“Can I walk you to your car?”

Surprised, Caroline shook her head. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. The parking lot’s right behind the building. I’m just going to set the night alarm, then head down the alley.”

David gave the dim passage a quick look. “I’d feel better about it if you’d let me see you to your car. My mother always told me that a gentleman should never let a lady walk down a dark alley alone.” His lips quirked into a grin.

David was a gentleman, no question about that, Caroline reflected. Even her mother would approve. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if they were dating or anything.

But I wish we were.

The startling thought came to her unbidden. How could she think such a thing? This was the brother of the man she’d loved—and lost. The man she still loved. She wasn’t interested in getting involved with any man, let alone David.

But she had to admit to herself that she found David’s presence in the alley—and her life—comforting. He made her feel protected, cared for. And special somehow.

IRENE HANNON

is an award-wining author who has been a writer for as long as she can remember. She “officially” launched her career at the age of ten, when she was one of the winners in a “complete-the-story” contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. More recently, Irene won the coveted RITA® Award for her Love Inspired book Never Say Goodbye. The RITA® Award, which is given annually by Romance Writers of America, is considered the “Oscar” of romance fiction. Irene, who spent many years in an executive corporate communications position with a Fortune 500 company, now devotes herself full-time to her writing career.

In her spare time, she enjoys performing in community musical theater productions, singing in the church choir, gardening, cooking and spending time with family and friends. She and her husband, Tom—an ordained cleric who juggles ecclesiastical duties with a career in international sales—make their home in Missouri.

Irene invites you to visit her Web site at www.irenehannon.com.

All Our Tomorrows
Irene Hannon

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

He has made everything appropriate to its time.

—Ecclesiastes 3:11.

With thanks and gratitude to the Lord for the

many blessings that have graced my life.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“You’ll never guess who I saw today.”

Caroline reached for a roll and gave her mother a bemused glance. She never won at this game, which had become a standard part of their weekly dinner. Judy James knew more people than the President of the United States. Or so it seemed. “I haven’t a clue, Mom.”

“Guess anyway.”

Instead of responding, Caroline popped a chunk of the crusty roll into her mouth, savoring the fresh-baked flavor. No question about it—her mom was a whiz in the kitchen, even if she did have a few idiosyncrasies. Like her penchant for outrageous hats. And her eclectic taste in decorating, thankfully confined to the family room, which had done time as a South Seas beach shack, a Japanese tea house and a Victorian parlor—to name but a few of its incarnations. In light of those eccentricities, Caroline supposed this silly guessing game was a tame aberration. And it was one she felt obliged to indulge, considering how much she owed her mother, who had been a rock during the difficult months when grief had darkened Caroline’s world, blinding her to everything but pain and loss. She couldn’t have made it through that tragic time without the support of the older woman sitting across from her.

“Okay. How about…Marlene Richards.”

A thoughtful expression crossed Judy’s face. “Goodness, I haven’t had any news of Marlene in quite a while. Whatever made you think of her?”

“I reviewed an obit today for a Maureen Richards for the next edition of the paper. No relation, it turns out. But it made me think of Marlene. She was a good Sunday school teacher. A bit unconventional, but all the kids loved her. I wonder what ever happened to her?”

“When she retired, she went on a mission trip to Africa. Liked it so much, she stayed. Last I heard, she lived in a little village somewhere back in the bush and taught school.”

At her mother’s prompt and thorough response, Caroline smiled and shook her head. “How in the world do you do that?”

“What?”

“Keep tabs on so many people.”

“I make it a point to stay connected. And speaking of staying connected…do you want to guess again?”

“Nope.” Focusing her attention on the appetizing pot roast, Caroline cut a generous bite and speared it with her fork.

“All right. Then I’ll tell you. David Sloan.”

The hunger gnawing at Caroline’s stomach suddenly turned into an ache that spread to her heart, and her hand froze halfway to her mouth. “David Sloan?”

“Yes. Isn’t that a strange coincidence? I was at the post office, and as I was leaving I must have dropped my scarf, because the next thing I knew this nice young man came up from behind and handed it to me. He looked familiar, but it took me a few seconds to place him. He didn’t remember me, of course. We only met that one time, just for a few minutes and under such sad circumstances. But when I introduced myself, the oddest expression came over his face.” Judy tilted her head in the manner of an inquisitive bird. “Kind of like the one on yours right now.”

Caroline lowered her fork to her plate, the pot roast untouched. David Sloan. Her fiancé’s brother—and the man who bore at least some measure of responsibility for his death. For a moment, the taste of resentment was sharp and bitter on her tongue, chasing away the fresh flavor of her mother’s homemade roll. But then her conscience kicked in, dissipating her resentment with a reminder that she bore the lion’s share of responsibility for the tragedy—and triggering a crushing, suffocating guilt that crashed over her like a powerful wave, rocking her world.

“Anyway, he took a new job and moved to St. Louis a couple of months ago. Still, it’s a big city. Seems strange that I would run into him, doesn’t it?” Judy prodded.

“Yes.” Caroline could squeeze only one word past her tight throat. With a shaky hand, she reached for her glass of water and took a long, slow swallow, struggling to rein in her wayward emotions.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Distress etched Judy’s features as she studied her daughter’s face. “I had no idea the mere mention of Michael’s brother would upset you.”

“I didn’t, either.” Denying the obvious would be foolish. Her mother knew her too well for that.

Reaching over, Judy patted her hand. “Well, we just won’t talk anymore about it, then. Except I did promise him I’d give you his regards. Now that I’ve done that, tell me about your day. Any hot news at the Chronicle?”

Switching gears wasn’t easy. But Caroline appreciated her mother’s efforts to distract her. It was a technique that had helped keep her sane during those first few weeks after Michael’s death, as her world disintegrated around her. So she tried to change focus. And prompted by Judy’s interested questions, she was able to maintain the semblance of a conversation. As the meal ended, her mother even elicited a smile or two from her with an entertaining story about her latest passion—square dancing—and the lessons she was taking with Harold, her reluctant partner and steady beau.

“So I said to Harold, ‘Just listen to the caller. He’ll tell us what to do. It’s like assembling that glider in my backyard. You just follow the directions and it all comes together.’ And he says, ‘I didn’t read the instructions for the glider.’” Judy shook her head in exasperation. “Now I know why the thing seems a little lopsided. And why he ended up with all those leftover parts.”

