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A Time To Give
Kathryn Shay


His only love sprang from his only hate…Isn' t that just like life to mirror something out of Romeo and Juliet? And Benedict Cassidy has good cause to hate Emily Mackenzie' s father–the corporate pirate stole his company. So what if Emily' s pregnant with Ben' s child? Or that he can' t help loving her? She' s still a traitor and the daughter of a traitor. And forgiveness doesn' t come easily to Ben.If Emily hadn' t agreed to marry him, he' d have fought the woman for custody once the baby was born. Instead, he' s going to watch his wife like a hawk until he' s got his business back and his child safely in his arms.









Ben stared down at Emily


He could see the freckles dotting her shoulders in the morning light. Was he ready to rejoin the world now, for her? Could they possibly have a future together?

A whimper from another part of the house made him ease out of bed. Covering Emily with a blanket, he slipped on his clothes and went out to the main living area. It was so her. Big, overstuffed couches covered in fabrics that resembled watercolors, high ceilings, warm wood floors. Chic but cozy.

Lady was scratching at the door that led to the foyer. “Hey, girl, need to go out?” Ben glanced over at the dog’s bed by the fieldstone fireplace—her puppies were out for the count.

After letting the dog out into the yard, he went into the kitchen to put on the coffee. While it brewed he studied the large, airy space. Granite countertops, brick walls hung with pots and pans, an island counter in the middle of the floor, a huge refrigerator covered with pictures. Smiling, he crossed the room to get a glimpse into Emily’s life. There was a photo of her and Lady, one of a dark-haired woman in dance wear, one of Emily and a man, arms linked.

Ben frowned. A boyfriend? No. The guy was too old. He moved in closer to get a better look. “What the hell…?”




Dear Reader,

Welcome to my new Superromance novel. I hope you enjoy this look at an urban soup kitchen. For years I’ve volunteered at a kitchen very similar to Cassidy Place, and I’m continually amazed at the staff’s hard work and belief that it’s our responsibility to help people less fortunate than we are. It’s truly a wonderful organization, and I’m glad I’m able to help out.

Several years ago I thought, “Wow, I’d like to set a book here.” How could I craft a hero who’s a guest at the kitchen, though, and a heroine who volunteers there? It took me a while, but I managed to create Ben, a formerly prosperous businessman, who’s lost his company and his self-esteem. At the soup kitchen he meets Emily, who has a connection to him that neither of them knows about. Before they discover it they’re involved, and nothing—even such a big surprise—is going to break them apart.

Emily and Ben are basically decent people caught in circumstances not of their making. It was a challenge to play out their journey to happily-ever-after. I liked both of these characters from the outset, and I hope you do, too. Though I don’t agree with some of their choices or actions—that makes for good conflict, right?—I do appreciate the predicament they’re in.

Please let me know what you think of the book. You can reach me at kshayweb@rochester.rr.com or P.O. Box 24288, Rochester, NY 14624. Also, visit my Web site for updates on my work at www.kathrynshay.com or www.superauthors.com.

Kathryn Shay




A Time to Give

Kathryn Shay







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


To the staff and volunteers at Salem Soup Kitchen, in acknowledgment of your dedication and desire to help those in need.




Contents


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


STARING ACROSS THE DINING HALL, Emily watched the tall, muscular man stop and look up at the picture over the entryway. “I wonder what his last name is,” she muttered to herself.

“Best you get your mind off that one.” Alice Smith, the administrator who ran the Cassidy Place soup kitchen where Emily volunteered three nights a week, tossed out the warning as she refilled creamers and sugars. At 7:30 p.m., they were ready to close up for the night.

Emily liked this down-to-earth woman with her sturdy build, a tidy bun corralling her coarse gray hair. Though Alice worked tirelessly at feeding the impoverished, she could be tough when one of the guests got out of line, or the volunteers grumbled too much.

Emily’s grin was sheepish. “I didn’t realize I said that aloud.”

“You did. Anyway, what you were thinking is written all over your face.” Alice tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from Emily’s braid behind her ear. “For as long as he’s been coming here, he’s fascinated you.”

Emily turned her gaze back to Ben. “I guess he has. He’s different from the others.”

“Yeah, he is. He broods a lot, but I like that he pitches in around here. Most guests just eat and take off.”

“But, it’s more than his helping out. There’s just something about him that doesn’t quite fit.” She nodded across the room. “He always does that.”

Alice started to wipe the counter. “Does what?”

“Stares at that picture of Mick Cassidy over the entrance. Every Monday night when he comes in, he stops at it. His expression is almost sentimental. Nostalgic.”

“Odd. The old guy’s been dead for years.”

Emily changed the topic. She was all too familiar with what had happened to Mick Cassidy and his son, the one who’d founded the soup kitchen as a memorial to his father—not to mention the fate of the workers from Cassidy Industries who used to volunteer here.

Making small talk, she surreptitiously watched Ben as he approached one of the twenty long tables that were in rows. “He’s sitting down. I’ll go wait on him.” She grabbed a place setting and rushed off.

“Time’s almost up,” Alice called after her.

“I know. I’ll hurry.” She crossed the dining hall. The room was as huge as a gymnasium, with big windows, a high ceiling and scuffed hardwood flooring. Cassidy Place was housed in a wing of a beautiful old church on St. Paul Street and had character. “Hello, Ben,” she said when she reached him.

His gray eyes lit up when he saw her. Ringed with dark black, they were accented by thick lashes. After a moment, though, the light went out in them, like it always did. “Hello, Emily.”

She set silverware and a place mat on the table in front of him. “You’re later than usual.”

“Am I?”

“Hmm.” She fussed with the knife and fork, wishing she could crack that facade of his. “Busy today?”

Forcefully he shook out his paper. “Uh-huh.”

“At a job?”

“Yes.” He looked down and began reading.

“Where do you work, Ben? You’ve never mentioned it.”

He hesitated. “Construction jobs here and there.”

Since he’d finally answered a question about his circumstances, she dared another. “Then you can afford a place to live?” She’d worried he was homeless, like many who came to Cassidy Place. “You don’t…”

“Live on the street? No, not anymore.”

