“Mommy, look who came to visit,”

Hannah said. “Mr. Man is here.”

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

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

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

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

What did he want from her?

Dear Reader,

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

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

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

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

In a Heartbeat
Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my mother,

who, despite her own heart condition,

has lived her life with courage and humor

and has filled my life with love.

Thanks, Mom,

for being a woman I not only love

but also admire with all my heart.

CARLA CASSIDY

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

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

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Prologue

“Mr. McMann! Wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A birthday card.

For Katie.

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

If she hadn’t died.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t.

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

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

“Hey, mister.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you buy that house?” she asked.

Caleb nodded. “I sure did.”

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

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

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

“Caleb. Caleb McMann.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hannah.”

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

“That’s my mommy,” Hannah explained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hannah giggled. “What kind of beans?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a rueful smile, she turned away from the window and went back into her bedroom. Yes, he was probably married and had a half dozen kids. It would be nice if one of them were Hannah’s age. Friendships had been difficult while she’d been ill, and no children her age lived in the neighborhood.

“Mommy, I’m done.”

Erica set her cup down on the counter and hurried back into the bathroom. Grabbing a thick, fluffy towel from the linen closet, she opened it wide to welcome the wet, sweet-smelling child.

“Hmm, you smell like a giant, ripe strawberry,” Erica exclaimed, rubbing Hannah dry as she giggled and wiggled like an eel. “Now, let me see your boo-boo.”

Hannah stood still as Erica gazed at the scar that bisected her little chest. Every day it seemed to fade just a bit more. “It’s looking good, munchkin.”

Hannah nodded solemnly. “But it will never, ever go away.”

It was a nightly routine, one they had begun almost ten months before, right after Hannah’s lifesaving surgery. “No, it will never, ever go away completely.” Erica kissed the puckered skin. “But, it’s the best kind of boo-boo to have. Now you have a new strong, special heart.” Erica knocked on her daughter’s chest. “Hello in there.”

Hannah giggled as Erica tickled her ribs. “You’re silly, Mommy.”

“I am, and your silly mommy says to scoot into your room and get your pajamas on and get into bed.” She smiled as her daughter ran naked down the hallway and disappeared into her bedroom.

It was hard to believe that in just a couple of weeks Hannah would be six years old. There were times when it seemed like she’d been born only yesterday, and other times when it seemed an eternity ago. She took the towel and swiped at the bubble-bath residue on the sides of the tub.

Six years. All thanks to a miracle of modern science. Erica intended to have a huge party, bigger than any Hannah had ever celebrated before. It would be one of the few birthdays Hannah hadn’t spent in a hospital room.

“Okay Mommy, come tuck me in.”

Tossing the towel into the hamper, Erica hurried into the small bedroom where Hannah was already beneath the colorful sheet on the bed. “Before you tell me good-night, you have to say good-night to Harry,” Hannah commanded.

Erica groaned. She hated Harry. But she loved Hannah, and so walked across the room to the hamster cage and leaned down to tap on the glass. “Good night, Harry,” she said to the gray hamster who poked his head out of a pile of pine shavings and wiggled his nose in greeting.

“He says good-night and he loves you,” Hannah interpreted.

“Oh good, I’ll sleep much better tonight knowing Harry loves me.” Erica sat down on the edge of the bed. “But I’d sleep wonderfully better with a Hannah hug.”

With a grin, Hannah reached up and hugged her mom around her neck. Erica returned the embrace, her heart swelling with her intense love for the child. At the quick, immediate sting of tears, she realized again how fragile she was, how afraid she was to hope that finally the fears for Hannah’s very life were behind them and only normal childhood experiences lay ahead.

“Mommy?”

“What, sweetie?” Erica sat on the edge of the mattress and stroked Hannah’s dark hair.

“I liked Mr. Man. He has daddy eyes.”

“Daddy eyes?” Erica frowned. She distinctly remembered Caleb McMann’s eyes. Sharp blue, with a slight silvery shine that was in direct contrast to his dark hair.

“Yeah, you know, all shiny and smiley and nice. Daddy eyes.”

Erica smoothed her daughter’s hair one last time, then stood. “It’s time for little brown eyes to go to sleep. Good night, munchkin.” She kissed Hannah’s forehead, then tucked the sheet beneath her chin. “Sleep tight.”

As Hannah murmured a drowsy reply, Erica turned off the light but hesitated at the door.