By the time Caroline left, with her almost untouched, foil-wrapped dinner and an extra piece of dessert in hand, she felt a bit more settled. But as she drove home through the dark streets of St. Louis, a shiver ran through her—one that she knew was prompted by more than the damp cold on this rainy March night.

Although her numbing, debilitating grief had ebbed over time, the mention of Michael’s brother had dredged it up from the deep recesses of her heart. Along with all the other emotions she’d wrestled into submission these past two years. Guilt. Anger. Blame. Resentment. Some of those feelings were directed at her; others, at David Sloan. But none of them were healthy. As a result, she’d tried her best to suppress them and to move on with her life. Yet it took only the merest incident, like the passing reference to David tonight, to remind her that they hadn’t been tamed, just subdued.

The rain intensified, obscuring her vision, and she flicked on her wipers. With one sweep, they brushed aside the raindrops, giving her a clear view of the road ahead. Too bad she couldn’t banish the muddled emotions in her heart with the same ease. But they clung with a tenacity that rivaled the ivy creeping up the side of her mother’s brick bungalow, imbedding itself with roots that sought—and penetrated—even the tiniest crack.

As she pulled into her parking spot, the light in the front window of her condo welcomed her with its golden warmth and promise of haven. Set on a timer, it came on faithfully every day at five o’clock, lessening the gloom of coming home to a dark, empty apartment. It might be a poor substitute for the warm embrace of the man she’d loved, but that glow buoyed her spirits, which had a tendency to droop after she left the office. Her hectic days at the newspaper kept her too busy to dwell on her personal life during working hours, but it was harder to keep thoughts of the past at bay when she was alone.

It was getting easier, though. Each day, in tiny increments, the past receded a little bit more. It had been months since she’d had to pull the car over because her hands had begun to shake. She didn’t choke up anymore when she heard a song on the radio that reminded her of Michael. She didn’t cry herself to sleep every night. And, once in a while, a whole day passed when she didn’t think about what might have been. That was progress.

She knew Michael would have wanted her to move on. He, of all people, with his love of life and live-for-today attitude, would have been the first to tell her to get over it and get on with her life. To live, to love and to laugh. To make every day count.

Caroline was doing her best to put that philosophy into action. But it didn’t take much—as tonight’s brief conversation proved—to remind her that she still had a long way to go before she reached that ideal.

And to make her wonder if she ever would.

David Sloan angled into a parking place, set the brake and rested his hands on the steering wheel as he read the sign a few doors down. County Chronicle.

A wave of doubt swept over him, and he hesitated. Was he making a mistake coming here? He hadn’t seen Caroline since Michael’s funeral, and her attitude toward him then had been chilly at best. Not that he’d blamed her. If he and Michael hadn’t argued, Michael would have been more focused when he’d gone to meet that contact in the marketplace. His brother had always had great instincts. That was why he’d been such a successful photojournalist, why he’d risen through the ranks of the Associated Press to be one of their top shooters. It was why they’d sent him to the Middle East, knowing that he’d be able to get into the thick of things, make great images and emerge unscathed. Until that fateful day in the marketplace, when he had no doubt been distracted by their argument, and by concerns for their mother. So David understood why Caroline would blame him for Michael’s death. For turning her world upside down. For destroying a man they’d both loved in the prime of his life. He blamed himself, too.

For almost two years he’d grappled with his complicity. But finally he’d come to terms with it—at least as well as he would ever be able to, he suspected. And some good had come out of his struggle, too. After much prayer, he’d reevaluated his life and made some dramatic changes, following a new path the Lord had revealed to him. The work he was doing now might not offer him the kind of income provided by the high-stakes mergers and acquisitions he’d brokered in his previous job, but it paid dividends in human terms. And even though it had been hard for David to let go of the financial security his former position had offered, he’d put his trust in the Lord three months ago and made the change. So far, he hadn’t had a single regret.

But he had plenty of regrets about his role in Michael’s death. And one of them involved Caroline. He’d always felt the need to contact her, to express his sorrow, to apologize. Though they’d sat side by side at Michael’s funeral, her grief had been too thick for words to penetrate. When he had reached out a tentative, comforting hand to her once during those terrible few days, she’d recoiled, staring at him with a look of such profound loss and resentment that it was still seared in his memory. That was the main reason he’d never tried to contact her. Not the only one, but the main one.

As for the other reason…he wasn’t going to go there. Until yesterday, it had been irrelevant, since he’d never expected to see her again. Yet the chance meeting with her mother, and the medallion resting in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, its weight pressing against his heart, had prodded him to do what he should have done months before. If she brushed him aside, so be it. He still had to make the effort to reach out to her and apologize. And then he would move on—and do his best to forget about her.

From the outside, the County Chronicle looked like any other storefront on the busy Kirkwood street, which still retained a small-town flavor even though it was a close-in suburb of St. Louis. On his way to the front door, he passed Dubrov’s Bakery, Andrea’s card shop and Fitzgerald’s Café, all of which seemed to be family operations instead of the chain stores that were multiplying like rabbits around the country. He liked that. Liked the notion that even in this modern age of mega-stores and conglomerates—many of which he’d helped to create in his previous job—the entrepreneurial spirit continued to flourish. That people with enough drive and determination could still create a successful business to pass down to the next generation.

As he stepped into the lobby of the Chronicle, David tried to calm his erratic pulse. The first moments would be awkward, at best. Please, Lord, help me find the words to make the apology I came here to offer, he prayed.

“May I help you, sir?” A dark-haired woman, who looked to be in her early thirties, spoke to him from behind a desk. Her nameplate identified her as Mary Ramirez, receptionist.

“Yes. Is Caroline James in?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I just took a chance she might be available. I only need a few minutes.”

“May I tell her what this is about?” The woman reached for the phone.

“I’m an old…acquaintance. She’ll know the name. David Sloan.”

The woman didn’t look convinced, but she punched in some numbers, anyway. “She’s got a very full schedule. I’m not sure she’ll be able to see you.”

Caroline’s mother had told him that she was the managing editor of the paper, so he was sure she was busy. And perhaps not inclined to mix professional and personal business. But since she didn’t have a listed phone number—he’d checked that first—he hoped she’d give him a few minutes at the office.

