“Well, hi, Mrs. Morgan,” Jed said softly, caressing her wedding band

Jed continued. “How about a ‘Welcome home’ kiss for the injured warrior?”

Sarah’s lips parted in a gasp.

Her eyes sparked with indignation.

Jed did a mental double-take. Had they quarreled, before his accident? He leaned forward and claimed her parted pink lips with his own.

From a foggy distance, he heard a child’s giggle. “Daddy’s kissing Mommy,” his daughter whispered.

But Mommy, Jed realized with an uneasy jolt, wasn’t kissing Daddy back….

Grace Green grew up in Scotland but later immigrated to Canada with her husband and children. They settled in “Beautiful Super Natural B.C.” and Grace now lives in a house just minutes from ocean, beaches, mountains and rain forest. She makes no secret of her favorite occupation—her bumper sticker reads I’d Rather Be Writing Romance! Grace also enjoys walking the seawall, gardening, getting together with other authors…and watching her characters come to life, because she knows that once they do, they will take over and write her stories for her.

Books by Grace Green

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3526—THE WEDDING PROMISE

3542—BRANNIGAN’S BABY

3586—NEW YEAR…NEW FAMILY

A Husband Worth Waiting For

Grace Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For John

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

WHERE on earth was Jedidiah Morgan?

Sarah shivered in the bone-chilling rain as she banged the wolf-head door knocker for the umpteenth time. She’d come all this way to throw herself on the man’s mercy—he just had to be at home!

“Mom—” Emma’s voice was plaintive “—I’m hungry.”

Sarah glanced wearily at the six-year-old sagging against her on the lamp-lit stoop. Rain streamed down Emma’s yellow slicker; ran down her wistful, upturned face.

“Honey, I’m sure your uncle will have a big fridge packed with food, if this fine house is anything to go by.” She’d carried three-year-old Jamie from the car and now, as her left shoulder cramped, she shifted his weight.

Stirring, he murmured, “Mommie, I wanna go bed.”

Sarah cuddled him closer. “Soon, sweetie. Soon.”

She wanted to go to bed, too. She’d driven over three hundred miles since leaving Quesnel and for the last seventy the foul weather had reduced visibility to almost nil. The drive up Whispering Mountain to Morgan’s Hope had been a nightmare; the stress of it had left her totally drained.

She squeezed back a welling of tears. What a mess she’d made of things. And what a fool she’d been to make this trip, using up precious dollars for gas on what was turning out to be nothing more than a wild-goose chase.

Turning, she looked despairingly into the pitch-black night.

The storm wasn’t letting up—if anything, it was becoming even more savage. She flinched as lightning flashed across the sky. For a fleeting moment, the zigzagging strobe lit up the wide graveled sweep, her rusted blue Cutlass, the surrounding forest of evergreens—

“Mom!” Emma’s eager voice reached her over the rising gale. “The door’s not locked!”

Sarah swiveled around.

Emma had opened the door a crack.

“Honey!” Sarah shot an arm out to stop her. “Don’t—”

Too late. Emma had swung the door inward and had already moved forward into the shadowy entranceway.

Sarah hesitated. Then with a grimace, she stepped nervously after her daughter, jumping as a draft caught the door and slammed it shut behind them.

In the glow through the fanlight from the lamp outside, she saw a switch on the wall. Heart thudding, she flicked it on.

Emma was already walking ahead into a large foyer decorated with sleek, pale oak furniture and graced by an elegant curving staircase. Rain dripped from her daughter’s slicker, leaving a trail of dime-size stains on the taupe Berber carpet.

“Wait!” Sarah called softly.

“Let’s find the kitchen, Mom.”

Sarah glanced at Jamie and saw he’d fallen asleep. She bit her lip undecidedly. She knew she ought to go over to the staircase and shout, ‘Helloooo?’ But if she did, she’d waken Jamie. Besides, it was obvious nobody was at home; she’d hammered the door loudly enough to waken the dead.

And the house had that unmistakably ‘empty’ feel to it.

Emma sat down and tugged off her pink rubber boots. Scrambling to her feet, she tossed her wet slicker on top of the boots and padded determinedly along a corridor to the left that led to the back of the house.

Sarah expelled a wry sigh. From the moment Emma Jane Morgan had drawn her first breath, she’d gone doggedly after what she wanted and tonight was apparently to be no exception!

Following in her wake, Sarah flicked on another light, revealing an open doorway at the far end of the corridor.

“It’s down here, Mom!” Entering the room, Emma rose on her tiptoes and had just hit the light switch when her mother caught up with her.