She smiled as her gaze lingered on the sleeping child. Peaches padded into the room and curled up on the dog bed in the corner, but the act didn’t fool Erica one bit. She knew the moment she moved away from the door, Peaches would jump up in the bed with Hannah.

Leaving the bedroom, Erica went into the kitchen and refilled her coffee cup, her daughter consuming her thoughts.

Born with a malfunctioning heart, Hannah had been a weak, frail child whom the doctors had said would not live to see her first birthday. But Hannah had been a fighter, and defying the odds seemed to be her specialty. Hannah’s father, Chuck, had stuck through the first year with the sickly baby, but eventually he’d left, incapable of dealing with the situation.

She sipped her coffee, realizing she’d finally managed to get beyond the hurt and betrayal Chuck had left behind. He was the loser. He’d missed out on so much.

Smiling, she sat down at the kitchen table. Hannah might not have been given a good heart at the beginning of her life, but she’d been blessed with the spirit of a warrior. Courageous and brave, she also possessed a loving, optimistic attitude that often awed and humbled her mother.

Yes, her ex-husband had been the loser. Oh, he’d escaped the frantic worry, the enormous debt left by medical bills. He’d run from the responsibility and the fear of raising an ill child, but he’d lost out on the wondrous gift of knowing…and loving Hannah.

“Daddy eyes.”

Lately, Hannah had become obsessed with the idea of a daddy. It was as if now that her heart was fixed, she felt the empty space that her father had left when he’d abandoned her.

The phone rang, the shrill sound splintering the silence of the house. Erica jumped up from the table and grabbed for the receiver, not wanting the unexpected noise to awaken Hannah.

“Hey girl, what’s going on?”

Erica settled back in her chair, warmth suffusing her at the sound of her best friend’s voice. “Hi, Sherry. Not much going on here. I just put Hannah to bed and I’m relaxing for a few minutes before I follow her example.”

“Good grief, Erica. It’s just a few minutes after nine on a Saturday night,” Sherry protested. “Hon, you definitely need to get a life.”

Erica laughed. “I have a life. It’s just not as exciting as yours.”

“Compared to yours, a monk’s life would be exciting,” Sherry retorted dryly. “And that’s why I’m calling. I’m having a little dinner party next Friday night and…”

“No,” Erica interrupted.

“You haven’t even heard me out yet.”

“I heard you last week, and the week before that. You’ve got to stop trying to fix me up with men. I’m not interested.”

There was a long pause from Sherry. “Erica, Hannah’s last operation was almost a year ago. She’s doing terrific, getting healthier every day. It’s time for you to stop worrying so much about her and start thinking of your own happiness. It won’t hurt to leave her with a baby-sitter for the evening.”

“I’m happy,” Erica interjected. She rubbed her forehead, where a headache danced light fingers of pain across her brow.

Sherry sighed impatiently. “You can’t be happy. You’re alone.”

Again Erica laughed. “Contrary to popular belief, some women can be happy without a man in their life. Besides, I’m not alone. I have Hannah.”

Again there was a long pause and Erica sighed, knowing the pause didn’t indicate Sherry was giving up, only that she was regrouping. “Don’t you ever miss it?” she finally asked.

Erica frowned, again rubbing her forehead. “Miss what?”

“Sex.” Sherry sighed impatiently. “I know it’s been a long time, Erica, but surely you remember sex.”

Erica’s headache intensified. “Sherry, I refuse to have this discussion.”

“Ah, the ice maiden has appeared, hiding behind that cold exterior that keeps people at bay.”

Erica said nothing, silently admitting that Sherry knew her only too well.

“Erica, I worry about you. You work at home, you don’t go out. You don’t allow anyone in your life. You keep yourself so isolated from others.”

Sherry sighed. “Okay, I’ll stop now. I know this lecture is having about as much of an effect on you as a raindrop in the ocean. Are we on in the morning?”

“Sure,” Erica agreed. It was customary for the two friends to share coffee early every Sunday morning. “I’ll see you then.”

After hanging up, Erica shut off the coffeemaker, thinking of the woman who had been her best friend since they had been freshmen in high school.

However, as close as the two women had been over the years, their life-styles were far too different for Sherry to ever understand Erica.

Sherry Burnett had been raised in a loving, supportive family, and five years ago had married a wonderful man who adored her. She and her husband, David, had decided not to have children. David was a high-powered lawyer, and Sherry enjoyed an exciting job as an investigative reporter for an alternative newspaper in town.

