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The Best Of Both Worlds
Elissa Ambrose


HOW TO DESCRIBE BECKY ROTH: UNEMPLOYED, STRESSED, PREGNANTAfter losing her job at a greasy diner, Becky needed to support herself, but no one was looking for a pregnant vegetarian chef during a snowstorm in small-town Connecticut. Except Carter Prescott III, who'd been the best man at a wedding a few months ago where he and Becky had indulged in a little too much cake…and lovemaking. Now that he was going to be a father, he had to convince her he was ready for marriage and a baby. But no one was more surprised than Carter when his feelings of obligation turned into full-blown passion and need. Suddenly, he was a man on a mission–marriage!









Standing on tiptoe, Becky planted a kiss on his cheek.


Carter felt a surge of heat rush though him. Her face had my hero written all over it, and what flesh-and-blood male could resist such unmasked admiration? To top it off, she looked precious in her Santa Claus hat. “What’s a nice Jewish girl like you doing in a hat like that?” he asked gruffly, mixed emotions raging through him. At that moment, Carter wished he were Santa, so he could pull her onto his lap.

He took her arm and led her down the hallway, into the study. “Mistletoe,” he whispered, motioning to the rafter in the ceiling. He kicked the door closed. With an urgency he couldn’t suppress, he pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms, his lips finding hers, his hands in her hair, then down her back. The way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way her body fit so well with his, released feelings he’d kept restrained for months.

“Marry me,” he said for what seemed like the hundredth time.


Dear Reader,

Well, it’s that time of year again—and if those beautiful buds of April are any indication, you’re in the mood for love! And what better way to sustain that mood than with our latest six Special Edition novels? We open the month with the latest installment of Sherryl Woods’s MILLION DOLLAR DESTINIES series, Priceless. When a pediatric oncologist who deals with life and death on a daily basis meets a sick child’s football hero, she thinks said hero can make the little boy’s dreams come true. But little does she know that he can make hers a reality, as well! Don’t miss this compelling story….

MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES continues with Maureen Child’s Forever…Again, in which a man who doesn’t believe in second chances has a change of mind—not to mention heart—when he meets the beautiful new public relations guru at the midwifery clinic. In Cattleman’s Heart by Lois Faye Dyer, a businesswoman assigned to help a struggling rancher finds that business is the last thing on her mind when she sees the shirtless cowboy meandering toward her! And Susan Mallery’s popular DESERT ROGUES are back! In The Sheik & the Princess in Waiting, a woman learns that the man she loved in college has two secrets: 1) he’s a prince; and 2) they’re married! Next, can a pregnant earthy vegetarian chef find happiness with town’s resident playboy, an admitted carnivore…and father of her child? Find out in The Best of Both Worlds by Elissa Ambrose. And in Vivienne Wallington’s In Her Husband’s Image, a widow confronted with her late husband’s twin brother is forced to decide, as she looks in the eyes of her little boy, if some secrets are worth keeping.

So enjoy the beginnings of spring, and all six of these wonderful books! And don’t forget to come back next month for six new compelling reads from Silhouette Special Edition.

Happy reading!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor




The Best of Both Worlds

Elissa Ambrose





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my mother.




Acknowledgments


Special thanks to Anne Lind, Sharon Skinner and

Sarah Mlynowski, critique partners par excellence;

and to Mireya Merritt, gourmet chef extraordinaire.




ELISSA AMBROSE


Originally from Montreal, Canada, Elissa Ambrose now resides in Arizona with her husband, her smart but surly cat and her sweet but silly cockatoo. She’s the proud mother of two daughters, who, though they have flown the coop, still manage to keep her on her toes. She started out as a computer programmer and now serves as the fiction editor at Anthology magazine, a literary journal published in Mesa, Arizona. When she’s not writing or editing or just hanging out with her husband, she can be found at the indoor ice arena, trying out a new spin or jump.




Chicken Soup without the Chicken


From Rebecca Roth’s The Lover’s Guide To Vegetarian Cooking

Just as comforting as chicken soup with the chicken, this recipe will soothe any man—body and soul.

3 tbsp olive oil

1 ½ onions finely chopped

3 carrots, sliced horizontally

2 stalks celery, sliced horizontally

1 small turnip, cubed in to ¾-inch pieces (optional)

½ tsp Hungarian or Spanish paprika

2 quarts cold vegetable stock

1 ½ tsp salt

¼ tsp black pepper

2 tsp fresh dill, minced; or ½ tsp dried leaf

2 tsp fresh parsley, minced; or ½ tsp dried leaf

1 cup dried bow tie noodles

Procedure:

Heat oil in large pot over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until transparent.

Add carrots, celery and turnip, then let sweat for 10 minutes. (Sweating means allowing the vegetables to cook with the onions until they start releasing their juices and begin to mingle with the onions and oil.)

Add paprika and stir for one minute.

Pour the cold stock over the vegetables and bring to a boil. Turn down the heat, cover and simmer for about 20 minutes, until the vegetables are somewhat tender.

Stir in salt, pepper, dill and parsley, then add noodles. Simmer for another 10 to 12 minutes, or until the vegetables and pasta are tender. Check for seasoning.

Serving Suggestions:

Get your man into bed and cover him with a comforter. Place a bowl of hot soup on a serving tray with plenty of saltine crackers, then spoon-feed him the soup and hand-feed him crackers. It won’t take him long to feel a new surge of strength!




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 One


“N ow you’ve done it,” Becky said. “You didn’t have to yell at her. Christina is sobbing in the storeroom, and all because of you. Sometimes you’re as sensitive as a steamroller.”

The round-faced, fuzzy-eyebrowed owner of Merlin’s Fine Diner glared at her from behind the counter. “Christina got the order wrong again,” he snarled. “The customer’s always right.”

“In this case the customer was wrong. He ordered a BLT without the bacon, tomato on the side, and that’s exactly what he got!”

“Yeah, right. Who orders a BLT without the bacon?”

“Me, for one,” Becky answered. “Not that I’ve ever been inclined to eat in this dive.” These days, however, just seeing all that grease sizzling in the kitchen, never mind the smell, was enough to send her stomach reeling. “I’d better check on Christina,” she mumbled, fighting back a fresh wave of nausea.

“You people are all alike,” Merlin said. “Trouble-makers, everyone of you.”

Becky whirled around. “You people? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You vegetarians. It’s as if you all belong to the same secret club. It’s un-American, I tell you. Downright subversive. Now get back to work.”

“Work, shmirk. You heartless clod! Christina is in the back room, crying her eyes out, and all you can think about is work? What kind of person are you?”

He waved a finger in her face. “I’ll tell you what kind of person. Someone who plans on staying in business. Someone who doesn’t need back talk from the help. I’ve had it, Rebecca. If I’d wanted a cook with a mouth, I would have hired my wife. You’re fired. From now on I’m doing all the cooking myself, just like when I first opened.”

Another fine mess, Becky thought after saying goodbye to Christina. Another job down the drain. Fired again, and for what?

Little silver bells jingled as she pulled open the door to the diner, a blast of cold air assaulting her face. She pulled her scarf up over her chin and stepped onto the sidewalk.

It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t hold down a job. She just hadn’t found her niche in the world. But she wasn’t thinking about her sudden unemployed state, and she wasn’t thinking about the weather as she bundled her jacket close to her body and made her way down the street. She was thinking about it. The problem. The predicament she planned to dump on her family at dinner.

No use putting it off. They’d find out sooner or later. Might as well let the cat out of the bag when the whole family—the whole mishpokhe as Bubbe liked to say—was gathered around the table.

For as long as Becky could remember, no one in the family had ever been excused from Friday-night dinner at Ma’s. To be excused, you had to have been run over by a truck or be in the process of having a baby. When Becky was married and living in New York, she’d taken the train back to Middlewood every Friday evening. But she’d always traveled alone. Her husband, Jordan, had been excused. He was almost a doctor, and doctors, according to her mother, made their own rules.

Becky could just imagine the scene that evening when she broke the news. In the center of the polished oak table would be her mother’s favorite crystal vase, filled with an arrangement from the florist. Her father would complain that nothing could equal the prize roses he grew every summer in his garden, and her mother would roll her eyes.

“Pass the knishes, please,” Becky might say to her brother, David. “Guess what, Ma? I lost my job today. Oh, by the way, I’m three months pregnant.”

“Again you got fired?” Becky’s mother might answer. As usual, Gertie Roth would hear only what she expected to hear, and the last thing she’d expect to hear was that her divorced daughter was pregnant. Refusing to do the math, the last thing she’d want to hear was that Jordan Steinberg, her ex-son-in-law the doctor, wasn’t the father.

On second thought maybe I shouldn’t tell them right away, Becky debated, imagining the mayhem that would follow. Her mother, once understanding set in, would hold her hand over her heart and feign an attack. Gertie Roth—who, barring mild hypertension, was as healthy as a horse—was convinced she was going to die young. “It’s too late for that,” Becky’s father liked to tease her, only now he’d be in no mood for jokes. He’d insist that Becky get a second opinion, all the while lamenting, “Where did we go wrong?” And Bubbe would nod her head sadly, in the way that grandmothers did, while thanking God that Chaim, Becky’s grandfather, had already passed on, because if he hadn’t, the news would probably kill him.

No, Becky decided, she wouldn’t tell them tonight. She couldn’t drop a bomb like this between the chicken soup and gefilte fish—which, being a vegetarian, she’d never get to eat—and not expect a fallout. She considered not telling any of them, ever. She could blame her weight gain on her depression, and when the time came she could…she could what? Give her baby up for adoption? No way, she told herself, just as terminating the pregnancy hadn’t been an option when, just hours ago, she had hidden in the ladies’ room at the back of the diner, waiting for the results of the home pregnancy test.

Positive.