“Caroline, it’s Mary. There’s a David Sloan here who would like to see you.” After several seconds of silence, the receptionist spoke again. “Caroline? Are you still there?”

Shock. That had to account for Caroline’s delayed response, David reasoned. Which did not bode well for the reception he was going to get—if he got one at all.

“All right.” The woman was speaking again. “Yes, I’ll let him know.” She hung up and gave David a speculative look. “She’ll be out in a sec. Have a seat while you wait.” She gestured to a small grouping of furniture with a coffee table in the middle.

Relieved, David nodded and moved to one of the modernistic upholstered chairs. He didn’t feel like sitting, but pacing wasn’t an option, either. The receptionist was already casting discreet, but interested, glances his way. He didn’t want to arouse any more curiosity than necessary. With studied casualness, he sat in one of the chairs, reached for a copy of the newspaper from among those fanned on the coffee table, leaned back and pretended to read the blur of words on the page in front of him. He was more nervous about this encounter than any of the high-powered, deal-making sessions he’d once participated in, when hundreds of millions of dollars had sometimes hung in the balance. Maybe because the capital here was emotional, not monetary. And for another reason he didn’t want to consider.

As the minutes ticked by, David grew more apprehensive. What if Caroline had changed her mind? What if she refused to see him? He’d get the medallion to her somehow, he vowed, find another way to apologize. Perhaps he’d resort to a letter. That would be easier than dealing with her face-to-face. But not as personal. Or as noble. Still, if she didn’t come out, he’d have to conclude that she didn’t want to see him, and he’d be left with no other option. It wasn’t ideal, but he…

Suddenly, the door to the inner offices opened and Caroline stepped through. He set aside the newspaper and rose slowly, using the opportunity to do a quick assessment of the woman who stood before him.

She was still gorgeous, no question about it. Michael had always appreciated beautiful women. Just as it had the first time they’d met, David’s heart tripped into double time. Caroline was model-tall, just three or four inches shorter than his own six-foot frame. And slender. Maybe too slender now, he corrected himself. A jade-green silk blouse was tucked into her pencil-slim black wool skirt, and a delicate gold necklace dipped into the hollow of her throat. She radiated the same style, class and poise he recalled from their first meeting, when Michael had brought her home for Christmas to introduce his fiancée to him and their mother. Now, as then, he was struck by her sleek, shimmery hair, which was the color of an autumn hillside—rich brown, laced with glints of gold, bronze and copper. She’d changed the style, though. He recalled her hair being shorter. Her new look was longer, just brushing her shoulders.

He noticed other new things, as well. Faint, parallel furrows in her brow. Fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and a deep, lingering sadness in their hazel depths. She’d also aged in some subtle way he couldn’t quite identify. He knew she was a year younger than him. Michael had mentioned it once. And it wasn’t that she looked older than her thirty-five years, exactly. It was just that there was a weariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. A timeless, ancient expression not related to age, but to experience. The kind of look shared by people who’d seen too much, been through too much. But at least the animosity he’d glimpsed at the funeral was gone. In its place was wariness.

As David stood there, Caroline looked him over as well, though she had a less vivid picture in her mind for comparison. The Christmas they’d come home to announce their engagement to both families, she’d been focused on Michael. And at the funeral, her grief had been so overwhelming that she’d been aware of David only on a peripheral level. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to avoid him as she’d tried to deal with the avalanche of shock, guilt and resentment that had buried her in a suffocating blackness.

But she had always recognized the distinct differences in the two brothers. David was a couple of inches shorter than Michael, and his hair was dark brown while Michael’s had been sandy and sun-streaked. Their eyes also provided a contrast. Michael’s had been a sparkling, vivid blue, while David’s were quiet and deep brown. Just as their physical appearance differed, so, too, did their personalities. Michael had been an adventurous extrovert. David was a cautious introvert. Or at least that’s how Michael had characterized him. He’d always referred to David, five years his junior, as his kid brother, and called him “the suit” in a good-natured way. He’d told Caroline that David was destined for the corporate world and power lunches, that one day he would be rich and famous while Michael continued to tilt at windmills. And that was just fine with Caroline. It was one of the things she’d loved about Michael. His absolute passion for truth and his zeal for his job were the first things she’d noticed about him. The world needed more people like him. Instead, it had one less. Thanks to her—and, to some degree, the man now looking at her from across the room.

Caroline had almost refused to see David. But what good would that have done? Any blame he bore for Michael’s death was far less than her own, after all. And Michael wouldn’t have wanted her to be unkind to David. Though the brothers had been estranged for several weeks prior to Michael’s death, she knew that their break had weighed on his mind. Despite their difference of opinion on their mother’s care, Michael had never stopped loving his kid brother. And she suspected the feeling was mutual. She was sorry they hadn’t had a chance to resolve their dispute before Michael was killed.

But that was in the past. Right now, David was waiting for her to speak, and she forced herself to walk toward him. Michael would want her to be cordial, she knew. Still, she found the whole situation awkward. And unsettling. Not to mention painful.

“Hello, David.” She held out her hand, and her fingers were engulfed in a warm, firm clasp.

“Hello, Caroline. Thank you for seeing me.”

His voice sounded huskier than she remembered, and despite the almost palpable tension between them, he exuded a deep-seated, inner calmness that somehow eased her nerves. Yet another difference between the brothers, she mused. Michael’s dynamic energy had infused those around him with excitement and enthusiasm. David, on the other hand, came across as calm, steady and in control. Someone who planned before plunging. Michael had always plunged first and planned on the fly. That spontaneity was one of the reasons he’d been so good at his job.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time,” she told David.

“That’s okay. I took a chance stopping by without warning. But after I ran into your mother yesterday, I decided I’d put this off long enough.”

“Mom told me she saw you at the post office. How is your mother doing?”

“She died a year ago. The Alzheimer’s progressed far more rapidly than anyone anticipated. And her heart just kept getting weaker.”

Her query had been routine and mundane, and she’d expected the same kind of response. Instead, his reply shocked her. Sympathy replaced wariness in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. It was a shock, but in many ways I’m glad God called her home. Alzheimer’s is an awful disease. It robs people of everything that made them who they were. In the end, she didn’t know me anymore, or remember anything about the past. The mother I knew had left months before her physical body stopped functioning.”

