney and business manager and an old friend of Keith’s.”

“Yeah, I know who Bob Larson is. He and Keith went through public school and college together.”

Emily shot Dillon a curious look. He’d made the statement matter-of-factly, but something in his voice told her that Bob Larson wasn’t one of his favorite people.

“That’s right. Anyway, Keith said he didn’t want me to be burdened with boring financial matters and he didn’t have the time to handle them himself.”

Actually, the arrangement had bothered Emily a great deal when she and Keith had first married. By then, at age twenty-two, she had been on her own for years and had been accustomed to paying bills and handling her own finances. That discussion had sparked one of the few serious arguments that she and Keith had ever had.

“Still, Keith should have kept you up to date on your financial picture,” Dillon insisted.

“I know,” she said wearily. “I tried to convince him of that, but whenever I brought the matter up it always seemed to anger him, as though he thought I didn’t trust him.”

“Well, you’re going to have to jump in with both feet now. Whether you take over your finances or you continue to retain Larson, you’ll need to familiarize yourself with your fiscal situation.

“Within a week or so you’ll have to start dealing with whatever obligations you have. You can probably access your joint accounts, but if there are any others solely in Keith’s name, neither you nor Larson can access those until the will has cleared probate.”

Propping her elbows on the table, Emily dropped her head in her hands and groaned again. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“You don’t have a choice. Look, if it’ll help, I’ll sit in on the meetings with you. But this has to be handled.”

Emily raised her head and found herself looking into her brother-in-law’s intense blue eyes. She had never expected the time would come when she would be grateful for Dillon’s company. “You’d do that?”

“Sure. That’s what I’m here for.”

Emily stared at the attorney in disbelief. “What do you mean, there’s nothing left? There has to be. My husband was a physician with a highly successful practice.”

Bob Larson shifted in his chair, and looked at her pityingly. “I’m sorry, Emily.”

“But…we had investments—stocks, bonds, real estate, that sort of thing.”

“All gone.” Bob’s mouth compressed into a grim line. “I did advise Keith not to sell off his assets. Actually, I pleaded with him, but he wouldn’t listen. Over the past four years, one by one, he liquidated almost everything.”

“There was a sizeable life insurance policy. What about that?”

“He cashed it in about a year ago.”

“Our savings?”

“That, too. I’m afraid all you have is whatever is in your checking account.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Emily sagged against the chair back, dazed. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a bad dream. Surely she would wake up soon.

But it was real. Horribly real. Her husband had not only been unfaithful, he had deceived her in other ways as well. And apparently he’d left her penniless.

“Wait a minute,” Dillon said, leaning forward in his chair beside Emily. “How could Keith sell his stocks and other investments without Emily’s knowledge? Wasn’t she co-owner? If so, her signature would have been required, too.”

“Yes, of course. And I assure you, the documents were properly signed and executed.”

Dillon looked at Emily. “Did you ever sign anything for Keith without knowing what the document was?”

Emily shook her head slowly, still too stunned to speak.

“You must be mistaken, Emily,” Bob insisted. “Keith couldn’t have sold those assets without your signature.”

“Not unless he signed her name to them himself,” Dillon stated.

“Oh, I hardly think Keith would do that.” Bob gave a dismissive chuckle, but a look from Dillon turned the sound into an embarrassed cough.

“Apparently he did.”

Emily’s stunned gaze fixed on her brother-in-law. “Are you saying he forged my name?”

“Looks like it.”

She felt sick. Just when she thought she’d learned the worst of Keith, she discovered yet another layer of duplicity.

Emily felt as though she been beaten to a bloody pulp, knocked to the ground, then kicked while she was down.

“If that’s the case, let me assure you, I had no idea,” Bob asserted. “Had I even suspected such a thing, I would have done everything in my power to stop him.”

He drummed his fingers on the desktop and heaved a sigh. “I hate to give you more bad news, but I’m afraid you will be held responsible for all of Keith’s outstanding debts. As soon as I file the will with the Probate Court, the people to whom Keith owes money will be coming to you for restitution.”

“Yes, I know. Dillon has already reminded me to make the mortgage and car payments.”

Bob cleared his throat. “Well…uh…I’m afraid there are considerably more debts than that. Keith has several outstanding loans.”

“He borrowed money? Without telling me?”

“I’m afraid so. Of course, I had no way of knowing that he hadn’t consulted you.”