If Sarah hadn’t been so tired, she knew she’d have drooled over this kitchen. It could have been lifted straight off the glossy cover of Fabulous Homes.

Black. White. And chrome. Everything sparkling, spotless and dazzling. From the white-tiled floor, to the granite countertops, to the state-of-the-art appliances.

The recessed dining area was furnished with black leather–cushioned banquettes and a granite-topped table, while sleek white miniblinds on windows and patio door closed out all sight of the storm raging outside.

The shiny black fridge was zero clearance.

And Emma had already opened the door.

The child’s gaze widened as she stared inside. “Mom!” Her voice cracked. “You were right. It’s loaded!”

Sarah unwrapped Jamie from his slicker and settled him on one of the banquettes before moving to join Emma.

The fridge was, indeed, ‘loaded.’

Sarah’s stomach felt hollow with hunger and the knowledge that Emma’s probably felt the same squashed her qualms as she rummaged among cheeses and packaged meats, cartons of milk and bottles of orange juice.

She found a bowl of homemade soup, rich with carrots and tomatoes and rice. In a chrome bread bin, she found a whole-wheat loaf.

Minutes later, she and Emma were seated at the table, the homey smell of toast and savory soup filling the kitchen as they tucked in voraciously.

“What time is it, Mom?” Emma talked in a whisper to avoid waking Jamie.

“Almost midnight!”

“Holy moly!” Gray eyes round as saucers, Emma asked, “Have I ever been up this late before?”

“Not that I recall.” Sarah’s gaze flitted to a calendar on the wall just above Emma’s head. It was bare of notations except for one on the last square of the month, where someone had hand-printed: MINERVA LEAVING.

“Mom, what are we going to do after we’ve eaten?”

Sarah directed her attention back to Emma. “We’ll find a room with a sofa—armchairs—somewhere we can sleep.”

“Can’t we sleep in a bed?”

“No. Your uncle might not like that. But I’ll go upstairs and look for some blankets so we can be cozy.”

“How come Daddy never brought us here?”

“I don’t know, honey.” Which was, and was not, the truth. She knew that Chance had kept away from Morgan’s Hope because he and his brother were estranged, but she had no idea what had caused the estrangement because Chance had always refused to discuss it.

“Where is our uncle?” Emma tugged free a strand of rain-damp hair that was stuck to her cheek.

“He can’t be far away.” The front door had, after all, been unlocked. Although that could have been an oversight. The man could be in Timbuktu! But no, if he’d gone on a trip, he’d have gotten rid of the perishables in his fridge.

Emma licked the last drops of soup from her spoon. “Maybe he went for a walk.”

“I shouldn’t think so. Not in this storm.”

But if he hadn’t gone for a walk, reflected Sarah—and it would be crazy to think he had!—then where in the world was Jedidiah Morgan?

Jedidiah Morgan swept his palm smoothly across the woman’s alabaster-white shoulders. Running a caressing fingertip over her collarbone, he let it linger in the valley between her breasts. And then, eyes narrowed, he scrutinized the breasts themselves. Tilting his head, he examined the voluptuous curves before moving his gaze to the peaks.

An ironic smile played around his mouth as he flicked an erect nipple with his thumb pad.

“Perfect,” he said.

And finished. At last.

He stretched, yawned, and squinted at his watch.

Midnight.

He’d lost all sense of time. It was always the same when his work was going well.

“Hey, Max.” He whistled to the black Lab snoozing on the mat by the woodstove. “Time to go.”

The dog lifted his head, fixed his golden-brown eyes on his master. Then he stretched, yawned and pushed himself up. Black tail wagging, he trotted to the studio door.

Jed could hear the rain drumming on the roof as it had been doing all day. Shrugging on his anorak, he scooped up his heavy-duty flashlight from the bench.

When he stepped outside, needles of rain spiked his face. Ducking his head, he made for the path through the forest. Max snuffled away into the bushes. He’d catch up soon enough, Jed reflected as he played the beam of the flashlight ahead to light his way over the muddy path. And sure enough, by the time he got to the house a few minutes later, Max was panting impatiently on the front stoop.

“Right, boy.” Jed opened the door. “Snack and then bed.” He flicked on the foyer light…and froze as a couple of things hit him like a punch on the jaw.

First…the sight of dark, wet tracks on his carpet.

Second…the smell of toast from his kitchen.

Max growled.

“Quiet!” Jed snapped his fingers. “Sit!”

The dog sat.

With soundless steps, Jedidiah headed along the shadowy corridor to the kitchen. Ahead, the kitchen door was ajar; the room in darkness.

He halted just outside the doorway and listened. He heard nothing but the faint hum of the fridge. The room had that ‘empty’ feel to it.