So now David was alone. Michael had told her once that they had no other relatives. Both of their parents had been only children, and their father had died years before.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

He lifted one shoulder. “I survived. My faith was a great comfort.”

Another contrast between the two brothers, Caroline thought, recalling Michael’s skeptical attitude toward religion in general. Though the brothers hadn’t been raised in a household where faith played a central role, David had sought out the Lord as an adult. And the Christmas they’d met, Caroline had discovered that he’d found something that she had envied deep in her heart. An inner peace. A sense of greater purpose. Something to cling to through the turbulent seas of life. She’d wanted to question him about it, but the time hadn’t been right then. Nor was it now. In ten minutes she was scheduled to do a phone interview with the mayor, and she needed to get focused.

“Well…I do have to get back to my desk. Was there something you wanted to talk about?” she asked when the silence between them lengthened.

With a jolt, David realized that she wasn’t going to invite him to her office. Although Mary appeared to be busy, he suspected that she was tuned in to the conversation taking place only a few feet away, and what he had to say wasn’t meant for public discussion. But he wasn’t leaving without accomplishing the purpose of his visit.

“Is there somewhere private we could speak?” He lowered his voice and angled his body away from the receptionist.

After a brief hesitation, Caroline nodded. “But I have a phone interview to do in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be brief.”

Without responding, she turned and led the way to the inner door, holding up an ID card to the scanner. The door responded with a click and she pulled it open.

The office was much more expansive than David expected. And far more modern than the quaint exterior of the building had suggested. The newsroom was quite large and honeycombed with dozens of cubicles. There was a hum of activity, and staff members stopped Caroline twice to ask her questions as she led the way through the maze.

When they reached her glass-enclosed office, she stepped aside and motioned him in, then followed and closed the door behind her.

“Busy place,” he commented.

“And this is a quiet day. You should see it when things are really hopping.” She moved to her chair, putting the desk between them.

“I guess I didn’t realize that a smaller paper would be so…thriving.”

“The Chronicle isn’t small. It’s the second-largest paper in the city, next to the Post-Dispatch, and we continue to acquire smaller community newspapers. But I don’t need to tell you how mergers and acquisitions work. You deal with that every day.”

“Not anymore.” At her surprised look, he explained. “I took a new job a couple of months ago. As executive director of Uplink, an organization that pairs gifted high school students in problem environments with mentors for summer internships. That’s why I moved to St. Louis. But it seems you’ve changed directions, too. I thought you’d be back at the Associated Press by now.”

Her eyes went flat. “No. I’ve seen enough blood, sweat and tears to last a lifetime. This suits me just fine.” She checked her watch, and he got the message.

“I know you’re on a tight schedule, so I won’t keep you.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small, tissue-wrapped object. “When I was packing for the move, I came across this among Michael’s things. A few weeks after he…after the bombing…AP sent me some personal effects that had been returned by the authorities. I didn’t give them more than a cursory look at the time. It was too hard.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I did notice this, but to be honest, I thought it had been sent to me by mistake, that it belonged to one of the other victims. It wasn’t a symbol I would have associated with Michael. But when I was packing, I looked at it more closely and saw the initials. I think it must have been something you gave him. So I thought you should have it.” He handed it across her desk, his lean, strong fingers brushing hers as she reached for it.

Curious, Caroline unwrapped the tissue. Nestled inside lay a small pewter anchor on a chain. As she stared at the medallion, the air rushed out of her lungs in a sudden whoosh. She groped for the edge of her desk, and for a brief second the room tilted. Then firm, steadying hands gripped her upper arms, and the world stabilized.

“Are you okay? Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”

She drew in a ragged breath before she lifted her head. David’s concerned face was just inches from hers as he leaned across her desk.

“I’m fine. It was just a…a shock.” Nevertheless, she made a move to sit in her chair, not trusting her shaky legs to hold her up.

As David released her arms, he shoved one hand in the pocket of his slacks. “I was pretty sure the initials on the back were yours.”

Turning the anchor over, she traced the familiar inscription with a gentle finger. CMJ to MWS.

“I gave this to Michael the Christmas we got engaged.” Her voice was whisper-soft. “He always told me that I was his anchor. That whenever the world got too crazy, he would think about me, and then everything made sense again. That I kept him stable through the storms of life. After I gave this to him, he never took it off. He said it was his good luck charm.”

Her voice choked on the last word, and David swallowed hard. No doubt they were sharing the same thought: that he hadn’t been so lucky the day he’d gone to the marketplace.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you for two years, Caroline. I’m sure you know that Michael and I argued about Mom the night before he was…before he died. And that our relationship had been strained for several weeks. You have every right to put at least some of the blame for his death on me. I know he was upset when we talked. And I’m sure he was distracted when he went out on that assignment the next day. I lived with the guilt for almost two years, and even though I found some measure of peace about it after a great deal of prayer, I suspect it will always be with me to some degree. I just want you to know how sorry I am. And that I hope you can find it in your heart someday to forgive me.”

The regret and anguish on David’s face mirrored that in her heart. Yet she knew hers was far more deserved. That she was even more culpable than the man across from her. No one else was aware of that, though. She’d never spoken to anyone of the part she had played in Michael’s death. But now that she realized the depth of David’s distress, had glimpsed the burden of pain that weighed down his heart as he shouldered all the blame, she couldn’t in good conscience keep her role a secret from him. It wouldn’t be honest. Or moral. She might not agree with the steps he’d taken, against Michael’s wishes, to institutionalize their mother, but she couldn’t let him continue to think that he alone was at fault for the tragedy.

Gripping the medallion in a tight fist, Caroline rose. When she spoke, her voice was taut with tension. “The guilt isn’t all yours, David. Or even mostly yours.”

“What do you mean?” He sent her a puzzled look.

She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Michael shouldn’t have been in the marketplace that day. It was supposed to be me. I was working on a hot story, but I got sick. He volunteered to meet my contact for me.” Her face contorted with anguish, and when she continued her voice was a mere whisper. “I was the one who should have been killed by the suicide bomber.”