He raised the paper and stuck his nose in it, signaling he was done talking. Well, at least she’d gotten this far tonight. Over the past year, she’d had to drag any personal information out of him. When he did talk to her, he seemed so lonely it broke her heart.

She scurried back to the kitchen where the aroma of cooking meat and fresh bread permeated the air, contrary to the smell out in the dining area. Guests at shelters like this weren’t always clean. “One more,” she said and smiled at the older woman who dished up food in front of the huge industrial stove. “It’s for Ben.”

“Ah, that one. Let’s give him a hefty portion. He needs meat on his bones.”

He’s got nice meat on his bones already. Blushing at the thought, Emily transferred her gaze to the windows that lined the wall above the king-size dishwasher. More than once she’d checked out his bones. He wore tattered shirts and threadbare jeans, revealing the muscles beneath them—from the construction work he did, she guessed. Now that it was spring, those muscles were vividly defined beneath his T-shirts.

Sliding his plate and a dessert onto a tray, she hurried back to the table. Alice had served him milk and coffee, which he drank slowly, precisely, like he did everything. He seemed to savor each drop. “Here you go.” She set his meal in front of him.

He gave her what passed for a smile. “Thank you.”

She glanced around. “Can I sit with you a while?”

“All right.” As he ate, she studied him. His features were square cut and angular. Right now, his jaw sported about a two-day beard. In addition to being sexy, it was somewhat sinister. “You look tired, Emily,” he finally said, scrutinizing her face.

Another disagreement with her father. “Do I? I’m not sleeping well.”

He hesitated. “You’re not sick are you?”

“No. Family problems.” He glanced at her hand, her left hand, but said nothing.

“Are you married, Ben?”

He’d forked in a mouthful of meat and now he almost choked on it. The volunteers at Cassidy Place were friendly but they usually kept a professional distance from the guests.

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not married.”

“Ever been?”

“No.” And then, he added, “Came close, though.” Still, he didn’t ask her.

“I was married. I’ve been divorced for almost three years.” And the breakup had done serious damage to her self-esteem. Sometimes when she tried to sleep at night, she could still hear Paul hurl insults at her, see his face suffused with disgust.

Again, Ben studied her. He ate some potatoes, then wiped his lips with his napkin. They were nice lips. “The divorce was tough?”

“That’s an understatement. You know, I just don’t understand intentional cruelty.”

“Me, either. Any kids?”

Her hand went to her stomach. “No, I…can’t. I wish we had some, though. I’d have a baseball team if I could.”

He laughed.

Emily cocked her head. “Why does the conversation always revert to me when I finally get you to talk?”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Because you’re more interesting.”

“No way. Come on, tell me more about yourself. Do you have brothers or sisters? A father or mother living?”

“No. No living relatives.” He shook his head. “Alice need help tonight?”

She felt frustrated with the change of topic. “Probably with stacking the chairs and folding up the tables so the janitor can get in here tomorrow morning. He has a fit if that’s not done.”

From across the room, the one other guest left at a table yelled, “I need something here.”

She stood. “I’d better go talk to Hugo. He’s not very happy tonight.”

Ben nodded and looked back to his plate.

But when Emily rose and crossed the room, she could feel him watching her. Hmm, he was definitely different. And she liked him. She wished he’d pay more attention to her. Oh, well. The story of her life. She’d always wanted the attention of a mother, but hers had left home when Emily was five. For years, she’d craved more attention outside of work from her father. And, of course Paul, who’d walked out on her, had said outright she wasn’t worth anybody’s attention.

He was wrong, though. Emily was worth all of those things. She knew it, and she wondered if the man behind her, whom she’d been having these stilted conversations with for almost a year, would recognize it too. If he ever got to know her.



SURREPTITIOUSLY, BEN WATCHED her like a hawk. It was his only vice these days. Once every week, he allowed himself to feast on the sight of Emily Erickson. She had strawberry-blond hair, which right now escaped from her braid, and when she got close, he could see wisps framing her face, probably from the heat of the kitchen. She had the most flawless skin he’d ever seen, lips just a bit pouty, a cute nose…but it was her eyes that really got to him—they were a mixture of browns and greens and reminded him of a forest in the fall. As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

He didn’t return it; instead, he shifted in the straight-back chair and picked up the newspaper to block her from his sight. Best not to encourage her. For almost a year, he’d been trying to keep his distance, though she’d done anything but cooperate and they’d gotten closer than was good for her. She was always sitting with him, asking him questions, paying extra attention to him. And too often he succumbed to spending time with her. Invariably he regretted it. When he was with her, Ben felt like a man starved for food, but when a banquet was set out in front of him, he was forbidden to eat. There was a time when he’d have gone after a woman like her with all he had, and gotten her, too. But that part of his life was over.

“Ain’t you got none left?” he heard Hugo, a regular, snap at her.

Ben looked over the top of the paper in time to see Emily step back. She seemed more vulnerable in the leotard and tights she wore under a filmy black skirt. She told him once that she took a dance class after her stint at the soup kitchen.

She spoke softly to Hugo, who then swore. Ben set down his paper and crossed the room.

He came up to them just as Emily let Hugo have it. “That language won’t be tolerated here. If you want to eat, you’ll behave yourself. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find more chicken for you.” She glanced at Ben, nodded and walked away.

He grinned safely behind her back; from beneath that cream-puff exterior, he’d often seen her tough side emerge. The contrast continually amazed him, and sometimes he wanted to plumb those depths—thoroughly.

Ben dropped into a chair. “Hey, Hugo, what’s going on?”

Desperate eyes leveled on him. Ben knew the expression intimately, had seen it in his mirror often over the past two years. “Aw, Ben, I didn’t mean to yell at that girl.” He shook his head then rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I wanna bring food to Josie, and Emily said they were done serving.”

“Cassidy Place doesn’t send home doggy bags, Hugo, you know that. Josie has to come here if she wants to eat.”

“She’s sick.” Translated, she’s either stoned or drunk.