Nerves jumping nevertheless, he snapped on the light.

Everything looked as it had when he’d left.

He opened the fridge door. And was about to close it when he noticed that yesterday’s leftover soup was gone.

Frowning, he opened the dishwasher.

The soup bowl was in the lower rack. Along with two soup plates and two side plates. Two spoons and a knife were slotted in the cutlery rack.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins. Someone had been here. Had eaten in his kitchen—

From the foyer came the sound of Max growling. A low, menacing sound, deep in the animal’s throat, a growl that stirred the hair at Jed’s nape.

He headed back along the corridor, keeping close to the wall.

Max was in his line of sight.

The intruder was not.

The Lab’s hackles were up, and he was staring at somebody Jed couldn’t see. Max’s fangs gleamed white as he pulled his mouth back in a hostile snarl.

Warily, Jed edged forward, inch by inch, till he could peek around the corner—

The intruder was a woman. And one he had never seen before.

His astonished gaze flicked over her. Young and attractive, the stranger had a petite figure swamped in an oversize white shirt that billowed out over a pair of jeans. Her hair was honey-blond and long. Her face was heart-shaped and white. Her eyes were dark-lashed and gray.

And those dark-lashed gray eyes were fixed, with a wide look of terror, on Max.

Max was glaring, equally intensely, at her.

She took a cautious half step forward. Max growled.

She swiftly stepped back. Max barked.

She looked as if she was about to start crying.

Jed muttered, “Damn!” and walked into the foyer.

When she saw him, she almost jumped out of her skin. Good grief, he thought, she’s a bag of nerves. But what the hell was she doing in his house?

“Max, shut up!” He signaled and the dog slunk over. “Kitchen!”

The Lab departed. With obvious reluctance.

Jed turned again to the stranger and felt a jolt of alarm when he saw that her face had gone from deathly white to a sickly green. She was staring at him as if he were a specter. For the first time he noticed the purple shadows smudging the skin under her eyes—eyes that had taken on the glazed expression of somebody in deep shock.

Was she going to pass out? He poised to move and catch her if it became necessary.

She pressed the fingertips of her left hand to her throat. He saw she was wearing a plain gold band on her ring finger.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out in a raw whisper. “It’s just that…I thought for a moment…”

He glowered at her. “Thought what?”

“I thought—” she cleared her throat of its huskiness “—I thought…for a second…that you were…Chance.”

Chance? Now Jed was the one who was shocked. Shocked and utterly confused. What did this woman want? And why was she standing, in his house, talking about the one person in the world he hated with an obsession that bordered on insanity?

“Who the hell are you?” He clenched his hands into fists…and saw her flinch.

Drawing in a sharp breath, she stared at him. “I’m Sarah.” Her voice held a tremor. “Sarah Morgan.”

“Morgan?”

“Your…sister-in-law.”

“Sister-in-law?” He was beginning to sound like an imbecilic parrot.

“Yes.” Her voice had steadied somewhat. “I’m Chance’s wife—” she grimaced “—Chance’s widow, I mean. I find it difficult to get used to saying that, after—”

“Chance is dead?”

“He died, in a car accident, seven months ago.”

Sarah had never seen anyone lose color so quickly.

But even as she felt a surge of compassion for him, she struggled to regain her own equilibrium after the shock she had just received. It had never occurred to her that Chance and his brother would be so alike.

The hair was the same: coal-black, rich. The features were the same: lean, rugged. The eyes: green, deep set. The nose: ridged. The figure: tall, rangy…

The only difference she could see was one of attitude. Whereas Chance had had the con man’s built-in charm, his older brother had a dark, brooding aura reminiscent of a character in some Gothic novel.

“You just turn up here, out of the blue, to tell me my brother’s dead?” His tone was harsh with animosity. “Okay, you’ve told me.” His black eyebrows beetled down over his hostile eyes. “So now you can go.”

Good grief, the man was a Heathcliff clone! Sarah speared him with an incredulous glare. “You’d put us out in this storm?”

His lips thinned. “Ah, yes. Us. Two plates, two spoons. So…who did Goldilocks bring with her? A lover perhaps?”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. She’d just told this man her husband was dead and he was accusing her of—oh, unbelievable! Her outrage almost choked her.

“Not a lover?” He raised the dark eyebrows cynically. “Then just…a friend?”

“No.” She sent him a look as hostile as any of his own. “I have my children with me. Emma and Jamie. They’re sleeping, at the moment, in your sitting room.”

He looked at her for a long, stark moment, and then he laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “So you’ve brought children with you. Chance’s children, I presume?”