A shock wave passed through David as he digested Caroline’s revelation—and tried to comprehend its ramifications. Somewhere, in a far corner of his mind, he realized that her confession had absolved him from a portion of the blame for the tragedy, and he felt a subtle easing of the guilt that had burdened his heart for two years. But in the forefront of his consciousness was the realization that for those same two years the woman across from him had borne a burden even greater than his on her slender shoulders. The man she loved had done her a favor, had taken her place and he’d been killed. He’d thought his guilt had been wrenching. How much more intense it must have been for Caroline, who lived now because Michael had died.

The devastated look on her face bore that out and twisted his gut into a painful knot.

“I’m sorry, Caroline.” The words were wholly inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” she whispered. “You have every right to hate me.”

“How can I hate you for getting sick?”

“Because I shouldn’t have let that stop me. I still should have gone. It was my responsibility, not Michael’s.”

“How sick were you?”

She shrugged. “Pretty sick. I had some weird virus.”

“Did you have a fever?”

“Yes. A hundred and three.”

“You needed to stay in bed.”

“That’s what Michael said.”

“He was right.”

“No.” Her voice was resolute. “I should have gone.”

“You’d have been killed.”

“I know. But it should have been me.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Do you think that’s what Michael would have wanted?”

David’s quiet question startled her. And the answer was obvious. No, of course not. Given a choice between who would live and who would die, Michael would have taken her place in a heartbeat. But that was beside the point. She wouldn’t have let him.

She shook her head. “Thanks for trying. And thank you for this.” She cradled the medallion in her hand, fighting back tears. She hadn’t cried at work in a long time. And she didn’t intend to start now.

“Maybe God had other plans for you, Caroline. Maybe that’s why He took Michael instead of you.”

Jolted, she stared at him. That was a new thought. And a generous one, considering that she was the primary reason David had lost the brother he loved. But it wasn’t one she put much stock in. She saw no greater purpose in her life than had been in Michael’s, didn’t think she had any more to contribute than he had. His work had been Pulitzer-prize quality. She was good at her job, but not as good as he had been. No, that explanation didn’t hold up for her.

She was saved from having to respond by the jarring ring of the phone, reminding her that she had an interview to conduct. Even if talking with the mayor right now about the new zoning law was about as appealing as…playing her mother’s guessing game.

“That must be your interview. I’ll let myself out.”

“Thank you for coming today,” she said as she reached for the phone.

“It was long overdue.”

As she put the phone to her ear, mouthed a greeting and waited to be connected to the mayor, she watched David make a quick exit, then weave through the newsroom toward the front door. When he reached it, he turned back. Their gazes connected, and held, for a brief second. But it was long enough for Caroline to sense that for David, their meeting today had provided a sense of closure. Then he lifted his hand and disappeared through the door. It shut behind him, with a symbolic sense of finality, giving her the distinct feeling that he had no intention of contacting her again. That his visit today had tied up the last loose end associated with Michael’s death.

Caroline wished she could find that same sense of closure. That she, too, could shut the door on her past. But for her, the pain, the regret, the guilt, just wouldn’t go away.

David, on the other hand, seemed to have found some sense of comfort, some relief, some absolution, in his faith. Not to mention a wellspring of charity. Instead of hating her when she’d revealed her part in Michael’s death—as he’d had every right to do—he’d put it in the hands of the Lord, suggesting that perhaps God had other plans for her.

And for just a moment, as she had on that Christmas when they’d met, she envied him his bond with a greater power, which had given him answers and lightened his burdens while hers still weighed down her soul.

Chapter Two

“That’s good news on the funding front, Martin. Every donation helps. Thanks for the report.” Chairman Mark Holton checked the agenda for the Uplink board meeting. “Looks like you’re next, Allison. What’s the latest on signing up mentoring organizations?”

“Good news there, too. Several more businesses have agreed to take on student interns over the summer. But a lot of the companies I contacted had never heard of Uplink. I think we need to find a way to generate some additional publicity.”

“Point well taken.” Mark surveyed the eight-member board, ending with David. “Any thoughts?”

“Well, after only a couple of months on the job, I have limited experience to draw on,” David responded. “But I’ve run into the same issue with my outreach efforts at schools. Some of the administrators are familiar with the program, but most of the students aren’t. It wouldn’t hurt to have some coverage in the local media.”

“I agree.” Mark turned to Rachel Harris, the publicity chairperson. “Have we pitched any stories in the past few weeks?”

“No. Not since the Post-Dispatch did that piece last fall. It might not be a bad idea to contact the Chronicle, considering its wide reach. I can make a cold call, but if anyone has a connection there it would be helpful.”

“I know the managing editor,” David offered.

“Excellent.” Mark jotted a few notes on a pad in front of him.

Now what had prompted him to blurt that out? David chided himself in dismay. He’d had no intention of contacting Caroline again after he walked out of her office a few days before.

“Could you make a call?” Mark asked. “Rachel can follow up, but it might help if you paved the way.”

David wasn’t so sure about that. But short of explaining his link to Caroline—which he didn’t intend to do—he was left with no option but to agree. “Sure. I’ll call her later this week.”

“All right. Now why don’t you bring us up-to-date on your outreach efforts at the schools.”

As David gave them a quick overview of his busy schedule of visits to area high schools, he focused on a few institutions in the most troubled parts of the city, where he’d put a great deal of effort into recruiting participants. When he ticked off their names, a few board members shifted in their seats and exchanged uneasy glances.

“Is there a problem?” David asked.

“I think there’s some concern about soliciting participants from those schools,” Mark told him when no one else spoke. “Many of them have gang problems, and those students may not be the best representatives for our program right now. If any of them cause trouble at their assigned businesses, it could hinder our efforts.”

“And if they succeed, it could help our cause.”

“It’s the if we’re worried about.”

“Let me make sure I understand the issue.” David folded his hands on the table in front of him and leveled a direct gaze at the chairman. “I thought the mission of Uplink was to reach out to gifted students who were in environments that might sabotage their continued education. I was working on the assumption that our goal was to offer them an opportunity to develop their talents and encourage them to continue in school by giving them role models and experience in a real-world setting. To provide them with a taste of the kind of life they might have if they persevere despite the obstacles that their present situations might present. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Mark affirmed.

“Then we need to be aggressive in our recruiting or we’ll fail.”

“We’ll also fail if we recruit students who cause problems with the participating businesses.”

Stifling a frustrated sigh, David nodded. “Understood. But unless we offer this program to those who need it most, we’re doing a disservice to our mission.”