Bracing herself against the wind, she rounded the corner at the end of the block, and, like Dorothy after she had landed over the rainbow, found herself in another world. Here, in the older part of town, the houses were different from the contemporary split-level bungalows in Becky’s neighborhood. In striking contrast, they were large and stately in the Colonial style of days long ago. Here was where Carter had grown up.

She turned another corner and stopped outside a bed and breakfast. Set against a woodsy landscape, the old home was a picture of old-fashioned charm. The posts on the corners of the house were ornamentally molded, the chamfered beams under the overhang embellished with large teardrop shapes. On a sign in the window, Vacancy was written next to Starr’s Bed & Breakfast, underneath that, Assistant Cook Wanted. On sudden impulse she walked up the stone pathway. She reached for the large brass knocker, then hesitated.

In the yard stood a large Douglas fir, silver streamers and multicolored lights woven through its branches. Since Thanksgiving, Christmas decorations had sprouted everywhere, candles in windows, wreaths on front doors, Santa with reindeer on snow-covered lawns.

She pulled her hand away. Not my world, she thought, and headed back to the street.



The job in Phoenix had taken ten months to complete, but it was nothing compared to what lay ahead, the project that would ensure him a full partnership with Sullivan and Walters, Middlewood’s prestigious architectural firm. Joe Sullivan had called him on his cell phone only moments ago, informing him that the New Zealand job had been approved.

At the moment, though, New Zealand was the farthest thing from Carter’s mind.

He sat in the booth, examining the stained checkerboard oilcloth that covered the table. Bored with that, he turned his gaze to the torn red vinyl of the seat. He’d never been here before and now he knew why. A Meal You’ll Never Forget, the sign outside boasted. If the coffee was any indication of what the food was like, never forget was right. Your stomach wouldn’t let you.

The day had been long, starting with a five-hour flight from Phoenix to LaGuardia, followed by another hour’s trek by car service to Middlewood, Connecticut. All he’d wanted was to stay home and unwind, but he knew his mother was expecting him. After dropping off his bags at his apartment, he headed straight for the garage to get his car and was on the road again.

And then he’d seen the sign. He’d made a U-turn and headed for the diner.

No time like the present.

Becky hadn’t returned any of his calls, and he was tired of her ice-queen attitude. The sooner they got it out in the open, the sooner they could get on with their lives. They were adults, weren’t they? This kind of thing happened all the time, didn’t it?

So why did he feel like a heel?

Three months ago, after seven uninterrupted months on-site, he’d flown back from Phoenix to be the best man at David’s wedding, intending to return to the job the following morning. After the reception Mrs. Roth had invited the guests to take home anything they wanted. Although she’d been referring to the sweet-table and flowers, Carter had taken home the groom’s younger sister.

“The decor doesn’t do much to whet the appetite, does it?” Armed with a pot of coffee, a fresh-faced young woman no older than eighteen, her long blond hair in a ponytail, stood by the table. “The diner’s only saving grace is that it’s across the street from the bookstore. More coffee?”

“Sure, why not?” If the first cup hadn’t killed him, nothing would. He read her nametag and asked, “Christina, can you tell me when Becky will be back from her break?”

She frowned. “Sorry, mister, Rebecca left just before you got here. She was let go. I guess she went home.” A worried expression crossed her face. “I hope she’s okay. That storm out there is pretty nasty. She was on foot.”

“Christina!” a large, beefy man called from behind the counter. “How many times do I have to tell you not to fraternize with the customers! Get back to work!”

“I’m not fraternizing, I’m working!” She took out her order pad and pretended to write. “I feel pretty bad about the whole thing,” she said quietly. “She was fired because of me.”

“I doubt that,” Carter replied. “Becky’s made a career of getting fired. She’s perfected the technique all on her own, without any help from anyone.” He had to give her credit, though, for sticking it out this long. Who would have thought someone as pampered as Becky would work in a rattrap like this in the first place? He dropped a five-dollar bill onto the table and stood up. “Thanks for the refill, but I think I’ll skip it. Maybe I can catch up with her.”

“Coffee’s only a buck-fifty. What about your change?”

“Keep it. Working for someone like him—” he motioned to the man behind the counter, who was scowling in their direction “—I’d say you’ve more than earned it.”

By the time he reached the car, it was already buried in snow. Grumbling, he proceeded to clear the windshield with his bare hands. Dammit, it was only the first week in December, too early for a major storm. He should have remembered his gloves. In seconds his hands were stinging with the cold.

This is what happens when you don’t plan ahead, he thought.

Like Becky, for instance. He should never have let it happen.

As kids they had flirted innocently. She’d been cute and funny and charming—and spoiled worse than an overripe peach. A princess-in-training, her brother used to call her. She was also five years younger. But as she grew into womanhood, the age difference began to fall away, and cute gave way to radiant, funny to endearing, charming to devastating. Ringlets of long sable-brown hair tumbled freely down her back, as though daring someone to tame it. Her large brown eyes were unfathomable, and her mouth, which seemed to curl in a perpetual half smile, half pout, was sinfully tantalizing. She was, however, from a different world. Without ever having to say a word, his family had made sure he knew the boundaries.

Not pursuing a relationship was a mistake he’d regretted for years. And three months ago, on the night of David’s wedding, he’d made another one.

Since then sleep had evaded him. He’d lain awake in his hotel room, trying—without success—to drive the memory of that night from his mind. As much as he hated to admit it, she’d gotten under his skin.

But he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Except apologize.

What had he been thinking, letting her come back with him to his apartment? He no longer felt that the difference in their backgrounds was a barrier, but these days, thanks to a failed marriage and a fast-paced lifestyle, any kind of involvement was at the bottom of his wish list. Becky was the kind of woman who needed a husband. She wasn’t the type who would settle for an affair.

That devil-may-care, free-spirit act didn’t fool him for a minute. She might look like a temptress, might act like a temptress, but he knew the truth. Becky Roth was as homegrown as apple pie, or in her case, apple kugel.

Of course, if the truth were told, she had seduced him.

And that’s why he felt like a heel. He should have turned her down.



Three teenagers, bundled in coats and scarves and gloves, ran out of a large saltbox-style house. A boy around sixteen stopped to roll a snowball, then shot it at the girl, who appeared to be a few years younger. The girl squealed and the two boys laughed.

“Oh, you think you’re so macho!” the girl shouted, retaliating with a bull’s-eye shot to the taller boy’s shoulder.

“I think I’m going to defect to the other side,” the taller boy called to his friend. “With a windup like that, your sister could pitch for the pros.”

For a brief moment Becky was that young girl, and the taller boy was Carter, her teenage crush, her brother’s best friend. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up memories of her youth, a carefree time when life wasn’t encumbered with complications. Back then there weren’t as many choices, she thought. You did what was expected of you.

Without warning a snowball smashed against her forehead, causing her to lose her balance. Her legs slipped out from beneath her, and a moment later she was down on the sidewalk. “Oh, no,” she said, noticing the rip in her panty hose. Along her shin was a nasty red patch. At first she felt nothing but the cold, but then the pain took over. She wasn’t bleeding, but her skin felt as if she’d been whipped with steel wool.

“Are you all right?” the taller boy asked, concern written across his brow. “Gee, I’m sorry, ma’am. With all this snow, I didn’t see you. I didn’t mean to clobber you.”

Ma’am? Did he just call her ma’am? Just when she thought the day couldn’t get any worse, some kid has to come by, practically knock her unconscious and then call her ma’am.

“He meant to clobber me,” the girl by his side said. “Randy, you moron, don’t just stand there. Help her up.”

Becky squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to squeeze out the pain. It was a trick she’d learned when Jordan left, and it had worked. She hadn’t cried, and afterward she had gone about her life as though nothing had changed. And nothing had, really. All that had happened was that she’d moved out of her husband’s domain back to her parents, where she’d been living in limbo these past nine months.

Nisht ahir un nish aher, Bubbe would say. Neither here nor there.

A tear rolled down Becky’s cheek. The trick wasn’t working. “My leg,” she moaned. “It hurts.”

“I’ll take care of her,” she heard someone say. It was a man’s voice, deep and resonant. She opened her eyes and winced, but not because of the pain. Carter. Above her stood Carter Prescott, III, her brother’s best friend, her teenage crush. Carter Prescott, III, father of her unborn child.

She felt her head spinning, and it wasn’t because of the fall. His massive shoulders, his lean, trim waist and his muscular, perfectly proportioned frame were only part of the reason. With smoky-gray eyes a dramatic contrast against his fair hair and skin, his ruggedly handsome face had always sent her head reeling, but it was more than his appearance that made her pulse fly off the charts. It had something to do with the way he carried himself, tall and proud, as though the world had been created for him to command.

She’d always been a sucker for a take-charge kind of guy, and Carter Prescott, III, was no exception. As a teenager she’d flirted with him innocently, but she’d been David’s kid sister, five years younger. Too young for Carter.

So what did the jerk go and do? He married someone older than he was. All right, so the bride was only two years his senior, not exactly a Mrs. Robinson. But she was the hoity-toity Wendy St. Claire. Wendy Wasp, Becky had called her behind his back. If her blood were any bluer, it would be ink.

“Take my hand,” he was saying now. “Let me help you, Becky.”

Maybe she’d always been a sucker for a take-charge kind of guy, but all that was about to change. Over her dead body would she let him touch her. Never again. She pushed away his hand and stumbled to her feet. “Ouch!” Another wave of pain surged though her leg and she fell against him, cursing.

“Such language from a nice Jewish girl,” he said, catching her in the circle of his arms. “Your mother would be shocked.”

If all it took were a few choice words to throw her mother into a tailspin, Gertie Roth would probably lapse into a coma after what Becky had to tell her. “Let go of me,” she demanded. “I’m better now.” She took a step forward, trying not to let the pain register on her face. “There, you see? It’s just a scratch. Nothing broken. Not even sprained.”