“Of course!” Anger sent blood racing to her cheeks. “Of course they’re Chance’s children!”

“Then you have even more nerve than I’d imagined, Mrs. Sarah Morgan.’ His face had become completely devoid of emotion. “Now if you’ll tell me what you’ve really come for, we can get it over with and you can be on your way.”

Her expression must have told its own story.

His smile was grim. “How did I know? Well, if you’d just wanted to tell me my brother was dead, a phone call—even a letter—would have done the trick. So, Mrs. Morgan, what is it that you want from me?”

She hated him. Didn’t even know him but hated him already. “I need money,” she said in a frigid tone. “When your brother died, I discovered he’d left a mountain of unpaid bills. I can’t afford to pay them, and—”

“How cleverly put,” he jeered. “‘My brother.’ Let me put that another way for you. Shall we call him…your husband?”

Hateful, despicable…malicious. “All right,” she retorted. “My husband. But he was your brother.”

“So,” he said. “How much?”

It was a huge amount. She tried not to stumble over it.

He shrugged. “Fine. When you get where you’re going, send me the request in writing, and I’ll courier you a certified cheque.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate—”

“If that’s it—” his tone was brusque “—I’d like you to get in your car—I assume you came by car?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’d like you to take your children, and get in your car, and get off the mountain right now.”

Sarah tried not to wither under his glittering green gaze. “The children are exhausted. Could we possibly stay here, just for tonight?”

“And have me risk being stuck with you if the track gets washed out before morning? No way!”

“Please?” She hated begging, but hated even more the prospect of waking Emma and Jamie and then trying to maneuver the Cutlass downhill in the stormy dark. And where to go from there? She suppressed a shudder. “I promise,” she said, “I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning.”

His lips compressed so tightly they almost disappeared.

“All right,” he snapped. “You can use the sitting room and the main floor powder room, just for tonight. But in the morning, you’re history. Understood?”

“Heard and understood.” She almost added a sarcastic ‘sir,’ but thought better of it. He was, after all, doing her a favor. So she just said, “Thank you. And thank you for agreeing to pay Chance’s debts—I’ll pay you back no matter how long it takes….”

But he’d already taken off, heading for the kitchen. His steps were purposeful. The steps of a man who knew where he was going and would let no one stand in his way.

Sarah slumped, feeling as if she’d been put through a wringer. But she’d achieved one goal—though it wasn’t the main one that had drawn her here, the one that was far more important than borrowing money to pay off Chance’s debts.

He’d never know her real reason for seeking him out. He’d never know how she’d hoped and prayed that Jedidiah Morgan would turn out to be a kindly man. A man who’d give his brother’s family a warm welcome and let her stay at his home, with her children, till such time as she could once more cope with the difficult time that lay ahead.

What a fool she’d been. ‘Kindly’ was the very last word anyone would use to describe Jedidiah Morgan. The man was heartless. And whatever the cause of the estrangement between him and his brother, it was obvious the bitterness of it still remained, even now that Chance was gone.

Jed stared out into the dark, his hands braced against the side frames of his bedroom window.

Chance was dead.

It was the last thing he’d expected to hear.

Six years now since Jeralyn’s death. Six years since his younger brother had fled and disappeared without a trace. Six years during which time he’d let his hatred of Chance build and build and build till now it almost consumed him.

His lips twisted in a bitter smile. So…Chance had never changed. Even in death, he left trouble in his wake. “A mountain of unpaid bills,” she’d called it. Well, to Sarah Morgan it might seem like a mountain; to him it was peanuts. And he was glad to pay the bill. Anything to get rid of that woman and her family, get them off the mountain.

All he wanted, in this life, was to be left alone.

CHAPTER TWO

SARAH woke next morning to the sound of a terse voice saying, “I’m going down the mountain to check that the road hasn’t been washed out. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Before she’d even blinked the sleep from her eyes, the sitting-room door snapped shut. And seconds later, she heard the front door slam.

Pushing aside her blanket, she sat up on the low-slung sofa. She hadn’t drawn the curtains last night, and the room was now filled with gray shadows.

The children were still asleep, Emma on a love seat, Jamie in the depths of a recliner. Sarah felt her heart ache as she looked at them.

They’d adored Chance, and his death had left a big hole in their lives, a hole she tried her best to fill by lavishing all her love on them. But was it enough? She’d been eight when her own father had died, and the loss had been devastating. Years had passed before she’d finally given up hoping that by some miracle he would come back.

Now she was a single mom with a dream that seemed as out of reach as the stars: to have her children grow up in a warm and happy two-parent family.