Familiar with the latter, Ben laid a hand on Hugo’s bony shoulder. “There are free clinics to help her, man.”

Hugo’s body sagged beneath the old work shirt. “I dunno what to do.”

“Talk to Alice. She’s got names of places to help Josie.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And apologize to Emily. She didn’t do anything to you.”

He returned to his seat before Emily came back, but he couldn’t focus on the paper. He was remembering when he’d needed one of those places that reformed drunks….

Ben had been on a long binge, and that night, dashing under a bridge to escape the rain, he’d slipped and fallen, and then passed out. He’d woken up with his face in a puddle of slime, a cop standing over him.

“Get up. You’re drunk.”

Ben had stared up at the officer through bleary eyes. His father had been a bum, often cornered by the police like this. And now Ben was the same. He’d struggled to his feet.

In a surprising move, the cop had pulled out a card. “This is a clinic to help you sober up, if you want to be more than a drunken bum.”

Something about the taste of slime in his mouth, the epithet of the cop, hell, maybe it was finally hitting bottom, had made Ben take stock and had given him the impetus to make changes. It had been a long road back….

Picking up the paper, he shook off the memories and turned to the business section, scrolling down the front page. When he found what he was looking for, his hand fisted, crumpling the edge of the paper. Mackenzie Enterprises’ stock was up another five points, credited to its hostile takeover two years ago of a company that made monitoring equipment for public utilities. That business was now flourishing. Earning money again. A lot of money. Ben’s hand started to hurt. Consciously, he forced himself to relax. Breathe deeply. That kind of tension would drive him back to the bottle and, though he’d lost everything, he wouldn’t go there again. Over the top of the paper, his gaze strayed again to the photo that graced the entrance. Mick Cassidy smiled down from the one and only picture Ben had managed to save of his father. Their nomadic travels from city to city, house to house, had made it difficult to keep mementos. Lost in thought, Ben missed Emily approaching his table.

“Thanks for calming down Hugo, Ben.”

He lowered the paper. “No thanks necessary, ma’am. Just take it as payment for my dinner.”

Again, that smile that could stop a truck in its tracks. “You pay for your dinner ten times over. And please, don’t call me ma’am—it makes me sound like my grandmother.”

He suppressed a grin.

She nodded to the paper. “Anything interesting in there?”

Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly lonely, he talked about current events with her. On occasion, he let her help him with the crossword puzzle.

“Not much.” Unless she wanted to discuss the business world’s corporate shark. If it was the last thing he did, Ben would get even with that man. He’d never been vindictive, cold and callous—until Lammon Mackenzie had entered his life. He hated the man most for that.

“Ben, is something wrong?”

Only my whole life. “No, why?”

“You look angry.”

“Nah. Just wish the economy was better.” He nodded over her head. “Seems Alice is looking for you.”

Emily rose when she saw the older woman in the doorway and smiled down at Ben. She squeezed his arm. “Someday, I’m going to get you to tell me more about yourself.”

His heartbeat accelerated. “Boring story.”

“I doubt it.”

He watched her leave. Well, she was right about that. His story was anything but boring. Sad. Infuriating. Stupid. But not boring. It was his own damn fault he’d let Lammon Mackenzie get his company. He’d lost everything to the bastard—everything but this place.

Which was why, once Ben had sobered himself up, he came here every Monday. Cassidy Place, which he’d started ten years ago in memory of his father, and was still solvent because he’d gotten funding from the United Way, was the only thing he had left in his life to prove he’d made a difference, made his mark on the world.

That was why he returned weekly and endured the torture of seeing Emily. In order to stay sane after all that had happened to him, he needed the reinforcement that he was more than an ex-drunk has-been who didn’t have the smarts to hold on to the company he’d built from the ground up. And there was no way in hell Emily Erickson was going to find out what a failure he was.



LAMMON MACKENZIE SCOWLED at the cell phone as he listened to the message. “It’s me again,” he barked after the beep. “Where the hell are you? Call me.”

Just as he clicked off, the office door opened. His assistant, Pete Heller, stood in the doorway and nodded to the desk. “There’s a call for you from your lawyer, Mac.”

“All right.” He scowled at Pete. “I suppose you’d like to leave now.”

The tall, lanky man arched a brow. “What, at 9:00 p.m.?”

“Funny.”

“We human beings need food and sleep.”

Mac hid a smile. If the guy wasn’t such a shrewd market analyst, he’d fire him for his irreverence. “Get the hell out of here.” He picked up the phone. “Jacob, nice of you to get back to me.”

“It’s only been a few hours since you called. I have clients other than you, Mac.”

“Nobody who pays you as much.”

“Well, you’ve got me now. What can I do for you?”

He knocked his knuckles against the paper. “I’m ready to sell off Rockford Instruments.” Formerly known as Cassidy Industries.

“Wow, that was fast. I had no idea this move would come so soon.”

“I’m that good at turning things around, Jacob.”

Of course this time, he’d had help. Cassidy Industries had been in bad shape when he’d snatched it out from under Benedict Cassidy. The guy was too fair, too optimistic and too foolish to make it in the business world. It had been child’s play, really, to take the company from him. Even easier to build it back up again.

“All right, I’ll start the paperwork.” Jacob hesitated. “What will you do now?”

“I have a line on another business that might be fun to court.” Man, he liked the thrill of the chase. The kill, when the time came.

“You have a lot of energy, Mac.”

“For a man in his late fifties, not bad. Get in touch when you’ve got this rolling.”

He disconnected and leaned back in his plush leather chair. Propping his feet up, he linked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. At least he’d have something to look forward to. Aside from his daughter, work was the only thing in his life. He preferred it that way. He didn’t have to tolerate a nagging wife who wished he was home more, friends who disagreed with his tactics. He didn’t have to explain himself to anybody.

So there was no reason why he opened the left drawer of his custom-built granite-topped desk. No reason to pull out the picture of the man, woman and child. Still, he did it.