Sherry was smart and savvy, but she didn’t understand loving a child. She couldn’t understand the commitment of a mother to a child in need.

After shutting off the kitchen light, Erica checked on Hannah—who slept peacefully with Peaches curled up next to her—then went into her small bedroom.

As she undressed and got ready for bed, her thoughts raced. Unlike so many of Erica’s friends, who’d drifted away, not knowing what to say, unable to deal with Erica’s grief and Chuck’s anger over Hannah’s heart condition, Sherry had remained the one constant source of support Erica so desperately needed.

She pulled her nightgown over her head and turned out her light. In the faint illumination filtering through the curtains from the street lamp out front, she crawled into bed.

Sherry’s question came back to haunt her.

“Don’t you ever miss it?”

Well, she could honestly say she never gave much thought to sex. She didn’t have the time or the energy to think about it.

However, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she’d admit that she did miss somebody holding her through the night. She missed the lingering scent of cologne on the pillow next to hers, the warmth of shared body heat on a cold, wintry night. But she could always buy a bottle of men’s cologne and an electric blanket would take care of her cold feet.

Erica had learned her lesson well. First from her father, who had walked out on them when Erica had been twelve, then from Chuck.

Men were great when the good times rolled. But, when trouble reared its ugly head, when the road of life got bumpy, men cut their losses and ran. Erica now knew that she only had herself to depend on.

No, she didn’t need a man, or anyone else in her life. Not in any way, shape or form. She just needed Hannah, and Hannah needed her. They were a unit, a family. She wasn’t willing to ever open her heart again to any male.

She’d done everything she could for the past six years to heal and protect Hannah. She wasn’t about to bring a man into their lives. She wasn’t about to allow a man to ever again steal a piece of their hearts, then ride off into the sunset without them.

Chapter 2

“Mr. Brown, you promised me you’d have somebody come over and look at this sink a month ago.” Erica held the phone in one hand and frantically removed the full pan of water from beneath the leaking pipe, quickly exchanging it for an empty pan.

What she wanted to do was reach through the phone wire and throttle Mr. Stanley Brown, her cheapskate landlord.

Unfortunately, even if she could reach across the line, she’d only manage to grasp thin air, since she wasn’t talking to an actual person. Instead, she was babbling, as usual, into his answering machine. “Please call me as soon as you can,” she finished, trying desperately to hang on to her composure.

She slammed down the phone, picked up the wrench and crawled beneath the sink. Shoving the pot aside, she connected the wrench to the elbow joint and tried to tighten the ring. It wouldn’t budge.

She strained again, feeling her face growing red with her effort. “Whew,” she said, and gave up. She simply didn’t have the strength required to get it to turn.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

The deep male voice at her back door startled her. She jumped, banging her head on one of the pipes. “Who’s there?” she yelled irritably, rubbing her forehead as she tried to wiggle out from beneath the cabinet.

The door opened and Caleb McMann stepped inside. In his hand he held a donut box that emitted the most delicious aromas Erica had ever smelled.

“Looks like you could use some help,” he said, stating the obvious. He set the box on the table and held out a hand to help her up.

She hesitated a moment. Her first inclination was to send him packing. She didn’t like his friendly smile and she’d always believed it was best to be wary of men bearing donuts.

But the rational part of her recognized she could use his help. The job required more strength than she possessed, and Caleb’s forearms and bulging biceps, displayed to perfection by his white T-shirt, looked more than adequate.

She placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to a standing position. “I…it’s leaking and I don’t have the strength to tighten it enough.”

“Mind if I give it a try?” He held out his hand for the wrench she still held.

She shrugged. Why not? “Be my guest.” She handed it to him and watched as he got down on the floor on his back and worked his torso into the cabinet.

It seemed impossible that his broad shoulders would fit, but he somehow managed to wedge himself beneath the pipes.

As he worked, it was also impossible for Erica not to notice the half of his body that remained in view. His abdomen was sinfully flat, his hips beneath his tight-fitting jeans were lean and his legs seemed to stretch forever. Erica’s grandmother would have called him a tall drink of water…a very nicely built drink of water, Erica thought.

She suddenly became conscious that she’d pulled on her ugliest T-shirt that morning and that the jeans she wore, which had once fit her so well, now hung on her like a layer of skin she was attempting to shed. She couldn’t even remember if she’d brushed her hair yet this morning. Irritation followed on the heels of these thoughts.