The teenagers looked at each other with relief. “You lucked out,” the girl said to the boy named Randy. “She could have sued you. If she’s smart she’ll still sue you, for assault and battery.”

“I’ll show you assault and battery!” Randy said, laughing. He picked up a handful of snow and threw it at the girl, who ran off squealing with mock indignation.

“Have a nice day, ma’am!” the other boy called as the three of them disappeared around the corner, their laughter ringing in the air like sleigh bells.

Have a nice day? Too late for that. She turned to Carter and sighed. “Was I ever that young?”

“Tell you what, old lady,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Pretend I’m a Boy Scout and I’ll help you cross the street. My car is parked on the other side.”

Suddenly very tired with the whole situation and too drained to argue, she answered, “All right, I’ll let you drive me home. But I can walk to your car on my own.” She moved out of his reach. “I thought you were off somewhere in the ruchas, playing with your building blocks. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“A little cranky, are we? For your information, Phoenix isn’t the sticks, and building a resort hotel isn’t what I’d call playing with blocks.”

Becky knew darn well where Carter had been and what he had been building. Her brother, who had remained in contact with him the whole time he’d been away, had felt the need to give her a detailed account of his friend’s activities. Nevertheless, there was no way she’d admit to Carter she’d been paying attention.

“I meant, what are you doing here out on the streets?” she asked, limping by his side. “Were you following me?”

“Following you! Now that’s what I call nerve. Just because you walked out on me that night, then refused to take my calls, you think you’ve driven me to the brink of despair? Sorry to deflate your ego, princess, but I’m no stalker. I was on my way to my mother’s when I decided to swing by the diner, but Chrissy told me you’d been fired. So I left. I saw you fall, and like any Good Samaritan I came to your rescue.”

Chrissy? Did he mean Christina? Becky assumed that Carter had just met her, but here he was, calling her by a nickname. She should have known he’d get friendly right away. Christina—Chrissy—was female, wasn’t she? And she was blond. Carter always did have a penchant for tall, full-bosomed blondes.

“I wasn’t fired,” she said tersely. “I quit.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so I didn’t quit. Let’s just say the owner and I had a parting of the ways.”

“Right. He wouldn’t do something your way, so you parted.” He opened the car door and eased her inside. “You must be freezing in those stockings. I don’t know why you chose to walk in the first place.”

“Maybe it has something to do with my not being able to afford a car,” she snapped. “That and the fact that Middlewood isn’t famous for its public transportation. Besides, the diner is only a mile from home, and it wasn’t snowing this morning when I left for work.”

He removed his jacket and draped it over her legs, his hand brushing against the red patch of skin where she’d torn her panty hose. “I’m sorry,” he said when she flinched. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She felt the color rise in her cheeks. It wasn’t pain that had caused her to draw back. It was the heat she’d felt when his chilly fingers had made contact with her leg. Heat that could melt the snow off the North Pole, if she let it. But she had no intention of allowing another meltdown, ever again. The consequences of that mistake would last a lifetime.

“You didn’t hurt me. I told you, it feels much better.”

“In that case it must be revulsion that made you recoil. Let me put your mind at rest. I can honestly say that no woman has ever died from my touch. But don’t worry, I won’t touch you again.” Then, as if echoing her thoughts, he added, “That’s one mistake I won’t repeat.”

She waited until he was in the driver’s seat before she responded. “I believe your exact words were ‘I hope you don’t think this means anything.’ As far as lines are concerned, that one’s a gem. Not mean anything! Who do you think you are?”

“Look, I admit it was a pretty callous thing to say, and I apologize. I would have apologized sooner, but you never gave me the chance. You’re the one who ran out in the middle of the night. You’re the one who refused to talk about it.”

And you’re the one who left me alone and pregnant, she thought. She leaned back in her seat and sulked. She knew she wasn’t being fair. He’d told her he’d be returning to Phoenix. He also had no idea she was pregnant. But the way he was sitting there, so smug, so collected, trying to exonerate himself by making her feel guilty, infuriated her. “First you lure me to your apartment, then you seduce me, then you dismiss me as though I’m some little harem girl, and now you accuse me of abandoning you?”

“What are you talking about? You practically tore off my clothes right there in the elevator! We didn’t even make it to the bedroom.” He sighed. “I didn’t come after you today to pick a fight. I was hoping we could talk this out like adults, calmly and rationally. I already told you I was sorry for my crude remark. I know how it must have made you feel, but I do have an explanation.”

“Why is it men always start singing the old commitment blues after they have their way with us? Well, I have news for you. I’ve heard that song before. If it’s understanding you want, I’m the wrong audience.”

He grumbled something unintelligible and slammed the car into gear. An uncomfortable silence fell over them as they drove down the snow-bordered road. “Tell me something,” he said finally, as he flicked on the signal and turned onto her street. “Why do women think they’re the only ones allowed a moment of weakness? I know you were vulnerable that night, and I know I shouldn’t have taken you up on your offer, but—”

“My offer! Why you egotistical, self-centered, conceited—”

“You’re being redundant.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Redundant. As in superfluous. Repetitive. Pleonastic.”

Enough already! What was he, a thesaurus? “You bet I was vulnerable. You knew how I was feeling that night, and you took advantage of it. I thought you were offering consolation, not an invitation to do the horizontal bop! Before we left for your apartment, I made it clear I wasn’t going to sleep with you.”

Amusement shone in his eyes. “Your memory is faulty. As I recall, princess, you said that the only way you’d ever sleep with me was if we were driving in the middle of a blizzard, and we were forced to stop. The only shelter around for miles would be an old barn. It would be cold and desolate inside, and we’d have to huddle for warmth. Outside the storm would continue to rage, turning the landscape into a frozen wasteland. It wouldn’t just be a blizzard, it would be a disaster. Certain we’d never live to see another sunrise, we’d give in to our basic need and allow our passion to take over.”

It was obvious he was enjoying this. “Don’t mock me, Carter. I was in a highly sensitive state that night.”

“Sensitive? Tipsy would be a more apt description. I have just two questions,” he pressed on mirthlessly. “Number one, where exactly is this hypothetical barn?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere. What difference does it make?”

“It makes a lot of difference. For instance, if there’s a barn, there’s a farmhouse nearby, and a farmer who feels sorry for us and offers us lodging. Number two, why are we out in a blizzard?”

“Maybe we’re coming back from a business trip. I don’t see what—”

“What business could we have together? You’re too busy getting fired, and the last time I checked, I was still an architect.”

“You said you had two questions. That’s three. Why do you always do that? Why do you always go on and on? All I meant by the story was—”

“Oh, I know what you meant. All that talk about huddling and need and passion—the truth is, you seduced me. But I’ll admit to my part of the blame. I should never have let it happen. Now all I want is for us to get past it. I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize my friendship with David.”

David. So this was what it was all about. She should have known. What was it about men? They made fun of women for going to the powder room in twos, yet they lived by the Eleventh Commandment, “Thou shalt not let a woman divide a man from his buddies.”

Jerk. Carter Prescott, III, still had the power to knock her socks off—and a lot more than her socks—but he was still the same jerk.

He was right about one thing, though. He shouldn’t have let it happen. But it had happened. The child she was carrying was proof.

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” she said as they pulled into her driveway. “It’s not as if my brother would come after you with a shotgun.”

Carter grimaced. “No, but your father might.”

She almost laughed out loud. She could just imagine her meek, mild-mannered father, prodding Carter down the aisle with the business end of a rifle. Well, here’s a news flash, she thought. It would take more than a rifle to make her marry Carter. Or anyone else, for that matter. Marriage was an experience she had no desire to repeat.

She regarded his profile and sighed. No matter which path she chose, nothing could change the fact that Carter was the father of her child, and as much as she was determined to raise the baby alone, he had a right to know.

A shock like this would serve him right for being such a jerk.

She drew in a breath. “I have something to tell you.”

“Apology accepted.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

The front door to her house opened, and David appeared on the porch. Carter rolled down the window. “Hey, Roth!” he called. “How’s it going?”

David sprinted through the snow to the driver’s side of the car. “Pres, you old son of a gun, when did you get back? Come in for a glass of wine—and stay for dinner. It’s been a while since you’ve had one of my grandmother’s feasts. Either you’re traipsing across the country or you’re out on a date. Bubbe’s cooked up a storm, chicken soup, roast brisket and potato knishes—and you can’t say no to her gefilte fish.”

Becky’s stomach turned over.

“Thanks, but I’ll have to take a rain check,” Carter said. “I’m off to my mother’s. If I don’t show up tonight for dinner, she’ll probably stay awake all night, figuring out new, inventive ways to make me crazy.”

Mothers will do that, Becky thought, opening the car door.

Gertie stepped onto the porch, wearing her lamb’s wool coat. “David!” she called, waving frantically. “Put on a jacket! It’s cold out here!”

Becky turned to Carter. “Thanks for the lift. I can manage from here.”

“Stay put. I’ll help you to the door.”

“I told you, I can manage.” She glanced over at her brother, who hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. What, was she invisible? “God forbid I should come between you and your buddy.” Before Carter could protest, she was out of the car, hobbling up the front pathway.

“Where are your boots?” Gertie scolded. “In this terrible storm you don’t wear boots? And why aren’t you wearing a hat? Get in here before you catch pneumonia. What’s the matter with you, can’t you see it’s snowing? It’s not a blizzard, it’s a disaster!”

Becky followed her mother into the house. You don’t know the half of it, she thought. If she hadn’t felt so miserable, she might have laughed.




Chapter Two


“F inally, a grandchild.” Gertie’s hands flew into the air as though she hoped to embrace the world. “But the word pregnant is so harsh-sounding. I prefer expecting. Even better, in the family way.”