Rising with a sigh, she tucked her hair behind her ears and crossed to the window. Rain bucketed down and the gale screamed around the corners. She shivered. Not a day to be traveling—

A movement just beyond her Cutlass caught her attention. Jedidiah Morgan was striding across the forecourt, his hair flattened by rain, his rangy frame encased in a navy anorak and jeans. At his heels loped Max. They were headed toward a Range Rover parked under a tree.

As she watched, he opened the driver’s door. The dog leaped up into the vehicle; Jedidiah jumped up after him.

White gravel chips spurted from the wheels as he took off—in a hurry, Sarah thought gloomily, to be rid of her.

Emma stirred.

Sarah went over to sit on the edge of the love seat. “Good morning, honey.” She cuddled her daughter, savoring the sleepy scent from her warm skin. “Time to get up.”

As Emma feathered her tousled hair from her face with spread fingers, her pink cloth doll slid to the floor. Sarah bent to pick it up. Chance had bought the doll for Emma the day she was born, but it had remained nameless till Emma was over a year old, when she’d held it out one day and said proudly, “Girl!” The name had stuck.

Sarah set Girl on the coffee table, and as she did, Jamie stirred. Drowsily, he opened his eyes.

“Good morning, sweetie!” Sarah scooped him up and gave him a big hug.

He twined his arms around her neck. “I’s hungry.”

“Me, too,” Emma said. “Starving!”

Sarah slid Jamie to the floor, and Emma grabbed his hand. “C’mon, Jamie,” she said. “I know where to go!”

The kitchen smelled of coffee, but the coffeepot had been washed and the table was bare. If Sarah had hoped her host might have set out a breakfast for them, her hopes were dashed. The man was making it clear, in every possible way, that they were not welcome in his home.

She made scrambled eggs and toast for Emma and Jamie, and after pouring herself a glass of milk, she downed her daily quota of vitamin pills. Then tuning out the children’s chatter, she moved to stand at the window.

Through the rain, she could see the mountain slope, dark with evergreens. On a sunny day, she reflected, the view would be awesome.

But she wouldn’t be here to see it on any sunny day. She was to be out of this house within the hour.

Normally a cheerful, optimistic person, she felt dread settle over her. It was a scary world for a single mom with hardly any money; and especially for one in her situation, with no place to call home….

Though that wasn’t strictly true. There was always Wynthrop. But the thought of returning to that house—where she would be even less welcome than she was here—made her very soul shudder.

“Mom,” Emma said, “did our uncle come home yet?”

Sarah reined in her depressing thoughts. “Yes, he came home last night.”

“Are we going to stay here awhile?”

“No, honey. We’ll be leaving as soon as he returns. He’s taken a drive down the mountain track to make sure the rain didn’t wash it out.”

“So he’ll be back shortly?”

“Yes, he’ll be back shortly.”

When he hadn’t come back in an hour, Sarah felt uneasy.

After a couple of hours, she was nibbling her thumbnail, a habit she’d broken when she was thirteen. The man should have been home by now. On her own drive up the mountain—on an unfamiliar road in the stormy dark—she’d taken, at most, fifteen minutes. Where could he be?

She paced the sitting room, sidestepping Jamie who was lying on the carpet, playing with his trucks. Emma stood at the window, hands pressed to the sill, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. The child had spent the past couple of hours reading, but now she was restless.

Just as her mother was restless.

“Mom, there’s a police car coming up the drive.”

“A police car?”

“Yup.”

Sarah hurried over to the window in time to see the car pull up beside her own. A uniformed officer stepped out.

Emma pressed her nose to the windowpane. “What do you think he wants, Mom?”

“Wait here. I’ll find out.”

“I want to come!”

“I want you to stay here.” If something was wrong, she didn’t want Emma to hear it. “Keep an eye on Jamie.”

Emma pouted. But she did as she was told.

The doorbell rang.

The last time Sarah had answered the door to a police officer had been on the day of Chance’s death. A sick feeling swam in her stomach as she crossed the foyer; a feeling that intensified when she opened the door and saw the serious expression on the young officer’s face.

“Ma’am, I’m Constable Trammer. You’re…?”

“Mrs. Morgan. Sarah Morgan.”

“You’re the wife of Jedidiah Morgan?”

“No, his sister-in-law.”

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident, Mrs. Morgan. Down at the foot of the mountain, at the four-way intersection. A truck went through a stop sign and knocked Mr. Morgan’s Range Rover off the road. The trucker’s unhurt, but Mr. Morgan…”

Déjà vu. The same disembodied feeling that had assailed her when she’d been told about Chance’s death threatened to undo Sarah now. She grabbed the edge of the door for support.

“He’s been injured, ma’am, and has been taken by ambulance to St. Mary’s Hospital in Kentonville.”