She didn’t care what she looked like. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone…especially a neighbor who apparently intended to be more neighborly than she wanted.

Hannah entered the kitchen clad in her pajamas. Peaches followed close behind. “Mr. Man!” she squealed in delight as she spied him beneath the cabinet. Peaches emitted a sharp yip.

Caleb jumped in surprise, clunking his head as Erica had done only moments before. “Ouch,” he exclaimed and dropped the wrench.

“Are you all right?” Erica asked worriedly. This was all she needed, for him to get hurt and sue her. Sure, he could sue her for half her bills, she thought wryly.

“Fine…I think I got it tightened well enough.” With a grunt, he squirmed out from beneath the sink, one hand rubbing his forehead.

“Did you get a boo-boo?” Hannah asked, her little face radiating sympathy.

“Only a small one,” Caleb replied as he stood. He smiled at Hannah.

“I had a big boo-boo, but it’s all well now,” Hannah said.

“Hannah, go get dressed,” Erica instructed briskly. The last thing she wanted was for Hannah to discuss her heart operation with a virtual stranger. Erica didn’t believe in sharing her business with anyone.

Hannah hesitated a moment and sniffed the air. “I smell something yummy.”

Caleb smiled at the little girl. “Donuts.” He looked at Erica. “I thought maybe your mommy could make some coffee and we could all have a visit while we eat the donuts I brought.”

“Oh, boy!” Hannah clapped her hands together. “I love donuts. They’re one of the most bestest foods.”

“Then go change your clothes and wash your face and hands,” Erica said, fighting a renewed burst of irritation. She didn’t want to make him coffee and she didn’t want to “have a visit” with him over donuts.

Still, she supposed it would be boorish of her to toss him out now, and a cup of coffee seemed a small price to pay for a sink that no longer leaked.

“Please, have a seat.” She gestured toward the table. “It will just take me a minute to get the coffee going.”

On any other day, it would have already been made, but the first thing she’d seen upon entering the kitchen that morning had been a stream of water running out from her sink cabinet. So brewing coffee had been forgotten amid the cleanup and the futile attempt to get in touch with Stanley Brown.

Caleb eased down into one of the wooden chairs as Erica began to prepare the coffee. Peaches took her usual position, lying down beneath the table, waiting for any crumbs that might drop over the sides.

“You’re going to need those sink pipes replaced fairly quickly,” he said. “They’re pretty old and corroded.”

“I know.” Erica released a deep sigh. “My landlord has been promising for months to get a plumber over here to look at them.” She turned and smiled at him tightly. “He’s also promised painters, the possibility of a central-air-conditioning unit and a dozen other things as well. That’s Stanley Brown for you…he’s big on promises but not so hot on following through. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get him to comply, but nothing has worked so far.”

“Take him to court,” Caleb suggested. “Nothing like a legal petition to make a landlord comply. Sometimes even the threat itself is enough to get them motivated.”

Erica shook her head. “It’s not worth the hassle. I mean, it’s not as if Stanley is a slumlord. The place just needs a few odds and ends taken care of.” She turned back to the cabinets to get out cups and saucers.

She wasn’t about to tell him that this house was the best thing that had ever happened to Hannah and her. Although not in the greatest shape, the house was their first real home after a long string of apartments. Stanley, knowing the financial burden Erica struggled beneath because of medical bills and the inability to hold a full-time job, had agreed to a monthly rent that was far below market value.

“I’m back,” Hannah announced as she reentered the kitchen. She was clad in a pair of denim shorts and a coral-colored T-shirt and her cheeks were pink from the obvious scrubbing she’d given her face.

She sat on the chair next to Caleb and eyed the red-and-white pastry box. “What kind of donuts did you bring us, Mr. Man?”

Caleb leaned toward Hannah, a gentle smile curving his lips. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d like chocolate, or maybe cinnamon buns, or just plain glazed, so I brought a combination of all kinds.” He opened the box to display the sweets.

“You may have two,” Erica told her daughter as she set a cup of coffee in front of Caleb and a glass of milk before Hannah.

“Two?” Hannah echoed in dismay. She eyed the various kinds and after careful deliberation finally chose a chocolate-covered cake donut.