“David has a point.” All heads swiveled toward Reverend Steve Dempsky, one of the charter board members. “If we play this too safe, the program loses its meaning. Let’s not forget that we were heading in that direction under our former director. We brought David in to give the program some punch, to make it more dynamic and cutting edge. I don’t think we want to tie his hands at this point. We need to trust his judgment and have confidence he won’t take undue risks that put Uplink in danger.”

As the board digested the minister’s comments, David sent him a grateful look. Steve had been his college roommate, and they’d never lost contact. In fact, Steve had been the one who’d told him about this job and recommended him to the board. He appreciated not only his friend’s confidence, but also his willingness to put himself on the line over an issue that was stickier than David had expected.

“Your points are well-taken, Reverend.” Mark turned to the other members of the board. “Do we need any further discussion on this?” When those seated around the table shook their heads, Mark nodded “All right. I’ll see you all next month, same time, same place.”

The rustle of paper, muted conversation and the scrape of chairs signaled the end of the meeting. David stood, gathered up his notes and made his way toward Steve.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he told him.

The sandy-haired minister flashed him a smile and spoke in a low voice. “Just don’t blow it. Or we’ll both be out on our ear.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of David’s lips. “That makes me feel real secure.”

The other man laughed and put his hand on David’s arm. “Just kidding. I trust your instincts. But if you need a second opinion about any of your candidates, I’ll be glad to talk to them, too.”

“I may take you up on that.”

“Will I see you at services Sunday?”

“Have I missed a week yet?”

“No. You’re very faithful. I just wish I could have convinced you years ago to give religion a try.”

“The timing wasn’t right, I guess.”

“Well, I’m glad you finally saw the light. Listen, call me some night next week and we’ll go out for pizza. Monica will be in Chicago for a conference, and I’ll be scavenging for food.”

“You could learn to cook.”

“My friend, I have been blessed with a number of talents. But cooking is not among them. My culinary forays have been a disaster. In fact, Monica has banned me from the stove and the oven when she’s home. Trust me, she’ll be glad if I eat out instead of messing up her kitchen. So call me, okay?”

A chuckle rumbled deep in David’s chest. “You’ve got a deal.”

“And don’t worry about today’s meeting. The board has always tended to err on the side of caution, but the members are working on that. Intellectually, they realize that nothing worth doing is accomplished without some risk, but it will take a little time for that understanding to reach their hearts. In the meantime, follow your instincts.”

Another board member claimed Steve’s attention, and David turned with a wave and headed toward the door. Despite Steve’s parting words, he wondered if he was pushing too hard. Yet he prayed for guidance every day, and he was convinced God had led him to this place for a reason. He was also sure the Lord wouldn’t want him to take the easy way out.

But the board’s reaction was unsettling. If he made a wrong step, he could be ousted—just as his predecessor had been. And for a man who until recently had put a high priority on financial security, that was a scary thought. Growing up in a blue-collar family, where times had always been lean—and gotten even leaner when their father died too young and their mother had to take a job as a cook in a diner just to make ends meet—David had vowed to find a career that provided an income high enough to eliminate financial worries. He’d achieved that—in spades—in his former job. But over time he’d felt a call to do something else, something that made a difference in lives instead of balance sheets. Steve’s call six months ago, alerting him to an upcoming opening at Uplink, had seemed almost providential. David had prayed about it—had even prayed that God not ask him to apply for it—but in the end, the call had been too strong to ignore. So he’d put his trust in God and taken a leap of faith. He just hoped he hadn’t leapt into unemployment.

But as Steve had just reminded him, nothing worth doing was accomplished without some risk. And even if he failed, he would be able to take some comfort in knowing that he’d followed God’s call and done his best.

David reached for the receiver, hesitated, then let his hand drop back to his desk. He wished he hadn’t volunteered to contact Caroline about a story for the Chronicle. Seeing her once had been hard enough. Now he had to call and ask for her assistance. At least it was for a larger cause and not a personal favor. Still, it made him feel uneasy. And unsettled. In fact, he’d been feeling that way ever since his encounter with her the week before.

And he knew exactly why.

For one thing, their meeting had dredged up memories of the tragedy that had robbed his brother of his life. Had made him recall the day he’d been pulled out of a major negotiation session to take an urgent call that his usually efficient secretary hadn’t seemed able to handle. He remembered muttering, “This better be important,” as he swept past her with an irritated glance. He’d still been annoyed when he’d picked up the phone. Until he’d heard Caroline’s almost hysterical voice on the other end of the crackling line, telling him between ragged sobs that Michael was dead.

David’s gut had twisted into a hard knot, and he’d sagged against the desk, almost as if someone had delivered a physical blow to his midsection. He’d been too shocked to comprehend much else of what she’d said. And when she’d hung up, he’d sat there in stunned silence, until at last his secretary had knocked on the door to remind him that the high-powered group assembled in the next room was waiting for him.

It had been a nightmare day. And the two weeks that followed had been just as horrendous. He’d decided not to tell his mother, who was slipping away day by day, fearing that the news—if she even understood it—would strain her heart, which was already weak. So he’d stood alone at the funeral. Caroline had been beside him physically, but she’d been as unreachable as the distant peaks he’d spotted on his trek in the Himalayas last year. And looking at her devastated face, watching the way her hands shook, had only exacerbated his own pain—and guilt.

Seeing her again had brought all those memories back. So he shouldn’t be surprised that the incident had unsettled him. Nor should he be surprised that the thought of contacting her again made him uneasy.

But he knew it was more than that. Knew that his feelings reflected something far deeper and less obvious, something he’d fiercely suppressed since the day Michael had escorted Caroline through the door of his mother’s apartment and introduced her as his fiancée.

The fact was, from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, David had been smitten. There was no other word for it. Nor any basis for it. He was an adult, after all. He’d been thirty-four when they met, not some teenager whose hormones could be whipped into a frenzy by the mere sight of a pretty face. In fact, he’d been so stunned by his unexpected reaction to her that he couldn’t even recall much about that first meeting. He supposed he’d managed to sound coherent, because no one had acted as if he was behaving oddly. But he’d been so thrown that for the rest of Caroline and Michael’s three-day visit, he had made it a point to avoid one-on-one conversations with her. He was afraid his tongue would get tangled up or, worse, that it would sabotage him and say something inappropriate. Such as, “I know you’re engaged to my brother, but would you marry me, instead?”

