Rebecca’s fingers trembled as she opened the hope chest

She brushed her hands over the soft velvet lining, the scent of cedar and rose potpourri clinging to the inside of the chest. Rebecca then picked up the lacy bride’s book. With a wistful sigh she flipped the pages, imagining them filled with signatures of guests.

Guests at her own wedding.

Rebecca then picked up a small children’s book. The Ugly Duckling. Memories of Grammy’s voice reading the story to her night after night echoed in her mind. Hugging the book to her chest, she imagined reading it to her own child one day. Did Grammy foresee a baby in Rebecca’s future?

A little boy or girl with dark black hair and green eyes? A little boy who had an amazing similarity to Thomas Emerson?

What in heaven’s name was she thinking?

Dear Reader,

What a spectacular lineup of love stories Harlequin American Romance has for you this month as we continue to celebrate our 20th anniversary. Start off with another wonderful title in Cathy Gillen Thacker’s DEVERAUX LEGACY series, Taking Over the Tycoon. Sexy millionaire Connor Templeton is used to getting whatever—whomever—he wants! But has he finally met his match in one beguiling single mother?

Next, Fortune’s Twins by Kara Lennox is the latest installment in the MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA continuity series. In this book, a night of passion leaves a “Main Street Millionaire” expecting twins—and has the whole town wondering “Who’s the daddy?” After catching a bridal bouquet and opening an heirloom hope chest, a shy virgin dreams about asking her secret crush to father the baby she yearns for, in Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend, part of Rita Herron’s HARTWELL HOPE CHESTS series. And don’t miss Inherited: One Baby! by Laura Marie Altom, in which a handsome bachelor must convince his ex-wife to remarry him in order to keep custody of the adorable orphaned baby left in his care.

Enjoy this month’s offerings, and be sure to return each and every month to Harlequin American Romance!

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend
Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all my fans who wrote me wanting more of the Hartwells.

Hope you enjoy!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for romance and writes romantic comedies and romance suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225 or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.

My dearest Rebecca,

You are a very special granddaughter because you remind me so much of myself when I was your age. You were the first of Bert’s daughters, the one who brought a deep love into his marriage that cemented the bond between him and your mother.

But you were the one who suffered the most when your mother died. Although your own heart was aching, you pushed your feelings aside to comfort your father and your little sister in their sorrow.

You showed such strength that the rest of us gained courage from you. But when you retreated to that silent place where you grieved, you never quite came back.

Always steady and strong, dependable and caring, you are loyal and trusting to a fault. Believe in yourself now, Rebecca. Take time to nurture your own dreams and talents, and love yourself the way you love others.

I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will give you all the joy a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Who’s getting married next?” Alison Hartwell Broussard waved her bridal bouquet of roses in the air in open invitation, looking pointedly at her cousin Rebecca.

A few shrieks answered in reply. “Me!”

“No, me!”

A quiver of longing rippled through Rebecca, but she remained silent, hugging her arms around herself in a protective embrace as she stood beneath the sprawling branches of a live oak. She was the least likely of all the single and female bridesmaids at her cousin Alison’s wedding to tie the knot.

Her model-gorgeous sister, Suzanne, would probably be next. That is, if she ever decided to settle down with one man. Right now, marriage and monogamy were two words missing from Suzanne’s vocabulary.

Rebecca was the very opposite.

She ached for marriage. For one man to love her and hold her and make her feel special. To give her a child.

Unfortunately, the man she yearned for happened to be Thomas Emerson, a man who had once been engaged to Alison.

A man who had his pick of women in town. A man who might still be in love with Alison. A man who’d barely noticed Rebecca.

Well, except for the time she’d dropped an entire platter of pastries on his head at Vivi Broussard’s wedding. He had gazed at her through the whipped cream dripping from his hair as if she might possibly be the biggest klutz in the world. Which she was.

Especially when she got nervous. And being around Thomas Emerson made her extremely nervous.

“Come on, ladies, line up.” Alison stepped beneath the trellis of roses, an early-winter breeze carrying the spicy scent of flowers through the air. “Brady and I are ready to leave. He’s finally promised me a honeymoon.” She slid her arm around Brady’s waist. “I only had to marry him twice to get it.”

Laughter and cheers erupted. Alison’s sisters’ husbands, Jake Tippins and Seth Broadhurst, grinned wickedly, obviously remembering highlights of their own honeymoons.

Brady slung an arm around his new wife. “Honey, it’ll be worth the wait.”

More laughter followed, envy mushrooming inside Rebecca. Her three cousins had all married this past year in the gazebo on top of Pine Mountain at Grammy Rose’s, and their husbands obviously doted on them. She wanted that kind of love, that mind-altering, earth-shattering bond with a man.

But every time she got physically close to a man, she lost her cool. Rational conversation fled, and she stumbled all over her size-seven feet. And sometimes, God help her, sometimes she even stuttered.

“Becca, come on.” Suzanne jerked her toward the small crowd of women gathering on the lawn, their long dresses fluttering in the wind. “Angie and Caitlin are about to attack Alison for those flowers.”

Rebecca laughed at her twenty-three-year-old twin cousins—daughters of her aunt Shelby who giggled and squealed—vying for the place in front of Alison. Although the twins shared a sibling rivalry born of being identical, they also shared a loving sisterhood, as did Hannah, Mimi and Alison. For some reason, she and Suzanne had never quite had that connection.

Probably because they were so different.

Another stab of envy assaulted Rebecca as Mimi nestled her three-month old baby to her chest. Rebecca’s own biological clock beat inside her like a drum. She desperately wanted a baby.

But a husband had to come first.

“Back to earth, Becca.” Suzanne waved her hand in front of Rebecca’s eyes, but Thomas gazed their way, and Rebecca froze. A frown marred his lips, his charcoal-black hair gleaming in the early evening light. The immediate pull of attraction that engulfed her slid through her nerve endings, sending a frenzy of delicious sensations spiraling through her. Sensations that paralyzed her.

His six-foot-plus muscular frame filled out his dark suit. His broad shoulders almost seemed massive in the crisp white dress shirt. The sparkle of laughter normally present in his light-green eyes was replaced by a dark, faraway look, arousing her curiosity. Was he wishing Alison had married him instead of Brady?

Contemplating going to him and offering a comforting hand, Rebecca started across the lawn. But her heel caught on a twig. She took a step forward and nearly plunged to the ground. Yelping, she reached for something to steady her, or at least break her fall, but found nothing to hold on to, not a chair or a tree or a table in sight. Thomas pitched forward as if to break her fall, although he wasn’t near enough to reach her, but Suzanne, ever the graceful one, slid a long manicured hand beneath her elbow, catching Rebecca first. Mortification stung Rebecca’s cheeks.