A lump clogged his throat as he stared at the images. Mac was young, only twenty-six. He had dark hair then, not this mop of gray. He was thinner, too, and more relaxed. The little girl was stunning, just like her mother. God, his wife had been beautiful. And fragile. She’d never stood a chance with him. He could still remember her laughter… Lammon, you’re home early, I love it when you surprise me like this… Lying beside him… You’re so good in here—she’d tap his naked chest over his heart—why can’t you let others see that? See what I see… Her face when she’d held out their child to him for the first time… It’s all right that you weren’t here for the birth, darling. Isn’t she beautiful?

But then, as always happened when he thought of Anna, bad memories followed like the furies chasing prey. I can’t believe you did what the paper says… Tell me these are vicious rumors… I won’t leave her with a man like you….

Abruptly he dropped his feet to the floor, shoved the picture back in its hiding place and bolted out of his chair. He strode to the sideboard and poured himself a hefty scotch. When it didn’t take the sting away, he gulped back another. Finally, that numbed him.

He studied the office—the oak ceiling, the grass-cloth walls, furniture that had cost more than some people’s houses. They were all testaments to his success, and that comforted him. The clock caught his eye. Ten o’clock. He scowled at the phone. Stalking to the desk, he picked up his cell and punched Redial.

The answering machine clicked on again. “This is Emily Erickson. Leave a message at the beep.”

“Emily, this is your father. Where the hell are you?”




CHAPTER TWO


THE APRIL SUN BEAT DOWN on Ben’s shoulders, making him sweat like he used to after an hour in the sauna at his former health club. His T-shirt was more wet than not and his back ached. But he hefted the concrete blocks without complaint. This Saturday-morning stint with its overtime pay would earn him enough money to buy heavy work boots for the winter. Grunting with effort, he was hit with a flashback so quickly he couldn’t roadblock this one….

Buy those hand-tooled boots, Benedict, they make you look like a cowboy.

He’d chuckled at Mallory, his model-chic fiancée, and mimed drawing a gun out of an imaginary holster. Watch it, ma’am, never know what an hombre like me might want from a lady like you.

She’d laughed and he’d bought the boots. They’d cost almost a thousand bucks and he hadn’t blinked at the expense.

“Hey, Cassidy. You got a visitor.” The foreman hovered over the hole Ben was in helping to lay the foundation for a small house.

Ben frowned up at him. “Who is it?”

“Didn’t ask his name. Take a break. You been goin’ nonstop since six this morning.”

Ben glanced at the Timex that had replaced his Rolex. It was noon. Who the hell would know he was here? He’d cut off all ties with his old life when he’d lost his company. Puzzled, he climbed the ladder and shaded his eyes against the sun. Trey Thompson, his former lawyer—his former friend—stood on the edge of the site looking like the preppy from Yale that he was, in an oxford shirt, khakis and Docksides. As best he could, Ben wiped the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt and crossed to Trey. “Hey, counselor, how’s it going?”

Trey grasped Ben’s hand warmly. “Fine, except you had me waste my whole morning chasing you down. Can’t you at least return my phone calls?” There was a note of exasperation in his voice. And offense. Ben had forsaken the racquetball games, the lunches and occasional double dates he and Trey had shared for almost a decade.

“Phone calls?”

“Don’t bs me, pal. I know you got my messages. Your landlord thinks I’m a handsome devil and assured me she left them under your door.”

“Still charming all the ladies, are you?”

His friend snorted. “And she’s the one who told me you were here. Apparently the head of this construction crew lives in your boarding house.”

Ben shook his head. “So much for privacy.”

Trey nodded to a makeshift bench in the shade. “Can we talk? It’s about Cassidy Industries.”

“Look, Trey, I appreciate your attempts to stay in touch, but I’m not interested. I wish you could accept that.” Every couple of months, Trey contacted him. It was a painful reminder of what Ben had once had.

“You’ve made that perfectly clear.” Trey shot him a blistering look. “And I still resent it. And I still don’t understand why you prefer to live like this.” He swept his arm across the construction site.

“It’s an honest living,” Ben said defensively.

“Of course it is. I just don’t get why you chose it. You’re the guy Fortune magazine dubbed the most successful, best-liked, self-made man in business. You went to Wharton. You developed a patent for fuel-cell technology and—”

“And lost my shirt.” And my self-confidence and self-esteem.

“Still, you could have stayed in the business world. Any company in Rockford would hire you.”

“Drop it, Trey! I won’t rehash this.”

His friend clearly fought his anger. “All right. But you’ll listen to why I came.”

“Fine then.”

“Mackenzie’s selling off your company. Probably in pieces. The employees could all lose their jobs if the buyer moves the plant out of Rockford.”

“He’s selling already?” Ben raked a hand through his hair. “I know that’s his MO, but it’s only been two years.” He mouthed a vicious expletive.

“My sentiments exactly. Now can we talk about this?”

Ben made his way to the bench. He tried hard not to think about the people on staff who’d survived the first round of Mackenzie’s cuts, but now would suffer the sword of his greed. Dan, the comptroller, was still there. He’d heard Mackenzie had brought in his own vice president of human resources but had kept Janice, who supported her elderly mother and did the personnel work for Rockford Gas & Electric. His secretary and mother hen, Betty. And all those factory workers in the plant….

Trey sat when they reached the shade and removed his Ray-Bans. “I got a line on something.”

Still standing, Ben braced his foot on the bench and draped his arm over his knee. “Trey, I appreciate all this, but I’ve told you time and again the battle was over the day Lammon Mackenzie outmaneuvered me. Why do you keep after this?”

The lawyer’s lazy gaze sharpened. “I’m still involved for a number of reasons. One—” he held up a finger “—you and I were friends as well as colleagues. I’m mad as hell that you ditched me because things went south. Two—” another finger joined the first “—I was your attorney when the sleazebag went after Cassidy Industries and I couldn’t stop it, so I owe you.” He drew in a breath. “Number three, you won’t use the money you got for the business and paid my fees. I put it in a bank account for you, but it just sits there. So that’s still an issue.”

“Damn right it is. I keep getting notices on it.” He straightened. “I don’t want the damn money.”