That, of course, wasn’t even a consideration. David had never intruded on Michael’s turf. Not as a child, not as a teenager, not as an adult. He loved his brother too much to do anything to jeopardize their relationship. In fact, if the truth was known, he’d always had a case of hero worship for him. He’d admired his sense of adventure, his willingness to take risks, his easygoing manner, his go-with-the-flow attitude. Not to mention his choice of women. Particularly his fiancée.

But if Caroline’s beauty had bowled him over, he’d discovered other qualities about her in the next few days that had only added to her appeal. She’d been patient and kind with his failing mother, who had enjoyed some of her better days during their visit. He’d been struck by her lively intelligence, her generous spirit, her sense of justice and her passion for her work. In short, he’d been knocked off his feet.

In retrospect, David doubted that Caroline had even noticed him much during that visit. She’d had eyes only for Michael, and the soft light of love on her face when she looked at him had made David, for the first time in his life, jealous of his brother. It had also made him think about all the things he’d missed as he focused on launching his career to the exclusion of everything else—including love. Oh, he’d dated his share of women. But he’d never even considered a serious commitment. The trouble was, even though he’d opened the door to that possibility after her visit, he’d never met anyone who measured up to Caroline.

David knew that his impressions of her had been fleeting. Too fleeting to form the basis for any sort of rational attraction. Yet even as his brain reminded him of that, his heart refused to listen. For some reason, in that one brief visit, she’d touched him in a way no other woman had, before or since. She’d done so again, at Michael’s funeral, though on that occasion the attraction was tempered by grief. And guilt. Even now, he could explain it no better than he had been able to two years before. He’d assumed that her appeal would dissipate over time, but he’d been wrong. The minute she’d stepped through the office door last week it had slammed against his chest with the same force that it had the first time they’d met.

As for how to handle his feelings—David had no idea. All he knew was that they were irrational, inappropriate and unsettling. Not to mention guilt-inducing. Caroline had loved Michael. She still did, if her reactions last week were any indication. And he couldn’t intrude on his brother’s turf. It hadn’t felt right two and a half years ago, and it didn’t feel right now. Even if the lady was willing or interested. And Caroline didn’t fall into either of those categories. So his best plan was to make the call, ask for the favor and forget about her.

But considering the way his feelings had returned with such intensity after a two-year gap in contact, he suspected that plan was destined for failure.

“I have David Sloan on line three for you. Do you want to take the call?”

Caroline’s hand jerked, making her pen squiggle across the copy she was editing. With dismay, she eyed the erratic red line sprawled across the typed page. So much for her usual neat, legible edits.

Why was David calling her? When he’d walked out the door last week, she’d been convinced that she’d never hear from him again. There had been a sense of finality about his visit, of closure. Now he was back. And she wasn’t anxious to talk with him. It had taken her several days after his last visit to rebury the memories and pain it had dredged up. She didn’t want to go through that again.

Still, she was curious. David didn’t strike her as the kind of man who did things without a great deal of thought. Nor without good reason. Whatever the purpose of his call, she assumed it was important.

Shifting the phone on her ear, she laid down her pen and rotated her chair so that her back was toward the newsroom. “Go ahead and put it through, Mary. Thanks.”

A second later, David’s voice came over the line. “Caroline?”

“Yes, hi. I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon.”

“I didn’t expect to be calling. But we had a discussion earlier this week at the Uplink board meeting about the need for publicity, and I offered to contact you to see if the Chronicle might be interested in running a piece about the organization.”

So this was a business call. She hadn’t expected that, either. But it was much easier to deal with. The knot of tension in her stomach eased.

In journalist mode, she swiveled her chair back toward her desk, reached for a pen and drew a pad of paper toward her. “We’re always looking for good story leads. But I have to confess that I’m not familiar with Uplink.”

“That’s the problem. Not enough people are. And that hampers our ability to fully realize our mission.”

“Which is?”

“We target gifted high school juniors in difficult environments and match them with mentors in participating businesses for summer internships to provide them with a taste of a real-world work environment. We hope the experience gives them not only a stimulating summer job, but an incentive to continue with their education. Then we follow up with ongoing support groups to ensure that we don’t lose them after their internships.”

“You mentioned some of this last week. Sounds worthwhile.”

“We think so. But the organization is only three years old—still a fledgling. There’s a lot more we could do if this really takes off. For that to happen, though, we need to heighten awareness.”

“What sort of article did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure. One of the board members, Rachel Harris, handles publicity and communication. She can follow up with more information if you’re interested in pursuing this. My role was just to get a foot in the door.”

“All right.” Caroline jotted the woman’s name down, then laid the pen aside. “Have her give me a call. If we can find a good angle, it might make an interesting article.”

“That would be great. We’d appreciate it.”

“Like I said, we’re always looking for good stories. But I have to admit I’m curious about how you became connected with the group. This seems far removed from your previous job.”

The momentary silence on the other end of the line told her he was surprised by the question. And so was she. She hadn’t planned to introduce anything personal to their conversation. The comment had just popped out.

Despite his initial reaction, however, David’s tone was conversational when he responded. “It is. I’d been doing a lot of soul-searching for the past few years, and I began to feel a need to do something with my life that had more purpose than just making a lot of money.”

A melancholy smile whispered at the corners of her mouth. “Michael used to say almost exactly the same thing.”

Her comment startled him. No one had ever compared him to his brother before. It made him feel good, and odd at the same time. “I guess that’s true,” he acknowledged. “But my impetus was different. It grew out of long conversations with God.”

“You’re right. Michael was driven by a deep sense of ethics versus faith, and by a desire to help improve the human race.”

“I guess our goal was the same, then. Just not the motivation.”

“Well…I wish you luck with the job. It sounds like good work. I’ll be expecting Rachel’s call.”

“Great. We appreciate anything you can do. Take care.”

The line went dead, and Caroline put the phone back in its holder. She still wasn’t sure why she’d asked about his new job. It had moved them out of a safe topic and into touchy personal territory. Maybe it had just been her professional curiosity kicking in. Since asking questions was part of her job, it made sense that she would delve a little deeper with David. Didn’t it?

The answer came to her in a flash. No. If she’d wanted to avoid personal discussion, if she’d wanted to get off the phone as fast as possible, she’d have ended the conversation instead of detouring to a more personal line of questioning.