“Doesn’t Mrs. McMann object to you bringing donuts to neighbors?” Erica asked as she joined them at the table.

“The only Mrs. McMann I know is my mother, and she hates donuts.”

So he’s single, Erica thought. Not that it mattered one whit to her. She wasn’t sure why he was here, why he had brought donuts, but if he was looking for anything remotely resembling romance, he was definitely searching in the wrong place.

“So is there a Mr. Clemmons?” he asked.

“No.” Erica offered no further information. She sipped her coffee and eyed him surreptitiously as he and Hannah launched into a conversation about the joy of donuts.

There was no denying the man’s physical attractiveness. Erica guessed him to be around her age, either late twenties or early thirties. He had bold, well-defined features…a straight nose, a square chin and high cheekbones that accentuated his sensual mouth.

His face was tanned, as if he was accustomed to working outside, and when he smiled, tiny lines radiated from his eyes, starbursts of wrinkles that only added to his overall appeal.

His hair was black, lustrous and shiny, but it was his eyes that were so arresting. They reminded her of distant stars, blue with just a touch of sparkling silver.

She blushed as she realized at that moment they were focused directly at her. “The real-estate agent told me this is a pretty quiet neighborhood.”

“It is,” she agreed, diverting her own gaze down to her coffee cup. Now, if she could just figure out a way to divert the smell of him…a clean, masculine scent that Erica had almost forgotten existed in the world. “Mostly retired people and professionals without children. Hannah and I are sort of the odd ducks.”

“Quack, quack, I’m a duck!” Hannah scooted off her chair. “Look, Mr. Man, I can walk like a duck.” She proceeded to give him her best imitation of a waddling, quacking duck.

Caleb laughed again and the pleasant, utterly male sound sent a small shiver of warmth through Erica. Yet, following the rivulet of warmth came the chill of alarm.

She didn’t want to find this man…or any man…appealing on any level. She didn’t want or need the complications and heartbreak that relationships inevitably brought.

More than that, she refused to allow anyone to break Hannah’s heart. Her daughter had been through enough with her health problems, she didn’t need broken promises and dashed hopes to burden the heart that now pumped in her chest.

“Hannah, get back up here and finish eating,” she said more tersely than she intended. “Even ducks need breakfast,” she added with a smile to take the sting from her sharpness.

“Okay,” Hannah agreed easily and gave Erica one of the sunshine smiles that always made her heart swell with love.

“You aren’t eating,” Caleb observed. He shoved the pastry box toward her.

“I’m not a morning eater,” she replied.

“But she eats a lot at dinnertime,” Hannah quipped.

Caleb laughed, and despite Erica’s embarrassment, she laughed as well. “Dinner is my favorite meal,” she confessed. “My mornings are usually filled with work,” she said pointedly, hoping to hurry him out. He obviously didn’t get the hint. She sighed in frustration as he reached for another donut, apparently in no rush to go.

Caleb got the hint that she was ready for him to leave, but he studiously pretended to be obtuse. He wasn’t prepared to go back to his empty, silent house yet.

Besides, at that moment Hannah launched into a tale about the garden she was attempting to grow in the backyard, a childish litany much like the ones Katie had often entertained him with.

As he gazed at the little girl, whose face was so animated as she told him about the carrots and radishes she’d planted, his head filled with a vision of his Katie.

Physically the two girls couldn’t have been more different, Hannah with dark hair and eyes and Katie, a blond fairy princess with bright blue eyes. Still, Caleb saw in Hannah the same enthusiasm, the same joyous embracing of life that Katie had possessed.

Had Hannah always exhibited such effervescence or had this particular quality suddenly appeared after Katie’s heart had been gently placed in Hannah’s chest? He needed to know this…and so much more. Time, he reminded himself. Time would answer all his questions.

“So, exactly what sort of work do you do?” he asked Erica after he and Hannah had exhausted the gardening topic.

“Bookkeeping here at home. I work for a couple of doctors and a dentist. I take care of their accounts receivable and issue monthly statements for them.”

“Sounds like the best of both worlds,” Caleb said. “You have a nice business, but get to do it here from your home and care take for your daughter.”

She nodded. “Child care is so expensive, I wanted something that would keep me home full-time. I also edit a couple of newsletters.”

“Really? What kind of newsletters?” He leaned forward, surprised to discover himself drawn to this woman, who radiated a cool composure and an aura of intense reserve.