“No matter what you call it,” Bubbe said, “a baby is a blessing. Have some more soup, Hannah. Now you eat for two.”

Aaron stood and raised his glass in a toast. “A finer daughter-in-law there never was. May your son be strong and healthy. May you have many more sons, and daughters, too. May all your children bring you joy. May all—”

“Sit down, Aaron,” Gertie said. “Your soup is getting cold. So, Hannah, when is the baby due?”

“According to the obstetrician, the last week in May. I wanted to tell you all sooner, but David wanted to keep it our special secret a little while longer.”

“You’re supposed to add seven days to the date of your last menstrual cycle, then subtract three months,” Becky said. She knew. She’d looked it up after missing her period. But hoping the problem would somehow go away, she’d put off taking a pregnancy test for another two months. It was only this morning, after studying her disappearing waistline in the diner’s bathroom mirror, that she’d drummed up the courage to confirm her suspicions.

“Watch how you talk,” Gertie reprimanded, handing a plate of sliced challa to Hannah. “There are men here.”

“I wasn’t hatched from an egg,” David said, laughing. “Anyway, Becky is right. That’s the calculation the doctor used. But the ultrasound scheduled for next week will give us a more accurate picture.” Looking at Hannah adoringly, he took her hand as though she was as fragile as a china doll.

Becky could tell that her mother was performing a few of her own calculations. “This is the first week in December,” Gertie said slowly. “That would make Hannah three months preg—in the family way.” She looked at David accusingly. “Right?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Ma. The baby won’t dare show his face until the appropriate amount of time has passed.”

“I wasn’t saying anything, so wipe that look off your face.” Gertie pretended to be offended, but her joy was obvious. “Not that I’m complaining, but I have to say, you didn’t waste much time.”

“They didn’t go on a honeymoon to play golf,” Aaron said.

“Shame on you, Aaron. Such a way to talk in front of your children.” She turned to Becky. “Finally I’m going to have grandchildren, and here I thought the first one would come from you.”

It just might, Becky thought. She wasn’t sure of the date of her last period, but she knew exactly when she had conceived: Labor Day weekend, the night of David’s wedding. Which meant that she and Hannah would be delivering around the same time.

“Don’t start on her, Ma,” David said. “She’ll get remarried one day. Besides, she’s a lot younger than I am. She has time. She’ll have a family when she’s good and ready.”

As a matter of fact, before I’m good and ready, Becky thought.

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Gertie said.

Becky let out a nervous breath. This was as good an opening as any to tell them about the baby. But she had to do it gradually, to soften the blow. Step one, marriage is out. Step two, adoption is in. Step three, forget step two and tell them I’m pregnant. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll ever get married again.”

Gertie dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “Of course you will. Jordan will come back. Just be patient.”

When was her mother going to accept the divorce? “I wouldn’t take him back if he crawled on his hands and knees, not after what he did,” Becky said. “He used me, and he used you, too. Without the money he borrowed from you, he never would have been able to go to medical school. And don’t forget, I was the only one bringing home the bacon, you should pardon the expression. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not angry that he went to school while I worked—yes, Ma, I do have some skills—but it’s funny how he dumped me as soon as he got what he wanted.”

Gertie frowned. “Do we have to talk about this at the Friday-night table? Shabbes is supposed to be a time of rest, and that means a rest from all this bickering.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Becky answered indignantly. “If you like Jordan so much, why don’t you marry him?”

“Is that how you talk? Listen to how she talks! Aaron, say something!”

Aaron cleared his throat. “First of all—”

“First of all she needs a husband,” Gertie interrupted. “Which she had, I might add, but she sent him away. What kind of daughter sends a man like that away?”

“I didn’t send him away, Ma. He left.”

“Yes, I know. He used you and then he left. Well, I have news for you. A husband and wife are supposed to use each other. They’re supposed to turn to each other in times of need. Did you want him to use someone else?”

Becky sighed with frustration. “Jordan did turn to someone else, or have you forgotten that already?”

“You mean that shiksa? He’ll get tired of her, mark my words. He’ll come back when he comes to his senses. What was her name again, Bambi?”

“Barbie, Ma, and I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”

“What, shiksa? You’re worried you might insult her? Next you’ll be saying she’s a wonderful woman and if circumstances were different, the two of you could be friends. What kind of wife makes friends with the husband’s mistress? What’s wrong with you?”

Becky gritted her teeth. “I’m not the one at fault here. Nothing’s wrong with me.” Nothing except that she was unmarried, pregnant and unemployed. “Why can’t you ever take my side? After Jordan and I separated, I’m surprised you asked me, not him, to move in with you.”

“Calm down. You don’t have to make a scene. All I’m saying is that men don’t leave. Women let them go.”

“And daughters don’t leave, either,” Becky retorted. “Mothers drive them away.” She pushed away from the table. “I’m going for a walk.” She stood up and gave her sister-in-law a warm squeeze on her shoulder. “Mazel tov, Hannah. I’m so happy for you and David. But I have to warn you, you’re going to need all the luck you can get to survive in this family.”

“Where are you going?” Gertie demanded. “In this weather you want to go for a walk? Aaron, do something!”

“Listen to your mother,” Aaron said.

Bubbe looked up at Becky. “Eat something, bubeleh. At least have some soup. I made it just for you. Chicken soup with no chicken, the way you like it.”

“I’m sorry, Bubbe. I’m sure it’s delicious, but I’m just not hungry.” She gave her grandmother a peck on the cheek, then whirled around to face her mother. To heck with softening the blow. Bombs away! “Oh, I forgot to mention that I was fired. And there’s one other thing. I’m in the family way.”



“I realize it’s only the first week in December,” Eleanor said, “but this is Connecticut, for pity’s sake. It’s supposed to snow. Why does the town always go into a tizzy at the first sign of a flake? Schools close, roads back up and people crowd into grocery stores to wait at the checkout for hours, convinced that if they don’t stock up they’ll perish.”

Carter sat at one end of the long mahogany table, facing his mother. At the center of the table was a spray of orchids in a Baccarat crystal vase. At each end, arranged in a formal place setting were Eleanor’s sterling silver, her Royal Worcester dinnerware and a crystal wineglass. It’s just the two of us, he thought, yet she sets the table as though she was expecting the queen of England. But even when his father was alive, it had been this way. Carter suspected she dined like this even when she was alone.

“It’s the mentality of the masses,” she continued. “They always cause such havoc whenever the slightest thing goes wrong. Is that why you’re so late?”

“Excuse me?”

“The traffic, Carter. I’m talking about the traffic.”

“There was no traffic, Mother. I’m late because I gave Becky Roth a lift home.”

She drew her lips into a tight curl. “Oh, Rebecca. Yes, I heard she was back in Middlewood, living with her parents. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her or her people. I understand that her brother Daniel bought his own pharmacy. I’m sure he’ll do well—but those people always do, don’t they?”

“His name is David. And he and his people are fine.”

“You needn’t take that tone. You know what I mean.” She took a sip of her wine. “You haven’t touched your coq au vin. Should I ask Martine to prepare something else? You haven’t met my new housekeeper, have you? I think I’ll keep this one. She’s a real gem.”

You mean you hope she doesn’t quit like all the others before her, Carter thought. He put down his fork and stared at his plate. “The chicken is fine. I’m just not hungry.”

His mother continued speaking, but Carter barely heard her words. Yet it wasn’t his mother who was the cause of his distraction. At the moment the only person on his mind was Becky. She was acting as if he’d been responsible for what had happened that night three months ago. Hell, she’d known what she was doing—she was twenty-seven, not some blushing schoolgirl. Okay, so maybe afterward he’d been a jerk, but he’d apologized for his crude remark, hadn’t he?

“She wants you to call her.”

Carter looked back at his mother. “Excuse me?” he asked again.

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying. I said that Wendy called. She wanted to know when you’d be back.” Eleanor took another sip of her wine. “This is a 1976 Chateau d’Yquem, in case you’re interested. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

Carter regarded her with suspicion. “What special occasion?”

“I’m celebrating your homecoming. That and the New Zealand job. Can’t a mother show pride in her son? As much as I hate to see you gone for two years, I know what this project means to you. You’ll finally be made a full partner, something you’ve wanted for a long time. Anyway, I can come down at Christmas to visit, if you’d like. It’s summer then, isn’t it? I’ll even stay the whole season.”

Good Lord, was there nowhere he could go to escape her? “The partnership is not the primary reason why I’m going,” he said curtly. He immediately regretted his tone. Eleanor was just being Eleanor. After thirty-two years he should be used to the way she tried to run his life—and the lives of everyone around her.

But either the insult had evaded her or she had chosen to ignore it. “Of course it’s not the main reason,” she said. “I know how much you enjoy your work. But you have to admit, the prestige that goes along with being a full partner is a definite plus.”

“Tell me something, how many country clubs are there in Middlewood? And what’s the sense of joining if I’m never here?” He was sorry he’d told her about the trip in the first place. He should have known she’d zero in on the partnership. Even though the promotion wasn’t contingent on his going to New Zealand, it was true that the trip would cement it. He removed his napkin from his lap and tossed it onto the table. “I should go home. It’s getting late and I still haven’t finished unpacking.”

Eleanor looked up at the grandfather clock behind him. “But it’s still early! What about dessert? We’re having your favorite, crème caramel, in honor of your return.”

“I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m tired and I have a lot to do tonight. But thank Martine for me, will you?” After unpacking, he wanted to review his notes on the Denver project. The school for the performing arts was small potatoes compared to the New Zealand job, but it was coming up fast. Even though tomorrow was Saturday, he and Mike Walters, one of the firm’s two senior partners, were meeting in the morning to go over the plans.