A fraction of a second later, Thomas raised his gaze, the dark intensity disappearing as a slow smile spread across his face.

Rebecca’s heart fluttered.

Suzanne poked her. “Wow, who is that hottie eating the groom’s cake?”

Her heart sank.

If Suzanne wanted him, even though she lived miles away in Atlanta, she would have him. Suzanne always got what she wanted.

“Thom-Thomas Em-erson, the OB-GYN—” She took a deep breath to steady her voice. “He works with Hannah.”

Suzanne whistled beneath her breath. “Whew, a girl might be tempted to tear up her little black book for him.”

Rebecca gulped. Thomas continued to stare, his gaze almost unnerving this time.

He had to be looking at Suzanne. Everyone stared at her dark-haired, incredibly exotic-looking sibling. Not that she could blame them. Suzanne was beautiful. Dazzling. Mesmerizing. And, darn it, she was even nice, so Rebecca couldn’t hate her. Suzanne didn’t try to get all the attention. People were just drawn to her.

But Rebecca was the mousy blonde who hid behind books and art and wire-rimmed glasses. The impossibly shy one who couldn’t talk or walk without tripping over her own tongue or feet.

“Let’s hurry, she’s getting ready to throw the roses!” Suzanne gently pushed Rebecca forward just as Alison released the flowers. The bouquet soared through the air, bouncing first from Caitlin’s hands to Angie’s, then finally landing with a thump on Rebecca’s head. She reached for the arrangement, but the ribbon caught on the stem of her glasses, dangling over her eyes, blinding her, and a thorn from the rose stabbed her finger.

THOMAS EMERSON FOUGHT a laugh as he watched Rebecca Hartwell struggle with the bridal bouquet. She was such a sweet, fragile-looking woman that his battered heart lurched every time he saw her.

But he refused to get involved with another woman right now. Even kind-hearted blondes with big blue eyes and curves that might be sinful. That is, if she didn’t hide them beneath those baggy dresses.

He pulled at his collar, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. This rash of weddings lately had definitely affected him, probably the reason he’d proposed to Alison a few months ago. But in retrospect he realized he wasn’t ready for marriage.

Instead he intended to focus on his career. Although he currently shared a practice with Hannah Hartwell, he had bigger goals. The very reason he’d been watching Rebecca in the first place. Not because he was attracted to the shy little nymph.

No, he wanted to meet Bert Hartwell, her father. Dr. Hartwell was a renowned plastic surgeon and chairman of the board of the new women’s medical facility in Atlanta. The hospital boasted the latest in technology, research and cutting-edge medical techniques that Thomas wanted to be a part of. He had hoped to see Dr. Hartwell with Rebecca, but apparently he hadn’t shown up at his niece’s wedding.

Rumor had it he was off on a honeymoon of his own, his fourth, to be exact.

Odd. His daughters hadn’t attended his wedding.

And he’d also heard that Bert didn’t exactly get along with Alison’s father, Wiley. Apparently they’d had some kind of rift way back when.

Hmm, an interesting family. Not that he could be critical; his own family had disintegrated years ago.

A moment of concern tugged at him as he noticed how forlorn Rebecca seemed in the midst of the giggling women as she tried to untangle the ribbon from her glasses, but he brushed it aside.

Nice guys finished last.

He had learned that lesson well.

First, he’d lost the job he’d really wanted after med school to a guy who claimed to have been his friend. Then he’d lost Alison.

Hell, he’d really never had her.

His pride smarted, but he reminded himself Alison was happy and that was all that mattered. He certainly wouldn’t have tried to hold on to someone who didn’t love him.

Was there something about him that was unlovable? He contemplated the way his mother had acted after she’d lost his baby brother, the way his father had so easily deserted him when his mother had thrown him out. Of course, his dad had been hurting as well, especially when his mom had admitted that she’d only used him to have another baby… Still, why hadn’t he been enough for them?

Maybe he’d been looking for a way to settle down in this quaint town and he’d hoped Alison was that key. But he didn’t really want to stay in Sugar Hill the rest of his life, did he?

He had other goals in mind. To land that job at the new women’s center. Thomas had an interview scheduled in a few weeks. Getting to know Bert on a personal level would give him the inside scoop on Hartwell’s theories and goals, and the interview would go smoother.

Perhaps Rebecca would introduce him to her father. He’d overheard Mimi and Hannah discussing plans for a surprise birthday party for their grandmother. Wiley and Bert would both attend. If he could swing an invitation, it would be the perfect opportunity to meet Bert. He’d considered asking Hannah to introduce him, but he wasn’t ready to tell her he intended to leave the practice yet. If he asked Rebecca, he could keep his intentions quiet for a while. No sense stirring up trouble at work unless he had the new job in the bag.

A red blush stained Rebecca’s cheeks as she plucked the bouquet from her head. Hopefully, she wouldn’t run from him the way she had at Brady’s sister’s Vivi’s wedding when she’d dropped those cream puffs on his head.

She’d acted as if he was the big bad wolf ready to gobble her up.

Though he wasn’t the big bad wolf, he was through being Mr. Nice Guy. From now on, he would pursue his goals with a vengeance. And landing that job topped his list.

He would do whatever was necessary in order to secure it.

Rebecca and her grandmother ambled up the wraparound porch, heads bowed, voices hushed. Thomas hunched his shoulders against the chilly December air and strode across the lawn to catch Rebecca before she left. Then he would set his plan in motion.

REBECCA SLIPPED INTO her Grammy Rose’s parlor, breathing in the essence of her grandmother in the polished antiques and silver-framed photos of family and friends. She had always loved this room, loved the needlepoint pillows and china cups, the smell of Grammy’s rose-scented sachets filling the air, the scrapbooks full of treasured gifts from each of her grandchildren.

Someday she wanted a room like this in her own home. Just like she wanted a house full of kids, and then grandchildren. She would keep rose-scented potpourri in the house and homemade doilies on the coffee table, and keep pictures of all her children and grandchildren framed on the wall.

“It’s time you take your hope chest home,” Grammy said.

Rebecca’s throat tightened at the sight of the ornately carved wooden chest. Alison and her sisters had talked as if their hope chests carried some kind of secret power. Like an omen for the future. Or maybe Grammy Rose did.

Did the hope chest mean a wedding might be in the future for her?

No, Rebecca couldn’t allow herself to believe in such fantasies.

“But, Grammy, I’m not getting married.”

“Nonsense. Of course you are.”

Rebecca stared wide-eyed at the chest. She itched to reach out and touch it, to open it and discover what treasures lay inside.

But she couldn’t admit those feelings aloud.

“No, I…I don’t want to get married,” she forced herself to say. “I…I like my life just the way it is.”