She looked quite pretty despite her tousled hair and face devoid of makeup. She wasn’t the type of striking beauty who would make men turn and stare, but she had a quiet loveliness that was very attractive.

“Different kinds,” she hedged, as if unwilling to talk about herself or her work.

“Ah, that clarifies it,” he said with a smile.

She blushed, the pink of her cheeks appearing to deepen the blue hue of her eyes. “There’s one for mothers who work at home, another for men who drive classic cars…it’s freelance work that earns me a little extra money.”

“Sounds fascinating,” he replied, and meant it. She was obviously a resourceful woman who was trying to make the best of her situation.

“Mr. Man?” Hannah slid off her chair and sidled up next to him. “Are you gonna build a tree house in that tree?”

“I was just thinking about that this morning,” he replied. Hannah gazed at him eagerly, her big brown eyes filled with hope. “And I think that tree would look mighty magnificent holding a special house, complete with windows.”

“And pink curtains?” Hannah asked, breathless with the kind of excitement only a child could maintain.

“Hannah,” Erica said in protest.

“And pink curtains,” he agreed, laughing as she suddenly threw her arms around his neck.

The unexpected gesture surprised him and the warmth of the hug, coupled with the sweet smell of childhood, overwhelmed him.

A shaft of pain, a breathless ache of loss engulfed him, inundating him with wave after wave of immutable sadness.

“Hannah, run along and let Mr. McMann finish his coffee,” Erica instructed her daughter.

Hannah let go of Caleb and Caleb shot up from his chair, needing to flee, to escape and be by himself. “I’d better let you get to work,” he said, almost panicked with the need to remove himself before he broke down.

In three long strides he was at the back door. “I’ll see you both later,” he said.

“Wait…your donuts…” Erica called after him, her face registering her surprise at his abrupt departure.

“Keep them,” he replied, then with a quick wave he walked out of the house.

As he hurried toward his place, even the unusually warm morning sun couldn’t banish the utter bleak coldness that clutched his heart…a coldness that was as familiar as his own face in the mirror.

He felt the icy fingers of despair, the chill wind of anguish, the frigid indictment of guilt. From the moment his aunt Fanny had sent that damned doll, he’d been thrown into an arctic landscape that offered no relief.

“A big mistake.” That’s what his sister had told him when he’d told her of his intention to find the child who had received Katie’s heart.

Once his decision had been made, it had been remarkably easy to find the information he needed. Although there were strict codes of confidentiality concerning transplant donors and recipients, Caleb remembered overhearing a nurse in the hospital telling somebody that Katie’s heart was being sent to St. Louis.

An afternoon in the library reading St. Louis newspapers for the appropriate date had given Caleb his answers. On the day Katie had died, one Hannah Marie Clemmons in St. Louis had received a heart transplant. The article was a human-interest piece, indicating that a fund had been started for the little girl to help defray her medical bills.

At first, Caleb had hired a private investigator, hoping that the information the investigation yielded would be enough to satisfy his curiosity about the little girl.

The investigator had told him she lived alone with her mother and that they were struggling financially, but he’d been unable to garner the kind of information Caleb really needed. So Caleb had decided to come to St. Louis.

Now he was unsure if he’d made the right choice in coming here, in contacting them. He’d had no second doubts when he’d contacted a real-estate agent, no reservations when he’d bought the house next door to theirs. But Hannah’s hug, so achingly sweet, had evoked doubts about everything.

His sister had told him over and over again to get on with his life, that his need to find Hannah was unhealthy. “Move on, Caleb,” Sarah had told him. “Keep your memories close to your heart, but allow yourself to move past them.”

Everyone had advice for the grieving father, but nobody understood the force that had driven him to be here now. Even he didn’t understand it. All he knew was that he had a driving need to know Hannah, to discover what, if anything, the heart retained.

Poets wrote sonnets about hearts; every emotion ever felt was expressed through the heart. How certain could scientists be that some essence of a person, even after his or her death, didn’t remain and continue to live as long as the heart was alive?

If anyone could read these kinds of thoughts in his mind, he’d be whisked away to the nearest psychiatric facility, he mused ruefully.

He vaulted the chain-link fence, then sank down beneath the tree he planned to build a tree house.

Someplace in his head, he’d known that meeting Hannah would be an incredible mix of pleasure and pain. What he hadn’t anticipated was the attractiveness of Hannah’s mother.