“I insist that you stay, Carter.” Once again she glanced at the clock.

And once again Carter eyed her with mistrust. “What is it, Mother? Are you expecting someone?”

“Promise me you won’t get angry. I invited Wendy for coffee. She happened to be in town visiting her parents, and I thought that inviting her would be the decent thing to do.”

“Right. She happened to be in town.” He stood up and headed toward the hallway, then abruptly turned around. “The decent thing to do? Now that’s almost funny. I don’t think Wendy would recognize decency if it slapped her in the face. I’m going home. Make my apologies for me, will you?”

“Come back here!” Eleanor called after him, a note of panic in her voice. “What am I supposed to say to her?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. You always do.”



She shouldn’t have delivered the news that way. Becky had been sure that Bubbe would drop her teeth, right there at the table, into her soup. The last person she ever wanted to hurt was her grandmother, dear Bubbe, whose entire world revolved around her family, but Becky had had enough. Her mother was driving her crazy. Becky knew she’d have to move out soon, or she’d end up in a strait-jacket.

She trudged through the blowing snow, hugging her chest as if at any moment she would be lifted up and blown away. She could feel the wind right through her jacket. Her leg still felt tender underneath the warm camel slacks she’d changed into before dinner, but at least the sting was gone. A person needs snowshoes in this weather, she thought, not two-inch-heeled boots from Macy’s sale catalogue.

No one else was out walking tonight—in this weather who in their right minds would be?—and for a moment she imagined herself alone and lost, trying to find her way out of a forest. Worried about the future, her fears assailed her as she walked without aim, her boots crunching rhythmically on the frozen snow.

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

Pregnant, unmarried, unemployed, oh my!

Not that she didn’t want to be a mother. On the contrary, she wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world—someday. But right now there was this one small detail. She wasn’t married. It wasn’t the stigma that bothered her; she was terrified at the prospect of raising a child alone. She couldn’t even support herself, never mind a baby.

I do have some skills, she’d told her mother. Unfortunately, she just hadn’t discovered what they were. She’d studied Greek mythology in college, but these days there wasn’t much of a need for Greek mythologists, especially in a small town like Middlewood. After graduation she’d flitted from job to job, trying to make ends meet. I’m just not cut out for office work, she’d told herself. Was it her fault she didn’t have the filing gene? Or the answer-the-phone-without-alienating-the-customer gene?

Anger filled her as she pushed on, fighting the wind. Nothing had gone according to plan. She was supposed to help put Jordan through medical school, and once he was on his feet, it would be her turn. Maybe she’d go to graduate school. Maybe she’d start her own business. Or maybe she’d be a stay-at-home mom. But all those dreams had ended. During his first year of internship—after four years, eight months and three weeks of marriage, not that she was counting—Jordan had up and left.

How did one fall out of love, precisely? The salon-bought redhead with the surgical bosom had nothing to do with it, her husband had insisted while packing his new Louis Vuitton suitcase. Becky had even helped him pack, making sure everything was folded just right. Was that new underwear? she’d wondered absurdly. Not only had the redhead bought him new luggage, she’d bought him new shorts. Designer underwear with the labels sewn on the outside so they wouldn’t chafe.

“Fold your own underwear,” Becky had said defiantly. There. That would teach him.

At this time, however, concerns other than her ex-husband’s preference for designer shorts and big-breasted redheads demanded her attention, and she forced her anger aside.

How would she raise this baby alone?

She didn’t want Carter in her life as the father of her child. What kind of parent would he make, spending most of his time gallivanting away from home? She didn’t want him in her life under any circumstance. He’d already walked out on one wife, and Becky had already been there, thank you very much. Not that she expected him to propose once he learned the truth. He was a man who relished his freedom. He went through women the way she went through jobs.

She plodded along aimlessly, snow swirling in front of her eyes as thoughts of Carter swirled in her head. What had she been thinking that night? She knew exactly what she’d been thinking, all right, as they’d faced each other under the wedding canopy. She’d been thinking of his smoky-gray eyes, his lean, sexy body, the way her insides would turn to matzo meal whenever his gaze met hers. But the whole insanity—the whole mishegoss, as Bubbe would say—had started before the family had even left for the synagogue:

Becky had been getting ready for her brother’s wedding, thinking that for the first time in a long while she wasn’t miserable. Here it was already September and she’d been working at the same job for more than a month. She’d even started thinking about getting her own apartment. She couldn’t sponge off her parents forever, not that her mother believed the situation was permanent. “Jordan has lost his senses,” Gertie had kept insisting, “but he’ll come around.” But it had been six months since Jordan had misplaced his senses and he still hadn’t found them. At first Becky thought she’d disintegrate, but a half year later, to her surprise, she discovered she was still in one piece, getting on with her life.

And then her bubble had burst, the day of David’s wedding. She’d stepped outside the house to pick up the mail, expecting letters and cards from the out-of-town relatives who wouldn’t be attending the wedding. Recognizing the court insignia, she’d ripped open the envelope, and the pain she’d felt upon Jordan’s departure immediately resurfaced.

After nearly five years of marriage Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Steinberg had become a statistic. Their marriage was over. Finally, officially and irrevocably over.

Tucking the letter in the pocket of her bathrobe, she’d returned to the house. “You look as wrung out as a shmatte,” Gertie said. “It’s that horrible diner that’s turned you into a rag. I don’t know why you insist on working there—it’s not even kosher. Jordan will soon be a bona fide doctor. How does it look, a doctor’s wife working in a place like that?”

“You know I don’t keep kosher,” Becky reminded her, “and Jordan’s not coming back.”

“If it’s a hobby you need, what’s wrong with canasta? All those germs in that dirty place, no wonder you look the way you do. Stay away from Hannah. A bride doesn’t need to catch something just before her wedding. Is there any mail?”

“Just bills,” Becky replied.

How could she play the role of matron of honor? she’d thought miserably, the idea of matrimony leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. After receiving her final divorce papers, no woman should have to march down the aisle.

Yet in spite of her mood, four hours later she’d found herself smiling as she waited for her cue to walk to the altar. She was filled with happiness for her brother and Hannah. They were a perfect match, even though it had almost taken a bulldozer to get him to the altar. Hannah, his longtime girlfriend, normally quiet and shy, had decided that her biological clock was ticking away and had given him an ultimatum, and David, self-proclaimed bachelor at the ripe old age of thirty-two, after being nagged ad nauseam by Gertie, had finally given in. Mrs. Gertie Roth wanted a grandchild, and since Becky didn’t seem to be in a hurry to provide one, the spotlight had fallen on Hannah.

But everyone knew that David and Hannah belonged together; he’d just needed a little push. David loved her, everyone could see that. Becky could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her. She had no doubt they would have a long, strong marriage, once he got used to the idea.

Why was it that the men who balked most made the best husbands?

Becky walked down the aisle, following her parents and David, and took her place under the chuppah. Carter, David’s best man, was waiting at the other side of the canopy. Becky had almost forgotten how good-looking he was, and now, seeing him standing there, tall and striking in a tuxedo, a red boutonniere on his lapel, she felt a familiar pang.

And then her mood sobered. He was a statistic, just like her. Another marriage gone under. Another example of love gone sour. Maybe it had been better in Bubbe’s day, she thought. A friend or matchmaker introduced you to a suitable partner, and the marriage was based on respect. “We learned to love each other,” Bubbe always said. “Chaim was a good man, may he rest in peace. What was not to love?”

“Hey, stranger,” Carter said quietly. “It’s been a while. I can’t remember the last time I saw you. You’re looking good, princess.”

Aware of his eyes sweeping over her in appreciation, she felt herself blushing. “You’re looking snazzy yourself,” she answered back, and for an instant she was a teenager again, flirting with him, yearning for his attention.

Then came Hannah’s parents, and after that the organist began to play the wedding march. All heads turned toward the double doors. Hannah appeared, exquisite in a gown of satin and tulle, her skirt made up of several layers of the flowing material. As she walked down the aisle, the crystal beads of her bodice glistened in the soft lighting. Bubbe had wanted the bride to walk with her parents, as in a more orthodox ceremony, but David had insisted that his bride share her moment of glory with no one. “We’re Reformed now, Bubbe,” he tried to explain. “We choose the laws and traditions we want to follow.”

Tears welled in Becky’s eyes as she watched Hannah walk down the aisle, tears of happiness for Hannah, tears of sadness for herself. She thought about her own wedding, remembering the promises that were made and then later broken.

At the chuppah David met his bride and put his arm through hers. Becky barely heard the ceremony. Afraid she would break down entirely, she held her head low, looking up only when it was time for her to perform her duty as matron of honor and lift Hannah’s veil.

After the bride and groom each took a sip from the cup of wine, the rabbi wrapped the glass in a cloth and placed it on the floor. “Mazel tov!” the guests cheered after David had stomped on the glass, smashing it to pieces. The tradition of the breaking glass was supposed to be a solemn reminder of the fragility of life, but now that the ceremony was over, all somberness was to be banished.

“On with the festivities!” Aaron called jovially, then led the way to the reception hall.

After the meal, the hall was cleared for dancing. The guests formed a circle around the bride and groom, who were seated on chairs, holding opposite ends of a handkerchief as the custom dictated. “To the king and queen of the night!” someone called out, and when Hannah and David were lifted in their chairs into the air, Becky quietly sneaked away.

She was in no mood for a party, but she could hardly leave her brother’s wedding. She hid out in the bride’s lounge, drinking glass after glass of champagne, emerging every now and then to make a brief appearance, resolving, for Hannah’s sake, not to reveal her misery. All she wanted was to be left alone, and when the reception was finally over, she told her parents she planned on walking home.

“You want to walk in those heels?” Gertie chided.

“We live just down the block,” Becky reminded her mother. “Besides, there won’t be any room for me in the car after you’ve packed it up with leftovers.”