THOMAS OVERHEARD Rebecca talking to her grandmother and breathed a sigh of relief. Rebecca didn’t want marriage, so he didn’t have to worry about her getting the wrong idea if he cozied up to her.

Thank goodness.

He didn’t want to hurt her. But being friendly with her might help his chances of getting the new job. Then he could move on with his life and make a name for himself in the medical world. And he’d finally fulfill that promise he’d made to himself years ago.

Yes, Rebecca would be the key to him leaving Sugar Hill.

The voices behind the door grew hushed, and he strained to hear, then stepped back, ashamed at himself for eavesdropping. Suddenly the door swung open, and Grammy Rose’s pointed chin jutted up in surprise, her eyes sparkling.

“Hey there, young man.” She threaded a strand of gray hair back inside the pearl clip at her nape. “Dr. Emerson, isn’t it?”

Heat warmed Thomas’s neck. She didn’t know he’d been listening, did she? “Yes, ma’am.”

“Listen, son, could you do me a favor?”

“I’ll do what I can.” Surely, she wasn’t inventing an illness for him to treat, like a few of the women patients who swarmed his office. He’d never seen anything like life in Sugar Hill.

“Good. My granddaughter Rebecca needs help carrying her hope chest to the car.” She gestured toward the room behind her. “She’s right there in the parlor.”

Thomas frowned. Didn’t women receive hope chests when they were engaged? Odd. He’d just heard Rebecca say she wasn’t interested in marriage.

REBECCA SLID A FINGER around the lock of the chest and released it, her heart pounding when the top sprang open. She should wait until she arrived home to look inside the hope chest. But curiosity replaced common sense, and she lifted the lid.

Dark-red velvet lined the chest and a piece of antique lace was folded over the top of the contents. Her fingers traced the fabrics, reveling in the richness of texture as she slowly moved the lace aside. A white bride’s book lay nestled there, its top embossed with silver wedding bells.

Footsteps suddenly sounded against the hardwood floor, the loose board at the parlor door squeaking. She slammed the lid closed, then swung around to find Thomas Emerson standing in the doorway.

“Your grandmother asked me to help you take something to the car.”

His deep voice spun a dizzying web around her senses. She opened her mouth to speak but barely managed to sputter a no.

He inched inside the room anyway, his masculine presence nearly overpowering the room.

“Thanks, but I…I can get it.” Rebecca fidgeted atop the small wooden stool, wishing she could shrink the hope chest and keep it out of sight. He might think she was hinting at something.

Like the fact that she wanted a husband and family of her own.

His green eyes radiated warmth as he gazed down at her. No wonder all the ladies in town threw themselves at him. “Come on, Rebecca. I don’t mind.” He moved around her, planting his big hands on his hips as he studied the box. “Will it fit in your car?”

She nodded, her palms sweaty as she stood. Oh, heck. She couldn’t very well deny him or she’d look like an idiot. “In…the back.”

He lifted the chest in one fluid motion, then gestured toward the doorway. Rebecca grabbed her purse and trotted forward, willing herself not to fall on her face or break her neck before she reached the car.

On the porch she hugged her grandmother and said a hasty goodbye, faintly aware most of the other guests had left. Hannah and Mimi were huddled inside the cluster of their father and mother. Her heart squeezed with envy. Sometimes she felt closer to her uncle Wiley than her own father. She searched for her sister to say goodbye, but Suzanne had apparently left to hit some of the after-Christmas sales with the twins.

Seconds later she managed to find her trusted clunker station wagon at the foot of the long, winding drive, where she’d parked between two trees. Thomas’s silver Porsche convertible was parked across the drive, her father’s Suburban several yards away by some pines. She watched as Thomas slid the hope chest into the back, her breath catching at the sight of his dark hair falling over his eyes.

“There you go.” He raked the lock of hair back in a gesture so manly that she had to swallow.

“Thanks.” She wanted to say more but her tongue caught on her teeth.

A smile curved his mouth, the wind tousling the lock of hair into disarray again, making him even more sexy. “Are you in a hurry? We could grab some coffee and talk.”

Talk?

No, talk was impossible. Her tongue was superglued to her teeth now.

She shook her head. “I…have—” she paused and cleared her throat “—have to hurry home.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied her as she darted past him and into the car. “Are you sure? Rebecca…”

She ignored the fact that he followed her to the driver’s side and waved him off. “Thanks again.” Rebecca’s hands shook as she shoved the keys into the ignition, her mind tumbling with questions. Had Thomas really asked her out?

And if so, why?

It didn’t matter. She was a flirting failure and a disaster at the sex talk most women seemed so comfortable with these days. A real dinosaur at relationships.

She pressed the clutch, turned the key and sighed as the engine roared to life. Putting it into reverse, she rolled backward. Then she glanced in her rearview window and saw Thomas jump aside.

Dear God, she’d almost hit him.

He threw up a hand and waved anyway, and she panicked and pressed the gas again. But she’d forgotten to shift into drive and the car shot backward again. Gravel spun out sideways, the ground flew by under her, then her car lurched to a stop, metal crunching and glass shattering. Her neck jerked back, then sideways, then snapped forward. Her forehead and chest slammed against the steering wheel. The horn blared. She squeezed the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. Breathing in slowly, she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder to survey the damage. Her heart clamored to a stop. The top of the hope chest had fallen over, the contents spilling out. She peeked beyond, cringing.

She had just smashed into Thomas’s brand-new convertible. It looked like a broken pretzel.

Chapter Two

The sound of metal crunching and glass breaking rang in Thomas’s ears as he ran toward Rebecca’s car. But his heart pounded with worry. What if Rebecca was hurt?

He wrenched open the door, his pulse hammering at the sight of her trembling body. Her head was thrown forward, her hands clenching the steering wheel, her face shadowed by strands of hair that had fallen forward. Worse, her body was so still it seemed lifeless.

Had she hit her head?

“Rebecca?” He hesitated, knowing he couldn’t move her; she might be seriously injured. But he had to know if she was conscious. He pressed two fingers to her neck to feel for a pulse. She trembled beneath his touch, a shiver rippling through her.

A low cry tore from her throat as she turned tear-stained eyes to him. “I’m so-o-o sorry.”

Relief surged through him. A red lump protruded on her forehead, and her glasses hung askew, but, thank God, she was okay.

“Are you hurt?” He waited, his heart pounding when she simply stared at him with glazed eyes.

“Rebecca, please answer me. Where are you hurt?” He quickly surveyed her with his eyes to check for blood or protruding bones, but didn’t spot any major injuries. She hadn’t been wearing her seat belt though. Not a good sign. “Rebecca—”

“I’m such an idiot.”

He eased her back to rest against the seat, gently removed her glasses, then, with a finger below her eyes, checked her pupils. “Did you hit your head hard?”