“And last,” Trey continued as if Ben hadn’t spoken, “I think I might have something on the bastard.”

“Unless it’s something he did illegally when he took over, which you would have found out then, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not exactly illegal, but it’s unethical and we might be able to claim fraud and possible bribery.”

“I—” Ben stopped. “It is? What?”

“Remember when the contracts from Rockford Gas & Electric got stalled?”

“How could I forget?” Ben began to pace. “If we’d gotten those contracts, we wouldn’t have had to take Mackenzie on as an investor.”

Cassidy Industries made instrumentation for utility companies; the business had gotten in financial trouble because Ben’s products had been eroded by software and digital advancements. He’d extended his bank credit and mortgaged his personal assets to keep the company afloat. Finally he’d needed an investor and had made the poor choice of Mackenzie Enterprises.

Negotiations had gone well, but after the honeymoon was over, Mackenzie had started making stipulations on his several-million-dollar loan. Their business relationship had become heated, unfriendly, then downright hostile. In the end, Ben had been forced to agree to the two things that caused him to lose the company: that Cassidy Industries receive the Rockford Gas & Electric contracts, which were in the process of being approved by the utility company’s officers, and that the patent on fuel-cell technology, which Ben had developed to take the business to a new level, had to come through within six months. He still remembered that heart-stopping day he’d discovered the contracts had been delayed indefinitely. At that time, the patent had been pending.

Trey’s eyes narrowed. “My private investigator thinks maybe Mackenzie paid off the contracts guy at the utility company. He seems to have had an unexpected windfall right as Mackenzie began his pursuit of your business. If I can find a connection between this guy and expenditures Mackenzie made at the time, we’ll have something. But it’s tricky and may take a while. We’re also going to check to see if he did anything about the patent that didn’t come through until after you sold out.” That patent, worth gold now, belonged to Cassidy Industries, not Ben.

“Trey, I don’t want you spending money on a private investigator for me.”

Trey shook his head. “It’s not just for you. I want to know what I did wrong.”

“The only thing we did wrong was to fight fair.”

“Maybe not. In any case, I owe you.”

“Don’t start on that again.”

“I’ll start on that all I want. You hired me fresh out of law school. I became a moving force in the legal world of Rockford because of you.”

“At least my debacle didn’t hurt you too much.”

“It didn’t hurt me at all. Do you know how much I earn?” He swore. “Let me spend some of it trying to make sense of what happened.”

“You’re wasting your money.”

“No, I’m not.” Trey grabbed his arm. “Just promise me you’ll think about this. I won’t go any further until I hear from you. But at least return my calls. I hate leaving my girl in bed on Saturday morning to hunt you down.”

That got a chuckle out of Ben. Though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a girl in his bed on a weekend, he did recall it had felt damn good. “I promise I’ll think about it. Now get out of here.”

Trey nodded and headed the other way.

“Thompson?” Ben called out.

The lawyer looked over his shoulder, his brows raised.

“Thanks. I wish you wouldn’t do it, but I appreciate your…caring enough.”

Trey smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”

As Ben trudged back to his job, he squelched the tiny bud of hope inside him. The fact that Trey always engendered this optimism was one of the reasons Ben didn’t want to see him. Nothing was going to come out of this newest development. If Trey could have stopped the takeover, he would have done it before.

The war was finished between Ben and Mackenzie. Even if Mackenzie had played dirty, the result was that Ben had lost everything. There was no changing it now.



“WHAT’S THIS ALL ABOUT, Dad?”

Emily’s father glanced up from his computer screen. He was a big man, with powerful shoulders. Despite his thick shock of gray hair, he kept himself fit for someone nearing sixty. His perpetual grimace softened somewhat when he saw her. “Good morning to you, too.”

She smiled. “Good morning.” She held up the FedEx package. “I received this request from Jacob Brill by messenger as soon as I got in. He wants information on the employees. Why?”

“I’m selling off Rockford Instruments.”

“What?”

“I’m selling. The stock’s up, the climate’s good. Gotta strike while the iron’s hot, girl.”

“Did you, at all, think to tell your vice president of human resources about this decision?”

Lazily he leaned back in his chair. She recognized the casual pose as one of his many tactics to disarm someone who confronted him. “I decided last Monday. I tried to call you that night, but you were out. I flew to Vegas on Tuesday and just got back.”

“I have dance class until ten on Mondays.”

His smile transformed his rough features, especially when she was the cause of it. “I remember when you started dancing. I thought you might be a ballerina.”

Grinning, she shook her head. “I’m not good enough for that.”

“Where were you before class?”

“I had dinner with friends.” Not exactly a lie. Her father would be furious if he knew she worked at Cassidy Place. Not only had he withdrawn all financial support of the soup kitchen when he’d taken over Cassidy Industries, canceling comp time for workers, too, but he had some grudge against the place that Emily didn’t understand. And a contempt for the previous owner that didn’t make sense.

Her father shrugged. “In any case, it’s time to unload this company.”

Emily tried to quell her pique and sank into one of the plush leather seats in front of his desk. “I’m not going to let you do this again.” Twice, he’d sold off companies without her knowledge, and had slashed jobs left and right. The last time, she’d threatened to leave Mackenzie Enterprises.

“All right. What do you want?”

“To save the jobs of the workers here.” Those who hadn’t gotten caught in the layoffs had stayed after Mackenzie Enterprises had taken over because they needed to make a living. But their loyalty had not transferred with them. It was obvious how much they hated the sterile environment her father had created, and how much they disliked him personally. Whereas Cassidy Industries had had a real family atmosphere and the employees had loved Benedict Cassidy. She wondered whatever had happened to him.

“It’ll take a good six months to put the word out, find a buyer, or buyers, complete the due diligence. The workers will get something else.”

“Buyers?”

“Yes. There might be more money in selling off the inventory, getting rid of this albatross of a building and offering that precious patent to the highest bidder.”

The patent for a product that Benedict Cassidy was brilliant enough to develop. “Oh, Dad, you’re going to dissolve Cassidy Industries?”

His face flushed. “It’s Rockford Instruments now.”