Outside, the September air was cool and crisp, a preview to the coming fall. Her head ached from too much champagne, and she wanted to be alone. A walk will do me good, she thought, even though it’ll be a short one.

“Bailing out?”

Becky jumped. “Carter! You shouldn’t sneak up on a person that way.”

“Is there any other way to sneak up on a person?” He tilted her chin with his fingers. “Hey…what’s the matter, princess? Those aren’t tears of happiness.”

His soft caress was enough to break the last of her resolve, and before she could stop herself, she began to sob against his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her. “It can’t be that bad. Just think of that old saying, ‘You’re not losing a brother, you’re gaining a sister.”’

“You have that all wrong,” she managed through her sobs. “The saying is, ‘You’re not losing a daughter, you’re gaining a son.’ But that’s not why I’m crying.” Suddenly embarrassed, she pulled away from his embrace. Not meeting his eyes, she wiped at the moisture on his jacket. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Don’t apologize. The tux can be cleaned.” A fresh stream of tears rolled down her cheeks, and he said, “Aw, I’m sorry, princess. I shouldn’t have been so flippant. David told me what happened between you and Jordan. If it means anything, I understand what you’re going through.”

She stopped sniffling and looked at him warily. Of all the people in the world who could offer consolation, she had to get stuck with Carter Prescott, III, deadbeat husband and playboy of the Western Waspy World. “I don’t think so! You left your wife—it wasn’t the other way around. Why am I even talking to you? You’re the last person who could understand what I’m going through.”

“You seem to forget there are at least two sides to any story,” he said softly. “Did you ever consider that there might be two sides to mine? Maybe I’m not the big bad wolf you make me out to be. Personally I think Jordan is a complete idiot, leaving you. Someone with such poor judgment isn’t even fit to shine your shoes.”

Then again, maybe a dose of Carter’s sugarcoated words was just the medicine she needed. She managed a small smile. “Go on. I’m listening. I’ll take all the flattery I can get. My divorce papers came in the mail today, and I’m feeling pretty low.”

“Hell, if it’s a husband you want, I’ll marry you. According to some ancient law, isn’t it my duty? Something about the best man and the matron of honor?”

“You’re thinking about the story of Ruth. Except you’d have to be Jordan’s brother, and he’d have to die. But even if Jordan’s parents adopted you and then you went out and hired a hit man, you should know that I’m never getting married again. And you can’t fool me with your talk about marriage. You feel the same way I do.”

“In that case,” he said, winding a lock of her hair around his finger, “since marriage is out, how about we go back to my place and check out my etchings?”

She laughed. “Carter Prescott, I wouldn’t go to bed with you if you were the last man on earth, not with your track record.”

“Hey, I never said anything about sleeping arrangements.” His face sobered. “Kidding aside, come over for a while. I make a mean cup of coffee, and you sure could use one. Truth is, I’m feeling pretty low myself. I was out of town for seven months and no one even knew I was gone.”

“You don’t give up,” she said, shaking her head. “And I don’t buy what you’re selling for a minute. What about your mother? She must have missed you. And David. And your co-workers.” And your long string of women.

“It’s my duty as best man to take care of the matron of honor. Just one cup of coffee, I promise. I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready. I have to hit the sack early, anyway. I’m going back to Phoenix in the morning.”

She hesitated, then smiled. “Misery loves company, right? All right, just one cup. But I should tell my parents I’m going to be late.”

“As always, the dutiful daughter. You can always depend on Becky to do the right thing.”

She was back at his side momentarily, after informing her parents—and offering no other information, to Gertie’s obvious curiosity—that she was going out with a friend.

Arm in arm she and Carter walked to the parking lot. He opened the passenger door of his car, and then, with a straight face, turned to her and asked, “So what about those etchings?”

She swatted him playfully on the shoulder. When they were kids, Carter had made a career of ignoring her or teasing her, but whenever she was hurt, he’d always made her laugh. After she’d fallen, or come home crying because of something someone had said, he’d say something outrageous to take her mind off her troubles.

Now he had her laughing again, and it felt good—even if the joking was risqué. But that was okay. They weren’t kids anymore. And she could handle it.

“Here’s the scoop,” she said, as she climbed into the car. “The only way I’ll ever sleep with you is if we’re out on the highway and there’s this terrible storm…”



Something about her drove him to the brink. It had always been there, and it had been there earlier today when he’d seen her fall. Slim and delicate in a petite frame, she made him feel larger than life. Important. Made him want to be her hero. When he was near her, he felt like protecting her, coddling her. But it wasn’t just her compact size that made him want to pull a Tarzan; she had a way of looking at him that turned his resolve to mush.

But coddling wasn’t what he’d felt like doing as he’d watched her standing across from him, under the wedding canopy.

The memory of that night burned in his mind as he drove back to his apartment from his mother’s. At the ceremony Becky had worn a long-sleeved jacket that matched her rose-colored gown. Her quiet elegance and regal beauty had taken his breath away. He couldn’t pull his gaze from her, even when Hannah had walked down the aisle.

After the ceremony Becky had discarded the jacket, and he felt as though he’d been hit with a freight train. This was David’s kid sister? The jacket, outlined in sparkly beads, must have been buttoned up right to her chin, because he sure as hell would never have missed the plunging neckline on that dress. Narrow rhinestone straps barely held up the satiny folds that caressed her full breasts, and more sparkles curved at her waist, the fabric falling into soft pleats across her hips. When she turned away to shake some other lucky guy’s hand, Carter almost moaned. Her dark hair cascaded in ringlets down toward her tiny waist, curling against the rhinestone strands that crisscrossed her naked back.

He’d been entranced, no use denying it.

Not that he’d planned to do anything about it. Becky might be single again, but she was still David’s sister. And she wasn’t someone whose name belonged in a little black book. He knew he’d have to keep his distance.

As it turned out, he saw her only for brief moments during the reception. He wasn’t disappointed, he told himself. Nope, not in the least. He was feeling sorry for himself because he felt so out of place. The guest list had been enormous, but the only people he knew were Becky’s immediate family and a few of David’s friends. He wanted to leave, but as best man he knew he was expected to stay. So he chatted, danced and shook hands with strangers—with an eye out for Becky. When the musicians finally stopped playing and packed up their instruments, he sighed with relief. Now he could go.

He saw her at the doors in the foyer. He hadn’t meant to startle her, but she’d been so preoccupied, she obviously hadn’t seen him coming. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone that way,” she reproached him.

“Is there any other way to sneak up on a person?” he returned, trying to disguise his discomfort with humor. She wasn’t the only one who’d been caught by surprise. Feelings he’d suppressed for years had suddenly resurfaced—and he didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit. He pushed his unease aside. “So why the glum face?”

“I’m not glum. I’m gaining a sister, aren’t I? Add one sister, subtract one husband. It’s an even trade. Me, glum? I’m having a wonderful time, can’t you tell?” She twirled around, layers of skirt swirling at her feet. Losing her balance, she fell against him.

“Whoa, I think the lady needs a shot of caffeine. What do you say? There must be someplace open at this hour.”

“This is Middlewood, remember? Not even Merlin’s Diner stays open, not that I’d suggest we go there. I’m not that cruel.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “But I’m not ready to go home,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet. “I can’t…I just can’t…”

“Rumor has it that I make a mean cup of coffee,” he offered. “How about my place?”

She drew back and smoothed the wrinkles on the shoulder of his jacket. “I’m sorry, Carter. I’m making a mess of your tux—and I’m making a spectacle of myself.” She looked up at him with large, dark eyes. “Maybe I will take you up on that coffee.”

Snuggling close to him on the drive to his apartment, she murmured, “Have I mentioned that I think you’re sweet?”

Sweet? He’d been called a lot of things by a lot of women, but he couldn’t remember sweet being one of them. And at that moment sweet wasn’t how he was feeling. With Becky nestled beside him, the alluring aroma of her perfume was scrambling all his senses. He had to struggle to keep from slamming on the brakes and taking her in his arms.

In the elevator going up from the parking garage to his fourth-floor apartment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “Maybe there’ll be a power failure. Maybe the doors won’t open and we’ll be stuck in here for hours. This way you won’t be able to leave—I hate when people leave. This way I’ll have you under my control.”

Gently he disengaged her arms. With all the willpower he could muster, he said, “This isn’t what you want, Becky. You’re feeling low and you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Why, Carter Prescott,” she said, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “What could you be thinking? I should tell you that the only way I’ll ever consider going to bed with you is if there’s this terrible snowstorm—”

“I guess I’m out of luck,” he said as the doors to the elevator opened. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to snow anytime soon.”

She turned to him, her eyes shining with sudden lucidity. “I’m not drunk,” she said softly. “I admit I’ve had a little too much champagne, but I know exactly what I’m doing. My whole life has just gone down the drain, and at the moment I don’t want to think about tomorrow. Right now is all I have. And right now,” she said, running her fingers along his arm, “I’m pretending that it’s the middle of winter….”

Now, three months later, he was the one pretending. Pretending that what had happened between them had meant nothing at all. It was ironic, he thought as he plowed his way back to his apartment. He was the one who usually gave that speech about not wanting to think about tomorrow.

I hope you don’t think this means anything.

He turned onto Elm and his heart stopped beating. Becky. There she was, on the corner. He tried to follow her, but visibility was poor. By the time he reached the place where he had seen her, she had vanished.

He must have been mistaken. What would Becky be doing out on a night like this? But then again, where she was concerned, he’d learned to expect the unexpected.



A car turned onto the street, and for a moment she thought it was Carter’s. But in the blowing snow she couldn’t be sure. She rounded the corner and found herself outside the bed and breakfast where she’d stopped earlier that day. The ad for an assistant cook was still in the window.