She shook her head, her wide-eyed gaze full of shock.

“You weren’t wearing your seat belt?”

She glanced down in a daze. “Was…going to.”

“Your ribs? Did you hit the steering wheel?”

She nodded dumbly, her expression lost. “I…your car.”

“Forget about the damn car, just tell me if you’re hurting somewhere.” He reached for the front of her billowy bridesmaid dress to check for injuries to her chest, but she pushed his hands away in horror. “Rebecca, I’m just trying to examine you.”

“I’m fine.” She sniffled, her body shaking. “But I ruined your…your Porsche. I meant to go forward, but I forgot to shift gears and then the car shot back so fast—”

“I said to forget the car. Now if you won’t let me check you here, I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No.” She grabbed his hands and clung to him. “I’m okay, but I feel so stupid…” A wail escaped her, long and quavery.

His heart squeezed at the misery in her voice, so he cupped her face in his hands. “Stop worrying. I have insurance.”

That luscious lower lip of hers trembled again, the color draining from her face. He couldn’t stand it, he pulled her against the crook of his neck and rocked her, murmuring soft words of comfort. She felt fragile and small and more womanly than he’d expected. Protective instincts kicked in, warring with a sudden realization that her minty breath was tickling his neck, and the subtle scent of her feminine perfume was awakening sensations better left dormant.

“What was that noise?” Shouts erupted behind them and he could hear footsteps beating a path down the graveled drive. He pulled away, standing by the car and turning to face Rebecca’s relatives. Hannah, Jake, and Wiley Hartwell jogged down the path, Wiley heaving as he pushed his way to the front.

“Everyone okay?” Wiley yelled.

“I think so.” Thomas frowned at Wiley’s taxed breathing. The last thing he needed was the man to have a heart attack and send Rebecca into full shock.

“Rebecca, baby, are you all right?” Wiley leaned his hands on his pudgy knees, peering into the car. Jake and Hannah approached, Mimi, Seth, and Grammy Rose behind them, their faces full of concern.

“Mercy me,” Grammy Rose murmured.

“Becca, are you all right?” Hannah and Mimi both asked at once.

“Yes.” Rebecca wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, slipped her wire-rimmed spectacles back on her nose and grabbed the door to pull herself out. Thomas slid a hand in to help her. She was still shaking but managed to get out of the car, not meeting his gaze.

He silently surveyed her again and was thankful not to see any blood.

“But I ruined Thomas’s car.”

The entire family pivoted, each gaping at the mangled metal with various stunned looks. She had collided with the driver’s side, smashing the front door like a piece of cardboard. The windshield and windows had imploded with the impact, and glass pellets covered the beige leather. Her own station wagon had suffered as well. The bumper was warped, the tailpipe bent at an odd angle. But the clunker had already seen its better days; the faded green paint was chipped and peeling off in strips.

“It is kind of dented,” Mimi said in a low voice.

“The passenger side is still intact,” Hannah added cheerfully.

As if to mock her, the hub cap from the right-front tire fell off, rolled toward her and settled into a spin at her feet.

“Mercy me,” Grammy Rose whispered.

“You can still open the door,” Jake offered, obviously trying to be optimistic.

But when he yanked on the door handle to prove his point, the wretched metal came off in his hands with a crunch. The left tire let out a whooshing sound, then popped and the tire deflated right in front of their eyes.

Rebecca’s sob caught in horror.

“But you’re all right?” Hannah inched forward as if to emphasize that Rebecca’s safety was more important than the automobile.

Mortification stung her face as she pointed to the broken piece of metal. “I can’t believe I did all that.”

“Shh, now, don’t fret.” Grammy Rose patted Rebecca’s back. “We all have accidents, sweetie. I’ll never forget the time I ran my car into the front porch. Broke up a hornets’ nest. Those dad-gummed bees attacked me, almost bit me in the behind.”

“Yeah, I’ve had some fender-benders myself,” Mimi chimed in. “Even worse than this. Right in our own driveway.”

“I can vouch for that,” Seth added.

Mimi poked him with her elbow. “It wasn’t my fault that garbage can jumped in the way. Or that you parked the minivan so close to my Miata.”

Seth opened his mouth to argue, but Mimi’s mutinous glare stopped him. Thomas almost laughed at Jake and Wiley’s skeptical expressions. Apparently Rebecca and Mimi had a reputation for freak crashes.

“Well, it’s just metal,” Grammy Rose said, smacking her lips.

“Pricy metal.” Jake whistled, propping the door against the side of the car.

This time Hannah’s glare cut across the crowd. “Fixable metal,” Hannah added. “All it needs is a good body shop mechanic.”

“Or a miracle worker,” Rebecca muttered between sobs.

“Nah, baby, it’s fixable.” Wiley hugged her to his side. “It’s just not drivable now.”

“He’s right.” Thomas’s gaze flickered to the customized paint chipping off from the collision.

Mimi bounced the baby on her shoulder. “You want Seth to call a tow truck?”

Thomas nodded. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

“Nonsense.” Wiley waved a beefy hand. “I’ll phone my service to tow it. You can borrow a car from my used-car lot till yours is fixed. Now, pull yourself together, Bec, darlin’.”

Rebecca sniffed as she accepted her uncle’s handkerchief and swiped at her nose.

“That would be great, Mr. Hartwell.” Thomas cast another look at Rebecca, grateful she’d stopped crying. What had she expected him to do? Turn into a tyrant because she’d totaled his car?

REBECCA DABBED AT HER EYES with her uncle’s hankie. How could she have done such a stupid thing?

And how could Thomas stand there so calmly when she had destroyed what must have been his dream car, a Porsche that cost more money than she earned in two years. Men usually obsessed about their automobiles. They worshipped them more than their women, more than the remote control.

Worse, now her insurance would skyrocket, she’d probably have to take a second job to pay her bills, and everyone in town would talk about her klutzy ways, just as they had in high school years ago.

Thunder rumbled above, the darkening sky hinting at a winter storm. Rain began to drizzle and chaos erupted, everyone suddenly racing for the house.

Grammy Rose hugged her one more time. “Don’t fret, everything will work out all right. At least the hope chest wasn’t damaged.”

Rebecca bit the inside of her cheek. Great. She had a hope chest but no man. And the only man she’d wanted since her dating disasters in high school was standing beside her, his car crunched like a tin can because she lost control of her senses every time he was near.

For all she knew, the crash could have broken some of the things in her chest, too. She was too afraid to look.

Lightning streaked through the cluster of pine trees, another clap of thunder booming closer. “I’ll make sure the tow truck picks up the car,” Wiley offered. “Bec, you wanna give the doc a ride back to town?”

Rebecca’s face blanched.

“Good idea,” Thomas said with a grin. “You don’t mind taking me home, do you?”