“I’d like to see those loan documents,” Dillon said in a brusque voice. “You do have them, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but, uh…I’m sorry, Dillon, but I can’t turn them over to you. That would be a breach of attorney-client confidentiality.”

Dillon drilled him with a narrow stare. “Your client is deceased. Emily is his sole heir and, as you pointed out, liable for his debts and obligations. I am here at her request to advise her. Now, you can either give us all records related to Keith now, or we’ll get a court order. Either way, you will hand them over.”

Bob’s mouth compressed. It was obvious that he wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t quite muster the nerve. “Very well, if you insist.” He flipped through a thick file folder, withdrew a single sheet of paper and handed it across the desk to Dillon. “Here is a list of all of Keith’s loans.”

Dillon barely scanned the sheet. “These are just totals. I want the loan documents and every other scrap of paper pertaining to my brother. Now,” he added when Bob’s expression turned mulish.

For several seconds the two men engaged in a silent battle of wills, their gazes locked, but Bob Larson was no match for Dillon.

“Oh, all right,” he snapped finally and shoved a thick file folder across the desk toward him.

“I don’t understand,” Emily said as Dillon flipped through the folder. “Why on earth did Keith need so much money? Where did it all go? Surely he didn’t spend it all on…on that woman.”

“I’d like to hear the answer to that, too,” Dillon said. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know what was going on. You and my brother were old friends.” He tapped the file folder with the back of his knuckles. “And with this kind of extravagant spending you must have questioned him.”

Bob’s face turned pink and he squirmed in his chair. Then he heaved a weary sigh, like a man about to come clean and unburden his conscience.

“All right. I guess there’s no reason to keep his secrets now. I’ve known for years that Keith was doing some risky financial maneuvering—taking out high-interest, short-term personal loans to pay off credit cards and other debts, sometimes to pay off a previous loan. He was always just a step ahead of disaster—what my grandmother used to call, robbing Peter to pay Paul. He did spend a lot on women, but—”

“Women?” Emily gasped. “You mean there was more than one?”

“I’m afraid so. Over the years Keith had a string of mistresses. For a time, each one occupied the town house.”

“I see.” The words hit her like a fist to the midsection. Emily’s heart contracted with pain, but she somehow managed to hold her head high.

“But that’s not where all the money went,” he continued. “It was a combination of things, really. As I’m sure you know, your husband had very expensive taste.”

“Yes, that’s certainly true.” Their home was a prime example. From the first, Emily had thought it too large and ostentatious, and much too expensive. She had wanted to purchase something a bit smaller, but Keith had insisted that a doctor of his standing needed a showplace home.

“While he made an excellent living, Keith insisted on enjoying a lifestyle far beyond his means,” Bob went on. “In addition to the condo and the Lexus he purchased for his mistress, there was the beach house and the boat, expensive cars for himself and you. And there was Keith’s gambling.”

“Gambling? My husband gambled?”

“Oh, my, yes. Last year alone he made five trips to Las Vegas. He bet heavily with local bookies, as well.”

If Bob Larson had leaped across the desk and hit her with a club Emily couldn’t have been more stunned. Or more devastated.

Keith had gone on gambling trips and she hadn’t even known. Thinking back, she realized that all those times he’d told her he was attending a medical convention he’d actually been gambling in Las Vegas. No doubt his mistress of the time had been with him.

Lowering her head, Emily cupped her hand over her eyes. She couldn’t bear this.

“I’m so sorry, Emily,” Bob said softly. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. I tried to reason with Keith. Honestly I did. But he wouldn’t listen.”

She shook her head, unable to reply.

“Dammit, Larson,” Dillon growled. “What kind of friend are you? You knew all about Keith’s carousing and extravagance and his gambling addiction, yet you never alerted his family to the hole he was digging himself into.”

“I…it wasn’t my place to interfere,” Bob blustered. “What did you expect me to do? Go tattling to his wife behind his back? So he was cheating. So what? That’s no big deal. A lot of husbands do it. As for his gambling, that was his business.”

“You should have come to me and explained what was going on. I would have stepped in.” Dillon snapped the file folder shut. “Is there more we should know? Anything else you’re covering up for my brother? Any other nasty little surprises?”

“Uh, no…no, that about covers everything.”

“Good. Then we’re done here. I’m sure you won’t mind if we take this folder with us.”

The other man looked as though he were about to object, but Dillon silenced him with a look. Tucking the folder under his arm, he stood and gently assisted Emily to her feet.

Normally she would have flinched when he slipped his arm around her waist, but she barely noticed. Moving like a zombie, she allowed him to lead her out of the office.