“But—”

“Here it comes.” Shaking his head, he sighed.

“At least try to keep the company intact.” She thought for a minute. “And look for a local buyer so the company isn’t moved out of Rockford. That way, the workers would be able to keep their jobs.”

“I don’t care about all that.”

No, of course not. He never did. But she did. “Wait a few months to see if you get a buyer for the whole company. If you can’t, then sell it off.”

“You always do this.”

“Yes, I do. It’s the only reason I’m working for you, Dad.”

And not doing what I love. After she’d graduated from college, and she’d told her father about her dream to start a dance studio, he’d dismissed it as demeaning. He said if she wasn’t going to dance professionally, she shouldn’t make teaching her life’s work. Since she’d been insecure and looked up to him like a god, she hadn’t pursued it. Later, after she’d married Paul and he’d balked at her opening a studio too, she’d given up. When she’d begun to work for her father and had realized she could keep him from cutting too many jobs in his takeovers, even she’d dismissed the dream and had convinced herself she was doing good work.

His expression softened. “That’s the only reason you work for me?”

She shook her head. Despite his controlling streak, she was his Achilles’ heel. His only weak spot. He’d raised her single-handedly and loved her to pieces. Standing, she circled the desk and kissed his cheek. “No, of course not. I love you. I like being around you. I just wish you cared more about the people whose lives you disrupt.”

He grasped her hand, held on. “All right. You have a few months.”

“Thanks.” She started away.

“Emmy?” Her childhood name. “I’m going to Boston tomorrow. Have dinner with me tonight?”

“Oh, sorry, Dad. I told you I have dance on Mondays. How about when you get back?”

“You got a secret beau you’re hiding from me?”

She thought of the soup kitchen and Ben. “No, of course not. I’m meeting Jordan before class for a light dinner and some girl talk.”

His gaze hardened. “I don’t like that woman.”

“Well, she doesn’t like you much, either. So you’re even.” Jordan Turk, her best friend, blamed her father for manipulating her out of starting her dance studio and for encouraging her marriage to Paul. “When will you be back?”

“Thursday.”

“We’ll do it then.”

Emily hurried away, her mind whirling with a thousand thoughts, mostly about how to protect Cassidy Industries employees. When she reached her office, the phone was ringing. “Hello,” she said, snatching it up.

“Hey, girl.” Jordan was on the other end. “How are you?”

“Speak of the devil. My father and I were just talking about you.”

“You’ve got that right. He’s the devil incarnate.”

“Be nice.”

“Why? He’s done vicious things to you. And all in the name of love.”

“Jordan.”

“I was calling to say I’d be late for dinner, but I’ll tell you my good news now, since it’s relevant to good old dad. I applied for the loan for my dance studio and found a place for it. The space is available in six months. I hope to open after New Year’s.”

“Oh, Jordan, I’m so happy for you.”

“You remember your dream of owning a dance studio, don’t you? The one your father and that ass Paul convinced you to give up.”

Emily’s heartbeat sped up. “I remember. It’s good you’re going ahead with it, though.”

“I could still take on a partner.” She paused. “You said you’d think about that.”

“Oh, Jordan, I can’t commit right now.” She explained the immediate situation of her father selling Rockford Instruments.

“He’s never going to change. Are you going to spend your whole life cleaning up after him?”

God, she didn’t want to do that. “No. But I can help these people.”

“It’s bad enough he talked you into marrying Paul.”

Emily regretted telling Jordan that she’d almost backed out of the wedding. That her father had convinced her to go ahead with it.

“Please, let’s not revisit all this.”

“Don’t you still want a studio, honey?”

“Every day. And I’d love to be your partner in this.” Spending her days teaching dance. Working with kids instead of disgruntled employees.

“Well, you won’t get your studio unless you stand up to him.” Her friend’s exasperation sifted through the phone lines like an electrical current. It touched raw nerves. When Emily didn’t respond, Jordan said, “Never mind. I’ll see you at seven.”

After she hung up, Emily sank wearily into her chair. Damn, she felt like a hamster on a wheel. She’d just get to a point where she thought she could leave the company, and her father’s actions sucked her back in. Not only that, but the mention of a dance studio made her think about having children. Or more precisely, not having them, which was even more depressing than working for her dad. Her hand went to her stomach. She’d give anything to have a child of her own.

It’s your fault, you know. Her ex-husband’s handsome features had been contorted with frustrated rage as he’d hurled the accusation.

The doctor said both of our tests were inconclusive.

You have endometriosis.

I’ve had surgeries to correct that. Look, Paul, I’m not laying blame, but your sperm motility test wasn’t so hot either.

My sperm is just fine.

Sighing, she turned to her computer. Though she’d divorced Paul and still hoped to have the dance studio, she was probably never going to have a baby, given her medical problems. Besides, she was thirty-four with no man on the horizon.

But as she called up her e-mail, she wasn’t able to put the thought out of her mind. Could she get pregnant with the right man? And who might that be?

A fleeting image came to mind—of gray eyes the color of steel, a killer smile and a body to die for. Jeez, she really needed to get a social life.



WHERE THE HELL WAS SHE? For as long as Ben had been frequenting Cassidy Place as a guest, Emily had been a volunteer. She’d only missed three Mondays—and he’d worried each time if she was sick or had quit or…had a date.

Disgusted by his reaction to her, he tried to focus on the crossword. A five-letter word for beautiful. Hmm, Emily? Hell, this wasn’t good. A six-letter word for red. Russet, almost the color of her hair. He slapped the paper down.

“Something unpleasant in there?”

He glanced up to see Alice with a coffeepot in her hand. “No, my mind’s just wandering.”

“Want more coffee?”

“Sure.” What would it hurt? “I was, um, wondering where Emily is. She usually works on Mondays, doesn’t she?”

A knowing gleam lit the older woman’s soft brown eyes. “She’s here—at the dishwasher because we’re short volunteers. Tom, the guy who usually mans it, is sick.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I would have pitched in.”

“I suggested that to Emily. She said you work too hard all day and shouldn’t be doing manual labor at night.”