Rebecca gaped at him in surprise. She couldn’t very well turn him down when she was responsible for his dilemma.

“I…sure.”

Thomas pointed inside the station wagon. “It looks like some of your stuff spilled out. We’d better put it back before we go.”

The bride’s book lay on the floor, a blue garter belt beside it.

“No, it’s all right.” She pushed Thomas toward the car. “Let’s go before the storm gets any worse.”

And I do anything else stupid. Rebecca ran to the other side and jumped in. Thomas took the passenger seat, buckled his seat belt, then stretched his left arm along the back of the seat, calm as a cucumber.

Darn him.

Rebecca glanced at her clenched hands, then slowly met his gaze. “I’m surprised you’d want to ride with me. Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you on the way home?”

THOMAS CHUCKLED. Hell, yeah he was, but he couldn’t admit it without seeming like a coward. “No, of course not.” He shifted, but the broken springs from the tattered seat protested, then jabbed him in the behind. Rebecca glanced his way and nearly ran off the road.

The deep dropoff on his side swam before his eyes. “Rebecca!”

She snapped her eyes back to the highway, her mouth dropping open as she jerked the wheel to the left.

“Are you sure you’re all right? I could drive if you’re feeling dizzy from the accident.”

She pursed her lips. “No, I’m f-fine.”

Rain splattered the windshield, and the car windows fogged up, cocooning the two of them inside the vehicle. He wondered if Rebecca had bought this jalopy from her uncle; if so, he hoped Wiley had cut her a good deal. It wasn’t worth a dime.

Was she was always this nervous around men or did her reaction have something to do with him? He’d seen her conversing with customers in the bookstore. She handled herself with grace, her knowledge about the book market extraordinary. And she laughed and joked with her cousins as if she were perfectly at ease.

Maybe she just didn’t find him attractive. The thought smarted. Especially since most of the women in town seemed to like him.

“Rebecca, can I ask you something?”

She winced and slowed the car as if driving and talking weren’t compatible activities. “If it’s about the insurance, I d-do have it. You can get my card from my purse.”

“It’s not about the insurance.” He sighed. “I wish you’d relax and forget about it. I’m not worried.”

“But how can I forget?” She glanced at her tiny silver purse, which lay on the seat, the contents spilled, a tampon poking out of the top, then jerked her attention back to the road, the oncoming lights of a truck glaringly bright. “That car costs a fortune. And I destroyed it in less than a minute.”

“Money isn’t the most important thing in the world,” he said with conviction. Although he was frugal with his money. With good reason. After all, he’d grown up in a fairly low-income family where money was sparse and love even more so. But he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Rebecca when she was so upset herself.

A nervous flutter of her eyes followed. “I didn’t mean it like that, Thomas. I’m not implying that you’re materialistic….” She let the sentence trail off, obviously shaken by the turn of the conversation.

“I didn’t mean to imply you thought I was—”

“I didn’t think you were.”

His head was spinning. “Well, thanks for that. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me.”

“What?” The shock in her voice surprised him.

“You run every time I get near you.” He pried his fingers off the door handle, forcing his hand to relax on his thigh. “I thought maybe you’d heard some bad things about me or something.”

“Bad things?” Her gaze found him again, her blue eyes luminous in the foggy interior. “No, I’ve only heard good things about you. What bad things would I hear?”

“None.” At least not that he knew of.

His gaze fell to her scalloped neckline, which revealed a hint of creamy skin and rounded breasts. “I’ve heard nice things about you, too.”

She hit a pothole, and the car jerked sideways. An oncoming car blasted its horn. He grabbed the dash, and she swung the car back in line just in time to avoid a head-on collision. “I…good.”

“Well, now we’ve got that settled,” he said, finding the radio. “We can relax.”

Like hell. Maybe some soft music would calm her. He certainly needed something to steady his nerves, considering the way she kept courting the embankment. And that sultry scent enveloping her was rattling other nerves that had no business being awakened.

He simply wanted a friendship with Rebecca Hartwell. An uncomplicated, platonic friendship with no feelings or commitments or expectations to hinder him from his goal of leaving Sugar Hill.

“So, why did you go into medicine?”

His fingers tightened on the knob. “I like the challenge. And no matter how many babies I deliver, the miracle of birth never ceases to astound me.”

“Babies are wonderful.” Rebecca’s voice softened. “I love watching Mimi with Maggie Rose. That little girl is adorable.”

“Both her parents dote on her.”

Rebecca laughed. “I’m glad it worked out for them to be together. I thought Mimi might raise the baby alone for a while.”

Thomas nodded. He’d heard something about that. Once again his thoughts turned to his own mother and how difficult his teenage years had been. “Being a single mom is tough. I admire women who raise children alone these days.”

“Yeah, I miss my mom. She died when I was young,” Rebecca admitted.

Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rebecca. I lost my mom a while back, but she was alive when I was little.”

A few moments of companionable silence stretched taut between them. Then she hit another bump and her purse flew from the seat to the floor. The tampon rolled out. She blushed, then reached for it.

He grimaced. Good grief, he was an OB-GYN.

The car swerved sideways, and he yanked up the purse, stuffed the tampon inside and closed it for her. Her lips snapped shut.

Then she hit another bump in the road, and the chest in the back bounced up and slammed down with a thump. He angled his head to see it. “What’s in that box, anyway?”

Rebecca’s gaze darted everywhere but at him. “Just some junk for a garage sale.”

He lapsed into silence as he remembered the dozens of garage sales his mother had had. She’d sold everything she could stand to part with just to provide for them. He’d hated seeing their things being hocked to strangers for mere pocket change.

Surely Rebecca wasn’t that desperate for money.

If she was, she’d have a hell of a time paying her insurance if the company raised it after they covered the damages to his car.

But her finances were not his problem, he reminded himself, battling a twinge of sympathy. He was not playing Mr. Nice Guy again. He would befriend Rebecca so she could introduce him to her father, then he’d secure the job and move to Atlanta.

Nothing more.

A HALF HOUR LATER Rebecca’s insides still quivered. What had happened to her today? Not only had she ruined Thomas’s Porsche, but she’d damn near run off the road and killed him. Then she’d lied to him about the silly hope chest.

But she didn’t want him to think she was husband hunting, that she would mistake his kindness for an advance. Because Thomas Emerson was the nicest man she’d ever met. And the sexiest. And someone was going to be the luckiest woman alive one day to have him for a husband.

Of course, that someone would not be her.

Memories of at least three painful past relationships traipsed through her mind, trampling her mood altogether. Memories of men who had used her to get to Suzanne.

No, Thomas wasn’t like those men. He was trustworthy and sincere and helped women through his work. He would never use a woman. Although, she had overheard him asking Hannah about Suzanne when she’d gone for punch.