At the door, Dillon stopped and looked back at the attorney. “By the way, your services will no longer be needed. I’ll have my attorney file the will with the Probate Court.”

Chapter Three

Dillon glanced at Emily’s ashen face. She hadn’t spoken one word since they left Bob Larson’s office. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure she’d heard him.

She sat in his pickup on the opposite side of the bench seat, huddled in a ball of misery against the passenger door, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. She stared straight ahead at nothing, her expression blank.

No small wonder, he thought. These past five days she’d received one blow after another.

“Emily? Emily, answer me. Are you okay?” he asked again, a little louder this time.

She started and turned her head, blinking at him. “Wh-what? Oh.” Facing forward again, she replied in an emotionless voice, “Yes. I’m okay.”

“You sure? You’re not feeling any pain or anything, are you? Any nausea?”

This time the look she shot him held even more confusion. “What? No, of course n— Oh. Oh, I see. You’re concerned about the baby.” Her mouth twitched. “Don’t worry. Your niece or nephew is safe. Physically I’m doing fine.”

Dillon ground his teeth, angry that she’d put that interpretation on his concern, but he forced himself to speak gently. “The baby’s well-being is important, but I’m more worried about you. This week has been rough.”

The bitter laugh that burst from her was tinged with hysteria. “Yes. You could say that.”

Dillon parked in the driveway and ushered Emily inside. He watched her shrug out of her coat and hang it in the entry closet then turn without a word and walk into the living room.

When Dillon had shed his own coat and followed he found her in the bay window alcove, staring out the window at the bleak winter landscape. She stood with her arms folded tight across her midriff, as though she feared she might fly apart at any second and was trying to physically hold herself together.

He stopped a few feet behind her. Everything about her telegraphed desolation—the angle of her head, the rigid set of her shoulders, her paleness. She looked fragile and tragic, and absolutely alone.

“Emily, we need to talk.”

“Not now, Dillon. Please.”

“I know you don’t feel like doing this now, but it’s urgent. You have to take stock, get an idea where you stand before you can make a plan.”

Her upper body began to jerk. Lowering her head, she hunched her shoulders and hugged herself tighter, but the convulsive jolts came stronger and faster. A small, choking sound tore from her throat. Then another, and another.

The hair on Dillon’s nape stood on end. “Emily?”

Unable to subdue the sobs any longer, she raised both hands and covered her face, and gave in to the gut-wrenching tears she had been holding back for days.

“Aw, Emily.” In two long strides Dillon closed the space between them, spun her around and snatched her into his arms. “It’s okay. Everything will work out,” he insisted. “You’ll get through this. You’ll see.”

The gruff pep-talk had no effect. Clutching his shirt with both hands, she wept uncontrollably against his chest. The wrenching sobs tore from her, so raw and raspy he knew that they hurt her throat. Her entire body shook with each agonized cry.

Dillon felt so helpless. He longed to banish her pain, to shield her from all the ugliness and betrayal, but he could not. At that moment he came close to hating his brother.

Powerless to do anything except let her grief run its course, he rubbed his hands in slow circles over her back and rocked her from side to side. “That’s right, let it all out. You’ll feel better when you do.”

His words made her cry even more forlornly. The great, wracking sobs seemed to come from the depths of her soul. They tore at Dillon’s heart and made him wince, and he held her closer still, as though doing so would allow her to absorb his strength.

Finally her tears ran dry and her sobbing slowed to watery sniffles and shudders, then to hitching little breaths.

“Oh, Dillon,” she mumbled against his wet shirt. “Wh-what am I going to d-do?”

Before he could answer he heard her sharp intake of breath, and he realized that she’d suddenly become aware of their position. She stiffened and scrambled back several steps, her expression horrified. “I—I…I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I think you reached critical mass. After all that’s happened, a meltdown was probably inevitable. Don’t worry about it,” he said in a gravelly voice. “You’re entitled.”

Running a trembling hand through her hair, Emily pushed the long, auburn mass back until it cascaded over her shoulder, all the while eyeing him warily.

Dillon ground his teeth. Clearly, she did not expect sympathy from him.

“Well, uh…thank you for being so understanding.” Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed and her eyelids puffy. Tears glistened on her cheeks and streaked her makeup. The tip of her nose was red and her face was pale and blotchy from crying. Her misery broke Dillon’s heart.

“No problem. And to answer your question, you’re going to get through this one step at a time. And I’m going to help you.