Injured. Not dead.

Sarah closed her eyes, letting relief wash over her. When she opened them again, the constable was frowning.

“You okay?” he asked.

Abstractedly, she gestured his question aside. “Are Mr. Morgan’s injuries life threatening?”

“He got a bang on the side of his head and with that kind of injury there’s always a risk. He was unconscious when we got to him.”

“The hospital…where did you say it was?”

“Kentonville. Ten miles west of here, on the river. Hospital’s right at this end of town. You can’t miss it.”

St. Mary’s Hospital was a peach-colored stucco building, situated between the Kenton Motel and the municipal library.

Sarah learned at the information desk that her brother-in-law was in room 345. She ushered the children to the elevator, and when they emerged on the third floor, she spotted room 345 across the way. But as she led the children toward it, she was accosted by a stout, redheaded nurse who came out from behind her desk.

“May I ask,” she said, “where you’re going?”

Sarah paused. “I’m Sarah Morgan. I’ve come to visit my—”

“Visiting hours don’t start till two. Who was it you wanted to see?”

“Jedidiah Morgan. Room 345. Sorry we’re not supposed to be here—we’ll come back later.”

“Mr. Morgan’s doctor wants him to rest today—it would really be best if he has no visitors. He’s had quite a knock.”

A reprieve. Sarah felt a surge of guilty relief. “In that case,” she said, “I guess we’ll be getting home.”

“If at all possible,” the nurse offered, “Mr. Morgan will be discharged tomorrow—we’re seriously short of beds. Phone in the morning, and if he’s been given the all clear, you can pick him up. He won’t be fit to drive…and anyway, from what I’ve heard, his vehicle’s a write-off.”

Goose bumps rose on Sarah’s skin as memories of another accident swept into her mind: Chance’s car, too, had been a write-off. Unfortunately, no angels had been looking out for him as they had been today for his brother.

“Are you okay?” the nurse asked. “You look pale.”

Sarah’s smile was wan. “It’s been a shock.”

The nurse hesitated and then said in a whisper, “Tell you what. The patient’s asleep right now, but I’ll look after the kids if you just want to have a peek at him.”

An offer, Sarah realized wryly, she could hardly refuse under the circumstances. Faking a grateful smile, she said, “Thanks,” and crossed to the open doorway of room 345.

Her brother-in-law lay flat on his back on a narrow bed, his eyes closed, his arms out over the covers, his hands clasped over his chest. If he had a bump on his head, Sarah reflected, it was concealed by his thick black hair. His face was chalk-white, his pallor accentuated by his dark, unshaven jaw.

Hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved quietly over to the bed and stood there, studying him.

His lips, she noticed, were dry.

Sensual lips, and thinner than Chance’s. The sooty black eyelashes were thicker than Chance’s; the ridge on the nose more pronounced; the jaw firmer.

So the two brothers weren’t as alike as she’d initially thought—

“Who the hell,” asked a slurred voice, “are you?”

The patient was not asleep. Startled, Sarah braced herself for the verbal attack that would surely ensue when he recognized her. When she saw his blank expression, her tension eased slightly. He must be hovering in some twilight zone, she figured; either groggy from the accident or drowsy from medication.

“Hush.” Impulsively, she set her hand on his. “I’m sorry, I’ve disturbed you. And I shouldn’t even be here.”

He twisted his hand and trapped her wrist with strong fingers.

“Who are you?” His question came out raspingly. “And what’s going on?”

How much should she tell him? Better to say nothing. The truth might set his blood pressure skyrocketing.

“You’ll find out everything,” she said quickly, “once you’re feeling better.” Tugging her hand free, she backed away. “I’m not even supposed to be here!”

“Wait!”

Ignoring his urgent command, she whirled and fled out to the corridor.

The nurse was at the elevator with the children, and when she saw Sarah, she pressed the elevator button. The doors glided open just as Sarah got there.

With a murmured “Thanks,” Sarah guided the children inside and pressed the lobby button.

“Bye, kids!” The nurse gave the children a wave and then said to Sarah, just as the doors began to swish shut, “I’ll tell your husband when he wakes up that you paid him a visit.”

Sarah blinked and then said quickly, “Oh, but he’s—”

The doors clicked into place.

“—not my husband.”

Too late. The elevator had already begun its descent.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, with time meaning nothing to him. He gathered he was in the hospital, that he’d been involved in a car accident—not his fault, that of the other driver. He also gathered that apart from a few bruises, his only injury was a blow to his head, which he’d sustained on impact with the other vehicle.