She walked up the pathway, past the Douglas fir with the twinkling lights and silver streamers. Once again she hesitated, but this time she didn’t turn back. Not my world, she thought, but a job is a job. She picked up the brass knocker and banged on the door, then waited for her life to change.




Chapter Three


“I knew you were coming,” Starr said, clapping her hands together like an excited child. “I dreamed you came with the wind and appeared on my doorstep. You told me that you had brought the winter and that you were seeking shelter. And here you are, just like in my dream.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a believer in dreams.” This could be a mistake, Becky thought warily. She noted the disappointment on Starr’s face and quickly added, “But I have an open mind.”

“Of course you do.” Starr scooted from the kitchen’s floor-to-ceiling cabinets to the industrial-size refrigerator and then back to the cabinets, pulling out cups and saucers, honey and milk, spoons and napkins. Her long flowered skirt whooshed with each abrupt movement, her flowing sleeves flapping like wings. She sat down next to Becky at the table. “You might be logical and analytical, but you’re also adaptable and versatile. An interesting combination, I must say. Gemini is the sign of the Twins for good reason.”

Becky’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know I was a Gemini?”

Starr’s eyes shone with amusement. “Relax. I can read cards and tea leaves, and I can see auras, but I can’t read minds. I saw your birth date on your driver’s license. I’m sorry I had to ask you for identification, but a person can’t be too careful, even a seer like me. When someone materializes like Mary Poppins at your front door, you have to wonder. Not that I was worried, just cautious.” She smiled warmly. “Did you know that Gemini is an air sign? It’s as if I conjured you up, right out of the air. I wanted a cook, and here you are.”

Though not a follower of astrology, Becky was familiar with the traits of her sign, and one of those traits was flightiness. Her family called her scatterbrained, and she had to admit, at times it aptly described her. When she used to help out at home and her mind would be somewhere else, Gertie would say, “Don’t go off fartootst.” When Becky left home to get married, it was the same thing. She’d darted from interest to interest, from one job to another, like a butterfly fluttering from flower to flower.

Was it her fault she had a curious nature and couldn’t stay focused on any one thing? Starr must know this, Becky surmised, glancing at a framed chart of the zodiac on the kitchen wall. Apparently, though, her new employer wasn’t concerned. In fact, she’d hardly asked any questions about Becky’s previous experience. “I base all my decisions on intuition,” she’d explained. When Becky told her that she was a vegetarian, Starr had hired her on the spot, convinced that destiny was at work.

“Who will I be reporting to?” Becky asked, remembering the sign in the window. It had advertised for an assistant.

“‘Reporting to’? This isn’t an office, Becky. It’s just you and me. Technically you’ll be my assistant, but I’d like to think of us as kindred spirits. We’ll be working together, planning and making the meals. For the time being all we do is breakfast, but I’m expecting a group of vegetarians over the holidays and we’ll be serving dinner. Where else can people go in this town for fine vegetarian dining? I’m also thinking about opening the dining room to the public on Saturdays.” A frown crossed her brow. “Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word assistant. Maybe I should have used the word slave. I’m afraid I can’t pay you much, but as I already mentioned, room and board are provided.”

“The money is no problem,” Becky said, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Without my having to worry about food or rent, I can save almost every cent I earn.” Until the baby comes, she thought. Diapers and food and clothing would add up pretty fast, never mind the doctor bills. Which was another thing. What about prenatal care? What about the hospital? And, of course, there was the loan from her parents. She made a quick calculation. With what she’d be earning, she could probably pay off the loan in two hundred years.

Maybe working here wasn’t such a good idea. The pay was meager. Her options, however, were limited. No one else seemed to be clamoring for her services, and she was tired of running home to Mommy and Daddy whenever the going got rough.

Starr picked up the teapot and began to pour. “Oh dear, where are my manners? I didn’t even ask if you liked herbal.”

“Herbal is fine,” Becky answered, noticing the cracks in the china. Starr was turning out to be more of an enigma than Becky had imagined. Despite a clutter of statuettes and dolls, the living room was charming, furnished in French provincial with embroidered sofas and cherrywood tables. Charming and expensive, Becky thought. Yet here in the kitchen was a chipped tea service. “I don’t use caffeine,” she said, picking up her cup.

Starr nodded approvingly. “We have so much in common, we could be soul sisters. I still can’t believe my luck—I wanted a vegetarian cook, and here you are.” She lowered her voice as though she were sharing a secret. “I should warn you. There are still vegetarians out there who aren’t as enlightened as we are. Unfortunately, we’ll have to provide coffee. But what can I do? I tell myself I shouldn’t be so narrow-minded, but I can’t help it. Not only do we have a commitment to the earth not to consume its life force, I believe we have a commitment to ourselves not to poison our bodies. After all, we’re part of the earth. That’s how I see it, anyway. What about you? Why did you give up meat and caffeine?”

Gertie had once accused Becky of becoming a vegetarian just so she wouldn’t have to keep two sets of dishes, one for dairy and the other for meat, according to kosher law. As for Jordan, he hadn’t cared one way or the other. He’d rarely eaten at home—when not at school or the hospital, he’d been out cavorting with the redhead.

“Uh, it was because of the earth,” Becky answered. Truth was, until now she’d never even considered the environment. Compared to the global dilemma, her reasons now seemed frivolous. She’d given up meat simply because she didn’t like the taste and because the thought of the slaughter made her squeamish. Why kill an animal when she could eat a stick of broccoli? As for giving up caffeine, she’d made this choice only that morning, after learning she was pregnant.

Over the rim of her cup she studied Starr surreptitiously. The woman was as complex as she was strange. She was also one of those women who looked ageless. She could have been forty or sixty, but Becky’s guess was somewhere in the middle. Although Starr’s skin was smooth and youthful, her long dark hair was streaked with gray. Worn straight and parted down the center, it made her appear otherworldly. But it was her eyes that Becky found so unnerving. Large and green, they shone with an unnatural luminescence.

Above the kitchen doorway were strings of red-and-blue beads, and on the ceiling bright silver stars. But it wasn’t the beads or stars that gave Becky an uneasy feeling. Everywhere she looked were dolls—on the counter, on the floor, on the shelves, even on the walls: miniature dolls, baby dolls, porcelain dolls and fashion dolls, some handcrafted, others store-bought. One in particular, suspended on a gold hook on the wall next to the refrigerator, held her attention. Made of straw and about a foot long, it was clothed in a long white gown, the hem of the skirt hoisted up and draped across one shoulder. Becky shivered, trying to eradicate thoughts of voodoo from her mind.

“Don’t worry, it’s not black magic,” Starr said as though she was, indeed, psychic. “That’s Hestia, my favorite doll, Greek goddess of the hearth. I found her in Barbados, of all places. She reminds me of the Statue of Liberty, except that instead of a torch, she’s carrying a ladle. It’s the straw that throws people. Not exactly typical of a Greek goddess.” Her eyes suddenly twinkled, making them appear even more unearthly. “Speaking of Greek goddesses, I have the perfect thing for you to sleep in. It’s a nightshirt I bought last year at a craft fair. You’ll see what I mean by perfect when I show it to you.”

Becky hesitated. “I don’t know, Starr. I should go home. I walked out angry, and I know my parents will be worried. I’ll call my father. He’ll pick me up.”

“Nonsense. The storm is worse, and the roads won’t be cleared until morning. No one in his right mind would attempt to plow through this mess. Tomorrow I’ll drive you to your parents’ house, and you can collect your things. Why don’t you call your mother? There’s a phone in your room, if you want privacy. Each room has its own extension. Come, and bring your tea with you. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

Becky followed Starr down a long hallway and up a narrow staircase. “The house was built back in the late nineteenth century,” Starr said as they climbed to the third floor. “It’s been in the family for generations. My great-great-grandfather built it after he came over from Holland…there I go again, jabbering about my ancestry. I hope I’m not boring you. I have to keep reminding myself that family history is interesting only to the family involved.”

It must be nice to be able to trace your ancestry that far back, Becky thought with a touch of bitterness. Must be nice to feel so connected. Most of Becky’s ancestors had perished in World War II, leaving no records behind. Bubbe was her only living grandparent, and she hardly ever talked about the past. The memories, Becky knew, were too painful.

“I’m not bored,” Becky told Starr. In truth, she’d always been fascinated with family history, as though someone else’s lineage could make up for the lack she felt inside. “Please go on.”

“How about if I bore you with details of the neighbors instead?” Without waiting for Becky to reply, Starr continued, “The house on the left belongs to the Davidsons. You won’t be seeing much of them. They’re both lawyers, and they commute to New York. The Logans live in the house on the right. Such a sweet girl, that Laura. Has the cutest two-year-old named Caroline, and a baby on the way.” She handed the key to Becky. “Here we are. Go on, you open it. The room’s yours now.”

Becky opened the door and switched on the light. What she saw filled her with delight. She’d been expecting more of what she’d seen in the kitchen, but to her relief the motif here matched the casual yet elegant style of the living room—without the dolls. The wallpaper was of a textured jacquard with a subtle floral pattern. The dresser against the far wall was French country with a rich cherry finish, and above the chest of drawers hung an antique mirror. A queen-size canopy bed, its four posts intricately carved, was draped with exquisite white lace.

“This room is fit for royalty,” Becky said in awe. “Are all the rooms like this?”

“Glad you like it. And yes, all the rooms are done in this style. Believe it or not, I don’t subject everyone who stays here to my hocus-pocus.” She smiled wryly. “And this is the reason I can’t pay you more. I went overboard with the renovations, and now money is tight. I confess I’m not much of a businesswoman. Next time I plan to consult a crystal ball before making changes—oh, I know what you’re thinking, but let me tell you, a crystal ball is far more reliable than the economy. But enough of this financial mumbo-jumbo. On with the tour! Bathroom to the right. In fact, all the rooms have private baths.” She motioned across the room. “Look over there. That alcove will make a wonderful nursery.”