“The first thing you’re going to do is go upstairs and wash your face, maybe take a nap.” Taking her arm, he started leading her toward the stairs in the entry hall. “After that crying jag you probably need one.”

“But you said—”

“I know, but I changed my mind. You’re in no shape to dive into the legalities right now. Just go get some rest. I’ll take a look at Keith’s financial records. When you’re ready, we’ll sit down and go through everything together and figure out where you stand financially.”

Emily made a feeble attempt at a chuckle. “I can tell you that now. I have no money, no insurance settlement, no investments and no income.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it,” he growled. “We’ll figure something out.”

“We?” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned.

Dillon could see her pulling herself together. Drawing in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and tipped up that delicate chin.

“Look, Dillon, I appreciate all you’ve done, but this isn’t your problem. It’s mine. There’s no reason why you should be burdened with it. I’ll deal with it by myself.”

“How?”

“I…I’m not sure. But I’ll think of something. My point is there’s no need for you to concern yourself.”

“Really?” he snapped, struggling to contain his impatience. “I can think of several.”

Her chin came up another notch. “Such as?”

“Such as, it’s because of my brother that you’re in this fix.”

“So? You’re not responsible for Keith’s actions.”

“Maybe not legally, but that’s beside the point. You’re still a part of this family. And don’t forget, the baby you’re carrying is a Maguire.”

“All the same, I—”

“It’s no use arguing about it, Emily. I’m going to help.”

His implacable blue gaze bore down on her. She met that laser stare in silent frustration. She wanted to scream. She didn’t want to be around anyone, least of all him.

She felt guilty for the thought, but it was true. Ever since she’d received the news of Keith’s death, Dillon had been there for her, like a rock, offering silent support during the unpleasant meetings with the doctors and the police, making all the funeral arrangements, running interference between her and the gossipmongers. During the past four days he’d talked with her more and in gentler tones than he had in all the years she’d known him. In truth, she didn’t know what she would have done without him these past few days.

Even so, he was still a tough, taciturn man. And he still made her uncomfortable.

Emily sighed. No matter how she felt, the sad truth was, she needed help. She was still reeling and too depressed and bereft to function, much less deal with legal matters on her own. And there was no one else to whom she could turn.

“All right, you win,” she huffed finally.

“Good. Now why don’t you go get some rest?”

She shook her head. “No. I’d rather get this over with. Anyway, I doubt that I could sleep for worrying. I’ll just go up and wash my face. I’ll be right back.”

Dillon watched her climb the curving stairway, his gaze zeroing in on her erect posture and the proud tilt of her head.

A smile tugged at his lips as he pictured the way she’d tipped her chin up at him. The action was typical of Emily.

On the outside she was gracious and soft-spoken, but she had a backbone of tempered steel. He had recognized that about her within minutes of their first meeting, seven years ago.

Emily was the kind of woman, Dillon mused, who in days gone by, would have stepped in without a qualm and taken over running the family farm while her man marched off to war, even if she had to plow the fields herself with a baby on her hip and a rifle slung over her shoulder.

That strength and indomitable spirit was one of the many things he had admired about her from the beginning.

Emily hadn’t known that grief could be so debilitating. Or was it the anger that seethed at her core? Either way, she felt drained. Just climbing the curving stairway took tremendous effort. It was as though every cell in her body were weighted with lead. It didn’t help that she could feel Dillon’s laser-beam stare boring into her back.

In her bedroom she stripped off the cashmere suit she’d worn for her meeting with the attorney. Her panty hose came next. Wearing just her panties and bra, she went into the bathroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the sink Emily groaned. She looked a fright. She had cried away most of her makeup and her mascara had run in streaks over her cheeks, making her look like a red-eyed raccoon.

Twisting her hair into a loose knot at her crown, she secured it with a couple of small combs and creamed away what was left of her ruined makeup, then splashed her face with cold water. As she patted her skin dry she winced at her reflection. She was so pale she looked anemic.

A dusting of powder, a sweep of blush and a quick dab of lipstick provided only marginal improvement, but it would have to do. What did it matter, she thought. The only person who would see her was Dillon, and she wasn’t trying to please him.

She paused and frowned at her reflection, remembering the way he had held her close and comforted her.

Funny. She had always found his size and ruggedness intimidating, but being held against that brawny chest with those strong arms wrapped around her had felt surprisingly good. And safe. As though nothing in the world could harm her in the shelter of Dillon’s embrace.