She veered onto the interstate toward his house, grateful for the soft jazz music filling the tense silence. Once she dropped him at his house, she wouldn’t have to face him again. She could handle the insurance information over the phone and never have to look into those startling green eyes again. As long as she didn’t see him, she could put him firmly out of her mind.

Then she wouldn’t have to drool over him and want the man so badly.

After all, she was a realist. She refused to torture herself and dream about things she could never have.

Like Thomas Emerson.

Chapter Three

Thomas shook his head as Rebecca drove away. She was an enigma. He’d finally grown tired of the strained silence in the car and had ventured into asking her about a book he’d ordered that hadn’t yet arrived.

She had transformed into an intelligent, well-spoken woman.

The past half hour they’d enjoyed a long discussion of various popular titles as well as nonfiction topics. Rebecca was well-read and insightful, and had even argued with him about the authors of some hard-to-find classics. But when he’d suggested they stop by her place so he could help her unload that chest full of garage sale items, she’d grown flustered again. She’d claimed her neighbor, Jerry Ruthers, would assist her instead.

Was this guy Jerry her boyfriend? Was he the reason she’d rushed to get home and had refused Thomas’s offer of coffee?

An odd feeling pinched his gut. Maybe it was from the chocolate groom’s cake he’d eaten at Alison’s wedding. No, probably from the jostling his body had been subjected to on the harrowing ride home.

He walked inside his house, smiling at the expanse of polished hardwood and detailed molding. As a child, he’d never imagined owning a house like this, one with space and class. He tossed his keys onto the marble table in the foyer and stopped in the den, his gaze riveted to the Palladian glass window overlooking his backyard. A cluster of oaks so ancient the branches swayed with age provided shade while a fish pond added more visual interest.

Pride swelled in his chest at his accomplishments.

Still, material things weren’t enough. His thirst for knowledge couldn’t be quenched. He’d vowed to learn everything he could about high-risk deliveries. A child’s life might depend on his skill and expertise.

The key to reaching his goals lay in that job in Atlanta.

Now he just had to devise a plan to see Rebecca again and swing an invitation to her grandmother’s surprise birthday party so he could meet Bert Hartwell.

REBECCA HURRIEDLY PLACED the bride’s book and a book on dream analysis back into the chest and shut it, not wanting any of her neighbors to see the contents of her hope chest. Ignoring the growing chill in the air, she tugged and pulled at the hope chest, trying desperately to remove it from the back of the station wagon, but the bumps she’d taken had wedged the corner of the chest into the side by the spare tire, and it was completely stuck. The effort made her already sore chest ache even more. She felt a sharp pain in it each time she took a deep breath, too. She must have bruised her ribs. They couldn’t be broken or she would be in much worse pain. Right?

She shoved again, and mashed her finger. Why hadn’t she had the courage to accept Thomas’s offer of help?

She couldn’t ask him to assist her when she’d already inconvenienced him. No telling how long it would take to repair his car. Granted he could borrow something from Uncle Wiley’s lot to drive in the interim, but she had no idea what kind of vehicle he’d get for a loaner.

Uncle Wiley did not have any brand-new silver Porches on his used-car lot.

“Yo, Becky.” Jerry Ruthers, Rebecca’s neighbor who’d dogged her for a date ever since she’d moved into the small duplex next to his, loped toward her, pulling baggy jeans up beneath his sagging belly. “Need a hand?” He flexed his muscles, the bulge shoving the short sleeve of his white T-shirt up, revealing arms layered in thick, dark hair and a cigarette pack.

Rebecca cringed. “Thanks, but I can—”

He pushed her aside, yanked out the hope chest much the same as Thomas had done, except Jerry added a melodramatic grunt, and sweat poured down his unshaven face. He thundered toward the front door, his jeans slipping down his backside.

She hurried after him, deciding to buy him a belt to hold up his pants in exchange for his good deed.

“Where do you want it, Becky?”

She hated being called Becky, but she unlocked the door and ignored the nickname, not wanting to prolong their conversation. “The den is fine.” She gestured toward the blue ruffled sofa and watched him heave as he lowered the chest to the faded beige carpet.

He whistled, wiped at his forehead with his arm, then grinned. “What you got in there, sugar cakes?”

“Some things from my grandmother.” She inched back toward the door, hoping he would follow. She didn’t intend to discuss the hope chest with him any more than she had with Thomas.

“Dang it, you look pretty today.” His gaze traveled over her dark green bridesmaid’s dress, lingering at her cleavage before dropping in appreciation to her silver spiked heels. “Where you been? You look like a Christmas tree, all lit up and sparkling.”

“My cousin’s wedding.” Rebecca ignored his come-hither grin. “She got married at my grandmother’s house.” Jerry was the only man who’d shown an interest in her recently, Rebecca thought morosely. She should try to see him in a romantic light. After all, she never stuttered or had klutzy attacks when he was around, but she couldn’t muster up an ounce of attraction toward him. She yawned, her chest pinching again, and hoped he’d take the hint.

He didn’t. He stood with one leg cocked sideways as if waiting on an invitation to stay. “Wanna get some dinner? They got chili burgers on the special at Pokey Slims tonight.”

Pokey Slims was a biker bar on the other side of town. Lots of beer drinking, tattooed men and cigarette smoke. “No, thanks. I’m exhausted.” She yawned again, making a ceremony out of the movement. She really was tired, she realized. Wrecking cars and holding conversation with Thomas had completely drained her. “But thanks for bringing in the chest. I’d really like to just kick back and go to bed.”

A lazy grin curled his mouth. “Sounds good to me. I could rub your back.”

Rebecca silently chided herself for stepping into that one. Why did the one man she didn’t want fawn all over her, and the one she did barely notice her?

Oh, he noticed you tonight, Bec. How could he miss when you smashed his eighty-five-thousand-dollar car? Or before that, when you almost ran over him? Or when you almost ran off the road into the hollow and killed him?

“Not tonight, Jerry. I don’t want to keep you from your dinner plans.”

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his protruding belly. “I am kind of hungry. A man can’t go without his food. And Pokey makes the best onion rings this side of the Chattahoochee.” He slapped his chest. “Gives me gas, but all good things come with a price, right?”

“Right.” She smiled sweetly, pushing images of him and chili and greasy onion rings out of her mind.

He dragged his feet toward the door. “Just let me know when you want to take a spin on my Hog, baby.”

“I’m not really a Harley girl.” Not that he actually had a Harley, anyway, although he told everyone he did; he had an imitation Harley.

He whistled through his teeth. “Just call me if you need anything.”

Rebecca nodded and locked the door behind him, then changed into flannel pajamas. She did have several bruises on her chest, the skin was already turning an ugly purple. With a cup of hot chocolate in hand, she headed toward her bed when the hope chest drew her eye, beckoning her as if it had some kind of hypnotic spell on her.