Once again Becky’s mouth dropped open. “You couldn’t have gotten that from my driver’s license. How did you know? Did you see it in my aura?”

Starr laughed. “No special magic. It was the way you were sitting. There’s something about the way a pregnant woman sits, as if her whole center is off balance.”

Now that’s an understatement, Becky thought. In these past few months her whole universe had shifted. “My pregnancy won’t be a problem, will it?” she asked uneasily. “I can work until the last moment, and I’ll only take off a day or two after the delivery.”

“Work until the last minute? Start cooking right after the baby pops out? I don’t think so! I was only kidding about that slavery business—this isn’t ancient Greece, for heaven’s sake. But to answer your question, no, the pregnancy isn’t a problem. On the contrary, it’ll be good karma having a baby in the house. New life means rejuvenation. Now, why don’t you make that phone call while I get the nightshirt?”

Becky waited for Starr to leave, then kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed. She knew she had to call her mother, but her courage had melted faster than an ice cube in a bowl of hot chicken soup. Why did her mother always make her feel this way? After Jordan walked out, Becky had waited until she was nearly flat broke before breaking the news and returning to Middlewood. When she’d received the final divorce papers, she’d kept that a secret, as well. She hadn’t wanted to be a cloud over David’s wedding, she’d rationalized. Then, when she first suspected she was pregnant, she’d gone about her life as if in a trance, hoping that she would wake up.

And now she was afraid to tell her mother that she was planning to live at Starr’s bed and breakfast. Compared to what Becky had previously kept hidden, this bit of news seemed trivial, but nevertheless she remained rooted to the bed, unwilling to pick up the phone. She could almost hear Gertie’s high-pitched, nasal retort. Imagined her saying, “Not only is that woman not Jewish, she’s meshugeh. You want to live with that crazy?”

Starr returned in a few moments and handed the nightshirt to Becky. On the front was an illustration of a woman in a long, loose gown, and underneath that, Demeter Saves the Earth. “I told you it was perfect. Demeter was the goddess of the harvest, and just like you did in my dream, she brought the winter.”

“Demeter agreed to let her daughter spend half the year with Hades,” Becky said. “When Persephone was away in the underworld, Demeter allowed nothing on the earth to flourish, and that’s how winter and summer came to be.”

Starr let out a gleeful laugh. “I can’t believe you know this! We’re definitely soul sisters. I prayed for someone like you and here you are. We’re going to have a lot of fun, Becky. Just like real sisters.”

At least someone finds me amusing, Becky thought. After Starr left, Becky reached for the phone on the night-stand. Demeter was also known as the goddess of fertility. Gertie just might get a kick out of that.

Right. And the forecast in the underworld was calling for snow.



Carter raised his racquet and delivered a fast, hard serve. David immediately reacted with a low forehand, blasting the ball into the ceiling. Cocking back his racquet like a baseball bat, Carter stepped into the ball after it had bounced, then swung with full force, his well-practiced forehand slamming the ball against the front wall.

“That’s game,” he said when David failed to return the shot. “Looks like married life has sapped the life right out of you, bud.”

“Or maybe I had too much of my grandmother’s cooking last night,” David said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “As for married life, maybe you should think about trying again. Might make you more human.”

Carter picked up the ball and followed David into the locker room. “And maybe you should forget about racquetball and take up croquet. Looks like you’ve lost your edge.”

“Here’s an edge you won’t forget,” David said, pulling a towel from the bin and snapping it against the back of Carter’s knees. “Did you say ‘croquet’? Is that what you do on your dates? Play lawn games? Lost your edge, buddy?”

“You wish. No, I take that back. You’d better hope I don’t lose the old edge—how would you live vicariously?”

Joking amiably, they headed for the showers. Carter turned on the water in his stall and allowed himself to give in to the pain. Every muscle in his body ached as he stood under the biting, hot spray. But it wasn’t the game that had him feeling so sore. He always felt like this the day after flying, and today was no exception. Even though he’d flown first class, his six-foot frame had felt crowded in the seat, his long legs cramped in the tight space.

To top it off, he was exhausted, but like his aching body, his fatigue wasn’t because of the game. Last night he’d lain awake for hours, Becky on his mind. Even though three months had passed since they’d made love, he could still picture her lying in his bed, her long, dark hair spilling down her neck, fanning across her breasts. He forced the memory aside.

After changing back into street clothes, Carter waited in the lobby for David. He thought back to the conversation they’d had earlier that afternoon when he’d called his friend, asking him to meet him on the courts. It had been tough convincing him to come out for a game. Saturday was the Jewish day of rest, but Carter knew that David’s reluctance had nothing to do with religion. He knew it was because of Hannah. Marriage did that, he recalled. It changed a man.

Five minutes later David emerged from the locker room. “Still here, Pres? No date?”

Carter laughed. “It’s still early. I’ve still got time.”

“Translated, that means no date. What was it you said about losing the edge? As for me, I don’t even remember having one. It’s been a while since I played the dating game.”

Carter flung his sports bag over his shoulder and followed his friend out the front door. “You don’t remember it because it never existed. You and Hannah have been together forever.” He looked at David questioningly. “Kidding aside, Roth, do you ever regret not playing the field?”

David hesitated. “There was this one time, after Hannah and I had an argument. I went to a bar. The woman was a stranger, no more to me than a face in a crowd. She was a nurse, I think. Worked at Danbury Hospital.”

Carter looked at his friend with surprise, not just because of what David had said, but because he’d never mentioned it. Then again, Carter wasn’t exactly an open book himself. Some things he preferred not to talk about; others were best left unsaid. Like the events surrounding his divorce. Or what happened between him and Becky.

Although he was reluctant to probe, curiosity got the better of him. He didn’t want to believe that David could cheat on Hannah. “What happened?” he asked, hoping the answer would be what he wanted to hear.

“Nothing. We had a few drinks, and that was all. But sometimes I find myself wondering about that night, about how things might have changed if something had happened. But nothing did, and I never saw her again. Do I regret not playing around? No, I can honestly say I don’t.”

Carter felt a moment of envy. One guy in a thousand had what David had. In this day and age, David and Hannah went against all the odds. Not that Carter was looking for something permanent. He wasn’t a man who bet against the odds.

Suddenly he didn’t feel like going home. “You feel like a beer? We can talk about the old days—I’ll fill you in on everything you’re missing.”

“Sorry, Pres, I have to get back. I promised Hannah I’d paint the back room.”

Carter shook his head. “You really are married.” Without warning, the emptiness he felt whenever he returned from a business trip hit him like a punch in the stomach. As much as he hated to admit it, these days he and emptiness were becoming old pals.

“Like I told you,” David said, “you should try it sometime. Again, that is.”

“No thanks. I’m not looking to become a half couple. Two’s a crowd.”

“You’ve got that wrong. Three’s a crowd. Not that I’m complaining.” David broke into a wide grin. “I’m talking about a family, Pres. Hannah’s pregnant.”

Carter stopped walking and grabbed David’s arm. “That’s great,” he said, giving his hand a hearty shake. “Congratulations. So when do I get my cigar?”

“Not for another six months. A half year away, and already she’s preparing for the arrival. This week it’s the nursery, next week she wants to shop for baby clothes—soon she’ll have me going with her to one of those breathing schools. Did you ever hear of anything so bizarre? There are classes that teach you how to breathe.”

“Admit it, you love this whole baby thing. You were made for it.”

David began walking again, and Carter followed, waiting for David to make a snappy comeback. When he didn’t, Carter asked, “What is it? Hannah’s okay, isn’t she?”

“She’s fine.”

But Carter could tell that something was wrong. When they reached David’s car, David turned around and said, “I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’d rather you hear it from me than from any of this town’s wagging tongues, and trust me, they’ll be wagging like signal flags. It seems that Hannah’s not the only one about to increase Middlewood’s measly population. Looks like I’m going to become an uncle.”

Carter’s whole body stiffened. “Run that by me again.”

“You heard me the first time. Becky’s pregnant.”

Carter knew he looked ridiculous standing there in the middle of the parking lot, his mouth wide open. Pregnant. As in baby. A baby that couldn’t be his—she would have told him if he were the father. Looks like little Goody Two-Shoes Becky wasn’t so Goody Two-Shoes, after all. Here he’d been feeling sorry for the way he’d treated her, when all the while she’d been running around. Apparently, she’d used the old “I’m so depressed, why don’t you console me” on someone else, as well. He had to hand it to her, it was usually the man who played the role of fisherman, casting out lines with smoothness and skill.

Immediately Carter chided himself. With his past, who was he to judge her? And then anger set in, surprising him. Why should he care that after being with him she had run straight into the arms of someone else?

Maybe it was pride. Or maybe he was just a little bit hurt.

He dismissed both possibilities from his mind. “I’ll bet your mother is beside herself,” he said, redirecting his focus. He could just imagine Gertie’s reaction. In many ways Becky’s mother was just like his. Both women were more concerned about what other people thought than about the happiness of their children. Yet they both gave the old “What will the neighbors say?” a new slant, since neither one of them even spoke to their neighbors.

“That’s putting it mildly,” David answered. “She called me this morning, demanding that I come right over. The way she sounded on the phone, I was sure something had happened to my grandmother. When I got there, she sent me upstairs to talk to Becky, but then Becky came down the stairs with Starr DeVries—she’s that space cookie who owns the B and B on the corner of Elm and Old Mill. Becky, so it seems, is going to live there, of all places. My mother got hysterical and tried to stop them from leaving. She kept repeating, ‘A girl needs her mother in times like these.’ She stood in the doorway, blocking the exit, but Becky pushed past her.”




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