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose at her reflection. What a fanciful thought. You must still be in shock if you’re starting to think of Dillon as a knight in shining armor.

She returned to the bedroom and donned a pair of casual navy slacks and a cream turtleneck sweater, slipped her feet into a pair of classic loafers and headed downstairs.

When Emily entered the kitchen, she found that Dillon had brewed a pot of coffee. Before taking her to the attorney’s office he had changed into a suit. Now he’d removed his coat and tie and unbuttoned the collar and rolled up the sleeves. He sat at the table with the file folder spread open, scowling as he read. In his right hand he held a steaming mug of coffee.

Dillon looked up and arched one eyebrow as she crossed the room and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Feeling better?”

She turned and leaned her hips back against the counter and took a sip of coffee. “Not really, but I’ll manage.” She nodded toward the folder. “How’s it going?”

“I was on the phone with my foreman for a while, so I just got started. I’m going to need some paper to write on so I can total everything up as I go.”

Emily pulled a legal pad and some pencils from a drawer and sat down beside him at the table. Immediately her nose was assailed with a mixture of smells—coffee, soap, the clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave, even a hint of starch from his crisp dress shirt. And underlying it all, was that unique masculine scent that was his alone. It was not an unpleasant combination, yet it made her uncomfortable. Breathing in his scent seemed so…so intimate, somehow.

If Dillon was equally aware of her he gave no indication.

Taking the yellow legal pad, he divided it into two columns with a vertical line down the center and scrawled Assets at the top of one side and Liabilities at the top of the other.

“Okay, this first document is a short-term bank loan for ten thousand dollars that he took out just last week,” he said, recording the outstanding balance in the liabilities column.

For the next couple of hours they went through every piece of paper and document in the folder. There were numerous personal loans with various banks around town. Most, according to Bob Larson’s records, were used to pay off Keith’s bookie, but in recent months it appeared that Keith had taken out loans to pay off earlier loans.

“Larson was right about one thing,” Dillon commented tersely. “Keith was operating just one step ahead of disaster. His finances were a juggling act.”

There were at least four credit cards that Emily had known nothing about, all with astronomical balances. An examination of the charges showed he’d purchased several luxury items for a woman—perfumes, jewelry, flowers, a fur—none of which had come to Emily. There were charges for restaurants and nightclubs and tickets to theater productions that she had not attended. In addition, the sailboat was only half paid for and there were the mortgages on the house, the beach house and, most galling of all, on Keith’s little love nest.

When they were done Dillon’s face was grim and Emily felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach.

“Dear Lord. It’s worse than I thought.” She stared at the figures on the pad, feeling sick. The liabilities column stretched almost to the bottom of the page, and the total was staggering. The only items listed in the assets column were the house and her car, a three-year-old Cadillac that Keith had been badgering her to trade in on a new one for the last six months. Thank heaven she had resisted.

“Damn,” Dillon spat. “What the hell was he thinking? He made an excellent living but he’d been trying to live like a billionaire.”

Groaning, Emily lowered her face into her hands. “You know Keith. Self-denial was never in his vocabulary.”

“Yeah. We have Mother to thank for that. She spoiled him rotten his whole life. By the time he was in his teens he was sure the world revolved around him. To tell the truth, I was amazed when he had the self-discipline to stick it out through medical school and his internship and become a doctor. If he hadn’t loved medicine so much he would never have done it.”

Unable to sit still any longer, Emily bounded out of the chair and started pacing the kitchen. “There’s only one thing to do. I’ll have to sell the house.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute. There must be another way.”

“Really? What else do you suggest? Our savings and investments are gone and there’s not enough in my household account to make the next mortgage payment.”

“What about the clinic? Surely Keith has some money coming from there.”

“A half-month share in the profits maybe, but that’s all. The partnership agreement states that if a partner dies, his share in the clinic is split among the other doctors.”

“I see.” Dillon raked his hand through his hair. “Look, why don’t you let me pay off your creditors and the mortgage.”

She stopped pacing and shot him a horrified look. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t hear of it.”

“Dammit, Emily. I can’t let you give up your home. You love this place.”

“Actually…I don’t.” She smiled wanly at his shocked expression. “Keith’s the one who insisted we buy this house. He wanted something that shouted, ‘I’ve made it.’ I’ve never liked this house nor have I felt truly at home here. It’s too big and too stiff and formal. I wanted something cozier and warmer.”