He stood. “I don’t work that hard. I’m going back, if that’s all right.”

With Alice’s consent, Ben carried his dirty dishes into the kitchen. Guests were required to bring back their own plates. He remembered setting up that edict for Cassidy Place. But some people still often left their mess for the volunteers. Emily didn’t usually complain about it, but on occasion he’d seen her confront a customer for his thoughtlessness. The sight of her dragging a big guy back and making him clean up after himself was amusing.

The kitchen was hotter than usual tonight, probably because the April evening was still warm. Volunteers bustled in and out, preparing food or picking up plates. Emily scraped dishes while another worker loaded them into the dishwasher. Ben recognized the man as Jimmy, the guy who ran security on the floor.

Emily looked up as Ben crossed to them and aimed a megawatt smile his way. “Hi, Ben. Finished with your meal?”

He bused his plate, then rolled up his sleeves. “Yes. And I’m going to take over for you. You like being out on the floor better than working inside.”

Her smile brightened. “How do you know that?”

“You told me once. Come on, I’ll do KP with Jimmy.”

She and the other man exchanged a look.

“What?”

“Jimmy has a date. He wasn’t supposed to be here this late tonight.” She glanced to her helper. “If Ben’s going to work, you can leave.”

The young, handsome black man shrugged. “You sure?”

“Go.” She handed an apron to Ben. “Want to clear or stack?”

“Stack.” That way he might not have to see her face, flushed by the heat, or her hands, long and slender. He wondered if she’d blush like that after sex. What her hands would feel like stroking his back. Over the past year, he’d had dreams….

“Ben, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, feeling his body tighten at her nearness. Damn, this wasn’t good.

Whipping on the white apron—she wore a matching one over her cropped pants and shirt—he began his task. They fell into easy conversation as they always did when he let himself relax with her. “No dance tonight?”

“I left work early for once and went to the four o’clock class. I changed there.”

“What kind of dance do you take?”

“Ballet, tap and jazz, all on different days. Though tap gives me some trouble. It always did.”

“Always?”

“Uh-huh, I’ve been taking lessons on and off all my life.”

“Nice hobby.” He’d like to see her dance.

“How about you? Got any hobbies?”

He used to. He played racquetball with Trey, went running with his dog, liked a game of pool. “No, not really.”

She scraped dishes. “Do you live alone, Ben?”

“Um, yeah.” He took a plate from her hand. “You?”

“It’s just me and my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Harriet’s shaggy face came out of nowhere. He’d loved that animal so much.

“A cocker spaniel.” Emily’s expression turned tender. “She’s a beauty. She likes to be coddled, so I call her My Lady. Lady for short.” She smiled. “Lady and the Tramp has always been my favorite story.”

“Ah, I should have known you’d like happily-ever-afters.”

She started to say something but a rush of people entered the kitchen, clattering dishes in front of her. Emily conversed with the guests who handed over their plates, then continued the conversation with Ben when things slowed down. “Why did you react when I told you about my dog?”

“I had one once.” She’d been a stray mutt hanging out at the soup kitchen. Eventually, Ben had taken her home.

“What happened to it?”

“I gave her away when I wasn’t able to keep her.”

“I’m sorry. That must have left a hole in your life.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to talk about his dog or think about anything else he’d lost. Luckily, things got busy again. In no time, the evening was over. Dishwashers were usually the last to finish, so the place emptied out quickly, leaving him and Emily alone in the kitchen. When the last plate was clean, he whipped off his apron. “I’ll go see if Alice needs help out there.”

Just then the older woman bustled in. “No, we’re done. One of the stragglers stacked the chairs. But there’s a mess on the floor from a family with kids that the janitors aren’t gonna like.”

“I’ll get a mop and take care of it.”

“That would be great,” Alice said.

Emily watched Ben’s back as he disappeared through the doorway.

“Have fun tonight?” Alice asked.

Chagrined, she felt herself blush. “I like working with him.”

“I like him.” Alice sat on a stool. “I wonder what his story is.”

“Me, too.” Emily crossed to the dessert cooler and removed chocolate cake for the two of them. “He seems so smart, so well spoken. He talks like an educated man. I can’t believe he needs to come here.”

“I was thinking the same thing. His clothes are definitely Salvation Army, though.”

“I wonder if he was always poor.”

“Maybe not. A lot of people who use Cassidy Place were once better off. Ben has a job, but we don’t know how much it pays. Sometimes people just come for the company. Like that Helena who always flirts with Ben.”

Helena, the tall, slender woman with mounds of streaked hair. No one had any idea where she came from. She did indeed make cow eyes at Ben.

They ate their treat and discussed some of the other guests until Ben came back to the kitchen. He crossed to a janitor’s closet, rinsed out the mop and put the things away. “That’s done. I’ll be heading out.”

Emily watched him. He’d taken off his long-sleeved denim shirt and wore only a black T-shirt. He had such nice shoulders. Great pecs. Flat abs. Paul used to spend hours at the gym and never looked as good.

Alice kicked her under the table. Good thing, or she’d probably start drooling. “Time to close up.”

Ben scanned the area. “Nobody’s here to walk you out?”

Like most soup kitchens and shelters, Cassidy Place was in a location that could be dangerous after dark.

“No, Jimmy usually does. If not, Tom.” Alice grabbed her purse. “No matter. We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll see you to your cars.”

Alice smile approvingly. They shut off lights and secured the doors, then went out the back and locked up. Alice’s car was closer—thank you, Lord. The older woman drove off as they headed toward Emily’s Taurus.

The spring moonlit night was unseasonably warm, but the difference in temperature from the hot kitchen was enough to make Emily shiver.

“Cold?” Ben asked as he shrugged into his denim shirt.

“A bit. I have a sweater in the car.” When they reached it, she unlocked the door and grabbed her wrap off the front seat. He watched her as she got stuck putting it on, a button caught in her hair, some of which had come out of the braid. “Ouch,” she said, tugging to loosen it.

“Here. I’ll get it.”

She turned her back to him and he moved in close. His body heat felt wonderful.