Her heart fluttered with a tiny seed of hope. Hope that marriage and babies might be in her future. Curiosity gnawed at her, too, drawing her closer until she knelt beside the wooden chest.

Hannah and Mimi and Alison claimed their hope chests had held magical secrets regarding their futures. That the items Grammy Rose placed inside had something to do with the men they would marry.

Was there something inside her chest that hinted about a new man coming into her life? Something that would convince her that love would find its way into her future?

THOMAS HAD BARELY FALLEN asleep when the phone rang.

“This is Terrence McGee, Dr. Emerson.” The man’s breath sounded shaky. “I think Nora’s in labor.”

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and sat up. Nora was two weeks overdue, so her husband was most likely right. “She’s having contractions?”

“Yeah, but they’re not regular. Says her back’s hurting.”

“Back labor,” Thomas said. And this was her third child so it would probably come quickly. “Get her to the hospital, Terrence. I’ll meet you there.”

“Her feet’re swollen twice the normal size, Doc, and she says she’s dizzy. I’m worried.”

“She’ll be fine.” Thomas forced a calm to his voice that he didn’t feel. “Just get her to the hospital and we’ll take care of her and the baby. Everything will be all right.”

He hung up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his clothes. No time for a shower, so he jerked on khakis and socks, then hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He didn’t want the McGee baby making its entrance without him. According to her file, Nora had had complications with the other two births. He sure as hell hoped this one went smoother.

Sugar Hill General was modern, but it still didn’t have the advanced equipment that the big Atlanta hospitals did.

Buttoning his shirt as he went, he remembered the night his baby brother had died. His mother hadn’t had the advantages of a big modern facility, either; maybe if she had, the doctors could have saved the baby. Thomas had been twelve, but the helplessness he’d felt had been mindboggling. A frisson of unease rippled through him as he drove to the hospital. He phoned the hospital to warn them to be prepared for an emergency. Better to prepare for the worst.

Someday maybe he would have a son of his own. A family to replace the one he’d lost long ago.

But not until he settled permanently into his career, moved to the city and achieved his goals. When he had a child, he wanted it to have all the advantages he and his brother hadn’t. The latest in medical technology for starters.

And he would never have that in a small town like Sugar Hill.

REBECCA’S FINGERS TREMBLED as she opened the hope chest. Knowing that her grandmother had chosen the items inside especially for her brought tears to her eyes. Grammy Rose had been the only stable mother figure in her life ever since she was nine, when her mother had died.

She brushed her fingers over the soft velvet, the scent of cedar and her grandmother’s rose potpourri clinging to the inside of the chest as if to remind her of its origin. She had seen the bride’s book before but hadn’t noticed the white envelope lying beside it. Her heart pounding with excitement, she opened the letter and began to read.

My dearest, darling Rebecca,

You are a very special granddaughter because you remind me so much of myself when I was your age. You were the first of Bert’s daughters, the one who brought a deep love into his marriage that cemented the bond between him and your mother.

But you were the one who suffered the most when your mother died. Although your own heart was aching, you pushed your feelings aside to comfort your father and little sister in their sorrow.

You showed such strength that the rest of us gained courage from you. But when you retreated to that silent place where you grieved, you never quite came back.

Always steady and strong, dependable and caring, you are loyal and trusting to a fault. Believe in yourself now, Rebecca. Take time to nurture your own dreams and talents, and love yourself the way you love others.

I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will give you all the joy a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

P.S. Inside you will find something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

REBECCA WIPED A TEAR from her eye, then picked up the lacy bride’s book and stroked a hand over the embossed silver bells. With a wistful sigh, she flipped the pages, imagining the blank white spaces filled with signatures of guests.

Guests at her own wedding.

Knowing she was being silly, she laid the book down and dug deeper into the chest. A blue garter lay nestled on top of a larger white envelope. She placed the garter around her wrist and opened the envelope, her mouth gaping when she found a blank marriage license inside. What in the world was Grammy doing putting a marriage license in there? Did she expect Rebecca to need one in a hurry?

A nervous bubble of laughter escaped her at the thought.

Occasionally Grammy did some wacky things, just as various other members of the Hartwell clan had been known to do. This obviously was one of them.

Next she thumbed through the book on dream analysis. What on earth would analyzing your dreams have to do with getting married?

The corner of a small children’s book peeked out. The Ugly Duckling. Rebecca traced her finger over the picture of the little yellow duck on the front, then the beautiful white swan, thinking she had always been the duck, Suzanne the swan. But she smiled as she flipped the pages, memories of Grammy’s voice reading the story to her night after night echoing in her mind. She had so loved the awkward little duck and had cheered the lonely creature on as he battled his way through the story. Hugging the book to her chest, she imagined reading it to her own child one day. Was that the reason Grammy had put it in the chest—did she foresee a baby in Rebecca’s future?

A little boy or girl with dark-black hair and green eyes. A little boy who had an amazing similarity to Thomas Emerson.

What in heaven’s name was she thinking?

Feeling foolish, she propped the book on the floor beside her and searched the hope chest, unearthing an antique comb, brush and mirror set. Grammy Rose’s. She’d seen it on the antique dresser in the guest bedroom where Rebecca had slept as a child when she’d stayed overnight.

Sentiment squeezed at her chest as she slid the brush through her hair, remembering the times she’d done so at her grandmother’s. She’d stood in front of the mirror for hours, brushing her hair, pretending she was Rapunzel with long, flowing, silky hair.

Pretending she was beautiful. That a handsome prince would rescue her from being imprisoned in the tower.

She raised the silver mirror and stared at her reflection.

No beauty there.

Oh, she wasn’t bad to look at, she admitted. Even with wire-rimmed glasses, her eyes were a nice shade of blue, and her skin smooth and creamy. Her mouth wasn’t bad, although her nose was a little too long, and the tiny freckles on her nose made her look about twelve years old. No, she definitely wasn’t ugly. Besides, looks were more about what lay on the inside than the outside. She cared about others and had a good heart. But she just wasn’t the beauty queen type. Or the type to attract and hold on to a man like Thomas.

She wasn’t imprisoned in a lonely tower, either. She had a decent apartment, a good job, and her cousins lived close by. And Uncle Wiley.

Refusing to batter her self-esteem any longer, she placed the mirror and brush set back in the chest, her eyes narrowing when she found another book inside. Not a children’s book, but a book of poetry.

She traced a finger over the worn leather binding, surprised at the title. “Passions.” Blushing, she opened the book, her mouth dropping open when she noticed the pages filled with drawings of erotic love poses. A poem had been written beside each nude sketch.