Okay, so much for her first theory. She tried another one on for size. Maybe contact with David made her feel, in some way, connected with Michael. As if, through David, Michael was still somehow part of her life in a tangible way. She and David were the only ones who had really known, and loved, the man she’d planned to marry. Her mother was a great sounding board, and she’d listened with infinite patience when Caroline had reached the stage of grief where she could talk about her fiancé, and share some of her memories. But her mother had no firsthand knowledge of him beyond that brief Christmas visit to both families.

David, on the other hand, had years’ worth of memories of Michael. Ones that Caroline didn’t have. His bond to the prize-winning photojournalist was as strong as hers, in a different way. Maybe, on some subconscious level, she wanted to tap into them. To supplement her own memories of the man she’d loved, who had talked of his past only on rare occasions. And maybe she also wanted to shore up her memories. In recent months it had grown harder for her to picture Michael’s face without the aid of a photograph. She’d already begun to forget the unique sound of his voice. Along with the feel of his touch. She didn’t want to let go of Michael, but he was slipping away, bit by bit. And that frightened her. Perhaps her reaching out to David today had been driven by fear, and by a desire to connect with the one man who had the best chance of keeping Michael alive for her.

Yes, no doubt that was it.

Satisfied, Caroline reached for her red pen and pulled the copy back toward her. Only then did she realize that her jerky squiggle bore a striking resemblance to half of a heart. How appropriate, she reflected with a pang. Half a heart was exactly what she felt like she had. The rest had died along with the man she loved.

And there was nothing David Sloan could do to fix that.

“Here’s some information on Uplink. And I asked Mitch about it, too.” Tess Jackson laid the material on Caroline’s desk, taking the seat the managing editor waved her into.

“Did he know anything?”

“Not a lot. It’s targeted more toward inner-city schools. But he made a few calls, and in general heard glowing reports from his colleagues. He thought it would be a very worthwhile feature. I do, too, from a journalistic perspective.”

After a quick scan of the material, Caroline leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. She respected Mitch Jackson, a former cop whose innovative work as a hands-on high school principal had drawn state-wide notice. His personal interventions had steered dozens of wayward students back to the right path. She also respected his wife’s assessment of the story potential. That was why Tess had been promoted in two short years to assistant editor.

“Okay. What kind of angle do you propose?”

“Human interest. I think we should include some history of Uplink, but focus on a couple of the students who’ve been through the program and talk about what a difference it made in their lives. We’d want to include interviews with the businesses that were involved, the students and the executive director, as well as the chairman of the board.”

“Sounds good. Who should we assign?”

“As a matter of fact, I’d like to take this one. I think I have a good feel for the subject, given Mitch’s work at the high school. Unless you want to do it. After that story you did on gangs last year, you’ve got an understanding of the problems out there, and the need for intervention. Besides, it should be a meaty piece, and you like to tackle those.”

Caroline had already thought this through. And had come to the conclusion that whatever her motives in yesterday’s conversation with David, it wasn’t wise to prolong contact with him. In addition to the painful memories that were rekindled, there were too many unresolved questions that she didn’t want to dredge up. Like, why had David insisted on putting his mother in an extended-care facility so soon after their visit, breaking a promise both brothers had made to her years before? She’d overheard the two men discussing it one evening, in subdued tones near the Christmas tree, and while she hadn’t been able to make out the words—nor had she tried to—the frustration in both voices had been unmistakable.

In the end, she’d sided with Michael. Martha Sloan might have been a bit vague, but Caroline hadn’t seen any evidence of advanced Alzheimer’s during their visit. Certainly not enough to warrant institutionalization. David had agreed to hold off, but then had called Michael a month later to tell him that he was going to move her into a nursing facility anyway. Michael had asked him to wait until they could discuss it in person, when he and Caroline returned later in the year for their wedding, but David had refused. The brothers hadn’t talked again until the night before Michael died, when David had called to tell him that their mother had suffered a mild heart attack.

It was odd, really. Back then, David hadn’t struck her as uncaring or cavalier. Or as a man who broke his promises. He still didn’t. She found it hard to think of him as someone who would disregard the wishes of a person he loved. Yet the facts all pointed to that. And it wasn’t something she respected. Nor wanted to discuss. But if they continued to have contact, it would no doubt come up, since it had been such a point of contention between the brothers. As a result, it was best if she let someone else handle the story.

“No. You do it, Tess. I’ll refer Rachel Harris to you when she calls.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. I’ll dive in as soon as we hear from Rachel. Any special timing on this?”

From what David had said, the group wanted to raise its profile as soon as possible. Of course, that couldn’t be a factor in her decision. She had to do what was best for the paper and for the readers. Still, there was a piece about home schooling scheduled for two editions down the road that was pretty timeless. She checked the run list.

“If we bump the home-school piece a week, we could use this March twenty-seventh. Do you think you can have it ready by then?”

“Assuming the Uplink people get back to us right away, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Tess assured her.

“Okay. Let’s shoot for that. But that deadline isn’t written in stone. We can shift it later if necessary.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“No. That should do it. Let me know if you run into any snags.” Caroline turned back toward her computer.

“Will do. How’s the budget coming?”

Grimacing, Caroline shook her head, her focus still on the screen in front of her. “I didn’t go into journalism to crunch numbers,” she grumbled.

“Somebody has to do it. And better you than me.”

With a mirthless grin, Caroline waved her out. “Thanks for the sympathy.”

“At least the budget will distract you from the nasty letters we’ve been getting about that story we ran on the group home for juvenile offenders,” Tess offered as she exited.

“Good point.” Though the article had been straightforward and objective, neighbors of the home had chosen to view it as an endorsement. They hadn’t appreciated that, and had been very vocal in their disapproval of the paper’s perceived position.

If the budget work distracted her from that can of worms, maybe there was a plus to it, Caroline conceded. And she’d be even more grateful if it distracted her from David. She didn’t want to think about him anymore. Despite his calm, in-control demeanor, his presence in her life had been disruptive. For reasons that eluded her, she couldn’t seem to quash thoughts of him. Maybe crunching numbers would do the trick. That would require her absolute and total concentration.

And for some reason, she had a feeling it would take something that attention-demanding to keep thoughts of David at bay.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.