Nurses checked on him periodically, but despite his attempts to engage them in conversation, they had little time to chat. He also had the vaguest recollection of seeing a blond angel hovering over him at one point.

He knew that in near-death experiences, people sometimes saw a tunnel of white light with figures beckoning them. He’d apparently not been near death and he’d seen no white light, but the angel had spoken to him in a husky, melodic voice. He recalled her saying apologetically that she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Perhaps she’d come to his room by mistake, thinking he was soon to be not of this world. And then discovered she’d been wrong. Even angels must make mistakes.

He dreamed of her that night; and when he wakened in the morning, the dream remained vividly in his mind.

A mind that was now, thankfully, lucid….

Except for one thing.

One problem.

And it was a whopper!

He had no idea who he was.

He knew he’d been in an accident because someone had told him; but he had no memory of it.

And he had no memory of anything that had happened prior to the crash.

Hell’s teeth. He lay back on his pillow, stunned. What a dilemma. Who was he?

He was still pondering the question when a tall gray-haired doctor appeared at his bedside. Behind him hovered a nurse.

“Rasmussen,” the man said bluntly. And proceeded to give him a thorough examination. “Right, Mr. Morgan—”

Ah, now he knew his name. Or at least his surname. It was a start.

“—you can go home this morning. Where do you live?”

Before he could answer, the nurse piped up, “The patient has a place on Whispering Mountain—about ten miles from here.”

Well, he reflected, at least he wasn’t homeless!

“He shouldn’t do much for himself for the next couple of days. He’ll be a bit off balance. Does he have someone to look after him?”

Did he? The patient turned a keen gaze on the nurse, interested to hear the answer.

“Oh, yes, Doctor. Mr. Morgan has a wife—”

He had a wife? Odd, he didn’t feel married.

“—isn’t that right, Jedidiah?” The nurse threw him a saccharine-sweet smile.

Jedidiah. What kind of a mother would stick her son with a name like that? “Oh, sure,” he said brightly. “A wife.”

“Good,” the doctor said. “Now take it easy for the next few days. You’ve had a nasty knock. No drinking, no driving. And stay quiet. Take a break from work.”

“Sure.” Work? Did he work? Or was he perhaps a dilettante playboy? Surreptitiously, hopefully, he turned over his hands and stole a glance at his palms—

Hey, would you look at those calluses! Those were not the hands of a man who lived a life of glitz and glamour.

But they were the hands of a man who didn’t ask for directions when he was lost. That much he knew, and the knowledge was innate. It probably went all the way back to caveman days, when no caveman worth his salt would have asked another caveman where the best buffalo were roaming.

“Any questions?” The doctor stood poised to leave.

“Nope.”

“Remember anything of the accident?”

Jedidiah shook his head. And winced as pain sliced through it.

“It might come back, but probably won’t. Most people find that because of the trauma it’s blocked out of their minds permanently. You may also find that the swelling around your brain will have caused further memory loss. As the swelling subsides, those memories—your personal memories—should eventually return.” The doctor was halfway to the door. “Any problems, just give me a call.”

“Will do. And thanks.”

After the doctor left, the nurse said, “You’ll find all your clothes in that locker by your bed.” She headed for the door.

Jedidiah said, “Hold on a minute.”

She turned.

“Has my…wife called this morning?”

“She called first thing and then she called again, just after ten. I told her I’d phone back after the doctor had seen you. I’ll call her now and tell her she can come pick you up.”

“Call me a cab instead.”

“But your wife—”

“I want to surprise her.”

The nurse beamed. “I’ll call you that cab. And I’ll come back shortly to wheel you downstairs.”

As the sound of the nurse’s brisk footsteps faded along the corridor, Jedidiah swung his legs off the bed, then paused as a wave of giddiness assailed him. When he finally stood, the floor seemed to tilt. He grasped the bed rail, and once he felt steadier, he moved to his locker.

When he looked at his clothes, they were unfamiliar to him. Blue jeans, denim shirt, navy jacket. It was as if he’d never seen them before.

Yet he knew what they were called; and when he withdrew his black leather wallet from his hip pocket, he knew it was called a wallet. Odd how his mind had retained that kind of information, yet all his personal memories seemed lost.

He unfolded the wallet and riffled curiously through its contents. He found over seventy dollars in bills; a few credit cards; a receipt for gas. And his driver’s license. He noted his address—Morgan’s Hope, Whispering Mountain, B.C. He checked his birth date against the date on the gas receipt and figured he was almost thirty-five. Looking at his photo was like looking at the face of a stranger—a stranger with dark hair and an even darker scowl.

He searched further, hoping to find a picture of his wife, but no luck. He slid the wallet back into the pocket, his mind swirling with questions.