Oh, my goodness. She flipped back to the title page and gasped at the sight of her grandmother’s name printed inside.

Not only did the book belong to Grammy, but she had been one of the contributing artists and poets!

THOMAS PLACED BABY GIRL McGee in her mother’s arms, his heart finally steadying after the harrowing delivery. When Nora had arrived, she was already fully dilated, but the baby hadn’t dropped. It was also breech, and he’d tried to turn it, but the fetus had gone into distress, and he’d finally resorted to a C-section. A wise move, since she had had the cord wound around her neck at birth and hadn’t been breathing.

Terrence had passed out and nearly fallen into Thomas as he’d given the baby oxygen.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Nora said, tears seeping into her eyes. “She’s beautiful.”

Terrence shoved a hand through sweat-soaked hair, looking worse than his wife as she nestled the baby to nurse her.

Terrence curved an arm around his wife. “She looks like you, Norrie.”

Thomas’s throat closed. It never ceased to touch him when parents held their child for the first time. And it was nice to see the baby with two loving parents.

Miracles did exist.

Only, there hadn’t been one for his family.

The day he’d lost a brother, his entire family had fallen apart. His mother had sunk into a deep postpartum depression and told his father she didn’t want him around anymore. She didn’t need him. His father had abandoned them both.

Later, when he was sixteen, his mother had died in an accident.

He pushed the painful thoughts aside. Thankfully, today, the technology at Sugar Hill had been sufficient. “Congratulations, you two.” Thomas patted Nora’s shoulder. “You did great, Mom.”

She squeezed his hand. “It may be our third, but she’s just as special.”

Thomas chuckled and left to offer them some privacy, his mood lifted by the closeness of the family. A closeness he’d missed out on when his father left. Although he admired single women who raised their kids alone, he intended to be there every minute, if or when he had a child.

SHOCK SURGED THROUGH Rebecca. Her seventy-four-year-old grandmother had written erotic poetry and drawn nude sketches of lovers intertwined? She almost shoved the book back inside the hope chest, but curiosity won out, and she scanned the first few pages. Grammy had always been a lively and modern character, but the seductive tone of the poems and the details of the drawings were more risqué than she could have imagined.

Oh, my, my, my…

She read the third poem, the erotic words conjuring visions of her and Thomas Emerson….

Before and after they’d strolled down the aisle.

A shiver rippled up her spine. There was no way she could try some of the poses. Could she?

Rattled, she shook off the images and hastily re-packed the items in the hope chest, hoping to pack away the fantasies as well. No sense getting all starry-eyed just because her grandmother had sent her a few odd gifts.

Still, she carried visions to bed with her and in her dreams, they resurfaced.

Images of her and Thomas, their naked bodies tangled together, giving each other delight. Images of the two of them making love all through the night.

Images of the two of them having a child.

WHEN REBECCA WOKE the next morning, a soul-deep ache stirred within her. Moving slowly, she sat upright, wincing at the sharp pain in her chest and the stiffness in her muscles. She adjusted the pillow to prop herself up, then she lay back and considered her options.

She wanted a baby so badly. She had even before Mimi had gotten pregnant, but watching Mimi go through the pregnancy had raised all kinds of fantasies in Rebecca’s mind. And seeing Mimi’s little girl, Maggie Rose, had only deepened the desire for a child of her own. But she needed a man to get pregnant, and she didn’t have a boyfriend or even a possibility of one in sight.

Unfortunately, the only man in the world she wanted to have a baby with was Thomas Emerson.

But he would never see her as anything but a klutz who’d demolished his Porsche and nearly killed him on the way home. Plus, he certainly didn’t owe her a favor; she owed him.

Still, her biological clock was ticking away like a time bomb. And she had to face the fact that Sugar Hill wasn’t exactly crawling with single, eligible bachelors.

Take time to nurture your own talents and dreams, Grammy had written.

Her dream was to have a family.

The book on dream analysis beckoned her from the hope chest. She jumped out of bed, brought it back and snuggled under the covers, skimming page after page, fascinated by the information.

Hmm, dreams sometimes relayed subconscious thoughts and desires.

She sat up straighter, feeling rejuvenated and more confident as an idea formed in her mind. Maybe there was something to this hope chest magic after all. Grammy had always been modern. Maybe it was time she stepped into the twenty-first century herself. Women didn’t have to have husbands to have a child. She could have one by herself. She had a decent job running the bookstore, she was responsible, healthy, and she would love the baby unconditionally.

She’d taken care of Suzanne after their mother had died, so she knew she would make a good mother.

Yes, she was going to believe in herself, just the way Grammy Rose had suggested.

She’d have a baby on her own.

There was just one little problem—she needed sperm to get pregnant.

A headache pinched at her as she struggled over what to do. She could visit a sperm clinic and have in vitro fertilization.

Too impersonal. She’d never be able to go through with it. And she couldn’t possibly tell her baby that she’d bought the sperm from a stranger, that she knew nothing of his father but what she’d learned from a computer file.

What about asking someone she knew to be a donor?

Jerry’s enthusiastic face sprang to mind, but a shudder gripped her.

The dark-haired baby from her dreams haunted her mind.

Grammy had said to follow her dreams. Maybe the dream had been an omen.

And in her dream the baby had been Thomas’s baby.

Maybe the dream meant that she was supposed to have Thomas’s baby!

He was smart, intelligent, good-looking. If he donated sperm to father her child, she would know that the baby would be healthy, and she could assure her child that he or she had a great father. But how would she approach Thomas?

Should she try to seduce him?

Nervous laughter tickled her insides. She could barely talk to Thomas without making a fool of herself.

And asking him to sleep with her would be wa-a-ay too personal.

Although the mere thought sent a million delicious sensations curling in her belly.

Maybe…no, she couldn’t.

But she could ask him to make a little personal donation. After all, he was an OB-GYN. He probably dealt with single women wanting babies all the time. He’d even commented that he admired single mothers. And the fact that he was an OB-GYN might prove to be a blessing. He probably already knew doctors who could perform the procedure, and she wouldn’t have to seek help from virtual strangers.

She’d keep the arrangement simple, too. Once she was pregnant, he wouldn’t be obligated or need to have any personal contact with her at all.

She twisted the sheets in her hands, her stomach convulsing in a thousand knots. Now she just had to summon up enough courage to discuss the baby plan with him. And she would, she promised herself, right after she phoned her insurance company to take care of paying for the damages to his wrecked car.

A wistful sigh escaped her, a twinge of sadness following. She wasn’t settling for less than her dream, she assured herself as she climbed from bed and headed to the shower. She was simply facing reality. If she couldn’t have Thomas, she could at least have his child. That would be enough.

A moment of trepidation hit her as she turned on the spray of water. What would Thomas think of the idea?

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