“I see. The trouble is, though the value of this house has risen a good deal since you bought it, even if you sell for top dollar the profit you’ll make won’t be enough to pay off all of Keith’s creditors.”

“I’ll sell Keith’s Porsche, too. And the sailboat and the beach house. And if I have to, I have some jewelry I can sell.”

“Like hell, you will,” Dillon growled. “Before it comes to that I’ll personally go to every bank that loaned Keith money and pay it back myself, whether you like it or not.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she snapped back. “It’s my jewelry, and I’ll do with it what I please. You don’t have anything to say about it.”

“Dammit, Emily, I hate the thought of you selling your jewelry.”

“Why? I have no intention of wearing any of it ever again.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

She turned to him with glacial eyes, her face set. “Because your brother gave me every piece.”

Dillon stared at her, his chest suddenly tight. What did that mean? That she didn’t want anything that was in any way connected to Keith? If so, did that include the baby? And him?

The latter would come as no surprise. He even expected it. Especially since she’d never been fond of him anyway. He also looked enough like Keith to be a constant, unwanted reminder of her faithless husband.

She claimed to want the baby, but had she been telling the truth? It made him sick to even think that she might reject the child she carried because she believed it was Keith’s.

No. He refused to think that. Not Emily.

“I see,” he said finally. “All right, then. If that’s how you feel.”

He picked up a document from the file. “This is the insurance policy on the condo. Luckily it will cover the cost of rebuilding. I checked.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m not going to rebuild that place.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have any choice. The covenants in that complex require that you rebuild, and the other owners will insist on it. But look on the bright side. You can probably sell it for a tidy profit.”

“Fine. The sooner the better,” she muttered.

“Also there’s the Lexus that Keith bought for his lady friend. The loan papers on the car are in the file. It was purchased in Keith’s name, which means you can sell it.”

This time Emily answered with a bitter look and continued pacing.

Using a fresh sheet of paper, Dillon did some quick calculations. “If my estimates are right, if you sell everything we talked about, you may have enough to pay off all Keith’s creditors, but just barely. There won’t be much left over.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just as long as I get free of these debts.” She sank back down in the chair and closed her eyes.

“Don’t start feeling too relieved. You still have a major problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and the baby have to live.”

“I know,” she replied wearily. “I’ll just have to get a job.”

“Doing what? You haven’t held a job since you graduated from college and married Keith, and you never finished the work required to get your teacher certification.”

“That’s because Keith insisted that I stay home. He didn’t want a working wife.”

“I know that. I wasn’t criticizing, just stating facts.”

Emily sighed. “At the time Keith claimed that he wanted to spoil me and make up for the ‘pillar-to-post’ existence I had known for most of my life. I came to realize that he thought having a working wife would somehow diminish his status.”

A bitter chuckle escaped her. “Oh, he knew just which buttons to push to get his way. He made me feel, for the first time in my life, that I was cherished and loved. So naturally I complied with his wishes and became the pampered, stay-at-home doctor’s wife that he wanted. What a mistake that was.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dillon muttered. He had told his brother at the time that he was being unfair to Emily. She’d worked hard to become a teacher, putting herself through college with a series of menial jobs, and she deserved the chance to attain her goal. However, Keith, being Keith, had merely laughed and brushed aside his concern, saying that as the wife of a prominent doctor she would have financial security and social standing, and that was much better than being a low-paid, unappreciated teacher.

“Still, regardless of the reasons, you’re not qualified to teach,” Dillon persisted.

“Then I’ll get a job in an office somewhere. I have a college degree. That has to count for something.”

“That’s true. Except you’re going to find that there are few companies that will be willing to hire a pregnant woman.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe. But that’s how it is.”

Emily gritted her teeth and looked away. She knew he was right, but that only made her feel more helpless and angry. “I’ll find something,” she declared stubbornly. “If worst comes to worst, I can always go back to waiting tables.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped. “You have no business being on your feet all day, hefting heavy trays of food. You have a baby to think of.”

She glared at him. “Don’t you think I know that? I am thinking of the baby. As you pointed out, we both have to eat and have a roof over our heads.”

Frustrated, Dillon ground his teeth and studied her mulish expression. It was clear that he wasn’t going to dissuade her about getting a job. And he knew better than to offer to take care of her, though he could easily afford to do so. She’d probably heave something at his head if he suggested it.

“All right. All right. If you’re determined to do this, after you’ve had a few weeks to adjust and take care of personal business, like finding another place to live and selling this house, then you can come to work for me.”

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