When he got home, he’d get his wife to answer them.

He scraped a rueful hand through his hair. His wife.

He couldn’t wait to see what she looked like!

“Mom, how come you’re unloading all that stuff from the car and bringing it into our uncle’s house?”

Over the bulky bag in her arms, Sarah peeked at Emma and Jamie, who were zooming Jamie’s Tonka trucks over the foyer carpet. “When I called the nurse she said that when your uncle gets home, he’d need taking care of for a few days. I plan to look after him.”

Even if he didn’t want her to, Sarah reflected as nervousness churned her stomach. But she hoped he wouldn’t be up to arguing. In fact, she was counting on it. She desperately needed time to regroup, time to decide where to go when she left Morgan’s Hope.

“When are we going to the hospital?” Jamie asked.

“The nurse promised to phone me after the doctor had made his rounds. I’m surprised she hasn’t called yet.”

“It’ll be a lovely surprise for our uncle,” Emma said happily, “to find that we’ve moved ourselves in!” “Need a hand, buddy?” The cabdriver squinted against the sun as he peered up through his open window at Jedidiah, who was tucking his wallet away. “You seemed a bit unsteady on your pins, back there at the hospital.”

“Thanks, I’m okay.”

“Nice place you got here.”

“Mmm.” Jedidiah’s attention was fixed on the rusty blue Cutlass parked by the front door. His wife’s? How come she drove a dilapidated old vehicle when apparently his own vehicle had been a latemodel Range Rover?

The cabbie gestured toward Max, who had also been a passenger in his cab but was now standing by his master. “Amazing that your dog was hanging around waiting for you in the hospital grounds. He must’ve followed the ambulance all the way to town yesterday. Lucky you had a name tag on him, prove he was yours. Sure are faithful, those mutts.”

“Yeah.” Jedidiah set a hand on Max’s head and the animal looked up at him adoringly.

“Better’n a woman any day!” With a quick grin, the cabbie put his vehicle in gear and drove away.

Jedidiah’s eyes were thoughtful as he walked with an unsteady gait to the house. Inside waited his wife. Her name was Sarah, according to a remark dropped by the redheaded nurse when she’d wheeled him down to the entrance. And Sarah had visited him yesterday, the nurse had confided, though he’d been too out of it to know it.

If he had seen her, would he have recognized her? He doubted he would….

He remembered nothing of her. Nothing of his past.

Remembered nothing of this house.

“Nice place,” the cabbie had remarked, and he’d been right. It was a very nice place indeed, with clean lines and an attractive symmetry to it. He liked the pink brick walls, the white trim, the indigo-blue door. And he liked the arrangement of potted shrubs set around the entrance.

Everywhere he looked, he saw order.

And money.

He glanced at his palms again, and frowned. Those calluses. What the heck kind of work did he do that he could afford such a place?

Squaring his shoulders, he said, “C’mon, Max. Let’s go inside and find out.”

But Max had loped away into the forest.

The front door was unlocked.

Jedidiah opened it. Closed it. Took off his shoes. Stepped forward into the foyer.

And that’s when he saw them.

Two children, a boy of around three and a girl maybe a couple of years older, sitting on the carpet over by the staircase, playing with blocks. They were so intent on what they were doing they didn’t notice him.

He stood, watching. Fascinated.

The boy was slightly built, with a sweep of ash-blond hair. He was wearing jeans and a red sweater. The girl was sturdier, but her hair was equally blond and styled in a long braid. She, too, was wearing jeans, but her sweater was blue with a pattern of snowflakes.

He cleared his throat.

The little girl looked up.

She stared at him for a long moment, her beautiful gray eyes startled, and then she cried, “Daddy!”

The boy turned sharply. His eyes were as gray as the girl’s, and at sight of him, they lit up.

“Da-da!” He scrambled to his feet, and for a moment the two children stood rooted to the spot. Then the girl threw out her arms and with a shriek of joy ran toward him. The boy followed suit.

What could he do but swing them up and hug them? How were they to know he didn’t recognize them? How were they to know he felt as if they were strangers to him?

He swung them around and then swung them down again.

The little girl ran to the stairs and yelled, “Mom! Mom! Daddy’s come back!”

Jedidiah followed, his heart beating in slow, heavy thuds as he waited for this woman who was his wife.

Her voice preceded her. “Honey, what are you…?”

And then she appeared, hurrying out onto the landing.

She glanced down, frowning.

And stopped dead at the sight of him.

She looked stunned; more stunned even than her daughter had been.

And every vestige of color seeped from her face.

“Oh, hi.” Her voice was flat. “It’s you.”

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