A bit prickly, yes. Skittish, indeed, and yet he found himself drawn to her. He sensed sadness in her…a sadness that had its roots in something other than her daughter’s health…. a sadness that somehow called to the same emotion inside him.

What had happened to Hannah’s father? Was Erica Clemmons a divorced woman or a widow? As the single parent of a terminally ill child, she must have gone through hell in the past several years.

He stood and walked around to the front of his house. The work crew should be arriving at any moment, ready to start the renovations that were too big for Caleb to tackle on his own.

And while the workmen did what needed to be done, Caleb would build a tree house.

He frowned as he thought of the little house he’d just left. Apparently the landlord was none too eager to provide the repairs it so desperately needed. Caleb knew without question that Erica Clemmons would eschew any help he might personally offer, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t arrange something with Mr. Stanley Brown to get the work done.

For Hannah, he told himself, although in truth he knew he would be doing it for Katie. And for the woman with the lovely blue eyes who seemed to be working so hard to provide for herself and her daughter.

As a pickup and a panel truck pulled up to the curb in front of his house, Caleb went out to meet the workers, his mind already racing with plans for the very special tree house he’d build for a very special little girl.

“No, Keith, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Maybe another time.” Erica twisted the phone cord around her thumb as she spoke to her brother.

“That’s what you always say,” Keith protested. “It would be good for Hannah to come over and spend some time with her cousins. We never get a chance to spend any time with her.”

“Her birthday is in a couple of weeks, and I’m planning a big party. Of course you and Amy and the kids are invited. We can all visit then,” Erica replied.

“Erica…” Keith sighed. “Never mind. Just let Amy know what time the party is and we’ll be there.”

Erica said goodbye to her brother, then hung up the phone with a frown. Every so often Keith or Amy called and invited Hannah over to play, or to spend the night, or to go to the movies with them, and each time Erica declined on behalf of her daughter.

Erica feared that Hannah wasn’t strong enough yet to spend time with Keith’s three rambunctious children. Accidents happened, illnesses were passed from one child to another. It was simply too big a risk for Hannah.

She moved to the kitchen window and looked out to the backyard.

Hannah was there, digging in the little patch of her garden. She’d come in earlier, eaten an apple, then carefully picked out the seeds and run back out to plant them. Stretched out on the ground next to Hannah, Peaches watched her mistress with interest.

The evening sun was still unusually warm. Although it was only the first of June, it had already become unseasonably hot.

Beyond where Hannah was digging in the garden, Erica could see the huge tree in Caleb McMann’s backyard. Yesterday Caleb had worked to build a platform in the perfect cradle of branches. Today a wall had been erected, much to Hannah’s delight and Erica’s consternation.

For the past two days, the air had been filled with the banging of hammers and the buzz of saws, both from inside the big house and outside where Caleb worked. She still couldn’t believe he was actually building a tree house for Hannah. It just didn’t make any sense.

She finished washing the last of their supper dishes, then stepped outside the back door. “Hey munchkin, how are you doing?”

“Okay,” Hannah replied, waving the child-size hoe in the air. “I’m getting all the weeds away so everything will grow big and strong.”

Erica nodded and eased down on the multicolored chaise longue. The evening warmth instantly produced a pleasant lethargy and she closed her eyes, able to hear the sweet music of Hannah’s voice as she talked to her growing vegetables.

Erica sighed, for the moment at peace with the world. With the approach of sunset, a tiny breeze had kicked up, alleviating the intense heat of the day.

Hannah’s voice became lulling white noise as sleep teased at the edges of Erica’s consciousness. It had been a long day and talking to her brother always unsettled her.

Her relationship with Keith had been strained for so long. Erica sighed and gave in to the healing warmth of the sun. She didn’t want to think about Keith now. She didn’t want to think about anything.

“Hey, neighbor.”

The familiar deep male voice jarred her out of her drowsy state. She kept her eyes firmly closed, tension instantly tightening relaxed muscles. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, he’d go away.

“Mommy, look who came to visit.” With little fingers, Hannah pried open one of Erica’s eyelids. “See, Mr. Man is here.”

Caleb McMann, her own personal version of Mr. Rogers in the neighborhood, stood holding a tray with three tall glasses of what appeared to be pink lemonade.

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

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

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

She sat up, deciding it was definitely time to explain to Mr. Rogers in no uncertain terms that she wanted him out of her neighborhood.

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