“It’s twisted up in here. I have to pull out the tie.” She felt a bit of pressure, then nothing. “There, I’ve got it.”

Emily stilled. Time seemed to freeze. Then she felt her braid come undone completely. When Ben’s hands sifted through her hair, she felt the touch in the pit of her stomach, and lower.

“Ben?” she whispered, her voice throaty.

“Your hair’s grown since I last saw it down. The color’s so many different shades of red, like a sunset in St. Croix. It’s beautiful.”

“Th-thank you.”

He lifted her sweater so she could slide it on. Once she did, he squeezed her shoulders. That touch made her weak in the knees. She leaned back.

Abruptly, he dropped his hands and stepped away. “Best you get in the car, Emily.”

She turned to him. His face was awash with moonlight. His features weren’t softened by it, though. If anything they were harsher than usual. Without censoring her actions, she squeezed his arm. “You’re a nice man, Ben.”

He retreated another step out of her reach. “Get in the car,” he said tightly.

She angled her head, confused by his reaction, by the force of his words. “All right.” The parking lot was deserted. Traffic whizzed by on the street and a firetruck’s horn sounded far away. “How will you get home?”

“I don’t live too far from here.”

“Let me give you a ride.”

“Hell, no.” His dark eyebrows furrowed. “You shouldn’t be offering rides to guests at a soup kitchen.”

“You’re not just a guest, Ben. We’ve both known that for a long time.”

His shoulders tensed and his hands fisted at his sides. “That’s all I am. Now get in the car.”

She waited.

“There’s danger here, Emily. Don’t think anything different.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Not from you.” Opening the door, she slid in. “Thanks for helping out with the dishes,” she said as she fastened her seat belt. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He shut the door.

Emily started the car and drove off. “I lied, Ben,” she confessed into the dimness of the car as she turned onto St. Paul Street and caught sight of him standing where she’d left him, watching after her. “You are dangerous.” Tonight when he’d touched her confirmed something she’d suspected for a long time: his attraction to her.

Which, of course, was not a good thing. She knew in her heart Ben would never let anything come of their feelings for each other. Despite his obvious poverty, he was a proud man. Since they were from two different worlds, he’d never let her into his life. Even if she wanted to be a part of it.

You do, girl.

Of course she did. But there were many things she wanted and couldn’t have. A baby. A dance studio. Freedom from self-imposed vigilance of her father. Ben whatever-his-last-name-was was simply another thing to add to that list.




CHAPTER THREE


THE COCKER SPANIEL WAS BEAUTIFUL, with its big soulful eyes, delicate features and golden red fur. When Ben entered Cassidy Place and saw her in the partially enclosed alcove, curled up on a bed of blankets, he couldn’t resist kneeling in front of her. “Hey, Lady, what are you doing here?”

The dog stood, barking first before nuzzling into his neck. He held her there a minute, mesmerized by the throb of her body—and the little bodies obviously inside her. “You make me miss my girl, Lady.”

“Want a puppy?” He didn’t have to turn to see who was behind him. That soft voice and that body had haunted his dreams for two weeks since the night in the parking lot when he’d touched her.

He stood while the dog continued to sniff him. “No can do. But thanks.” Emily was dressed for dance class again. This time, the tights and leotard were dark wine under the black skirt. “How are you, Emily?”

“I’m fine. We missed you last week.”

“I, um, had something else to do.” Which was to avoid her. He wouldn’t have come to the soup kitchen tonight if Trey hadn’t called earlier. After he’d hung up, Ben’s isolation had become too big for him to handle. “So this is Lady.”

“Uh-huh.” Emily hugged the dog. “How’re you feeling, girl?”

“When’s she due?”

“Not for ten days.” She looked up at Ben, the scoop of her form-fitting spandex top revealing the top of her breasts. “I leave her alone all day and now, at night, she cries when I go out. Hormones,” she said, a twinkle in her beautiful eyes, which were more brown than green tonight. “So I brought her with me.”

Hormones were something Ben knew a lot about. Especially these past few weeks. His body had been in hibernation for two years and he was pissed that Emily had woken it up.

“She looks close to ready.” He’d delivered his own dog’s pups once, so he could read the signs.

“I know. And she was restless tonight.” She rose. “Go back and lie down, girl.”

The dog obeyed.

Emily folded her arms across her waist. “Have you been well?”

“As well as can be expected.”

She cocked her head. “What does that mean?”

He ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair, which needed a trim. “Nothing.” He glanced over her shoulder. “It’s slow tonight.”

“Yes. Sit at my table. I’ll bring your food. It’s fried chicken. Your favorite.”

Damn, he wished she wouldn’t do that—keep track of him, try to please him. It made resisting her all the harder. He took a seat at the table she indicated. Max, who was a recovering alcoholic and on unemployment, nodded. “How’s it goin’, Ben?”

“Just fine. You?”

“Twenty weeks and countin’.” The man sipped his coffee.

Ben gave him the thumbs-up.

Across from Max was Lorena. Every week she sat in the same chair and spoke to no one but Emily. She wore hats no matter what the weather and covered herself, albeit in tattered clothes, from head to foot. She also stowed most of her food in plastic bags, odd containers and napkins. He nodded to her, but she looked away. The only others at the table were a family of five he’d seen here occasionally, but didn’t know personally. The man—the father?—had gone to get some giveaways, and the woman was frantically trying to seat her three children. “Here, let me help.” Ben hefted one of the toddlers, who appeared to be about two. “What’s his name?”

“Mohammed,” the woman told him in accented English. Ben guessed they were one of the many refugee families who frequented Cassidy Place. “And this is Anwar and Tidi.” The youngest curled into her chest, secured by a long scarf. The woman herself was dressed in matching colorful robes.

Ben seated the boy, who began to bang on the tray.

“Thank you.” The woman’s smile was weary.

The father returned carrying a plastic bag. Periodically, when the soup kitchen had extra, vegetables and bread were set out for the guests on a long table. When Ben had been in charge, if there had been no donations for a week, he’d supplied them out of his own pocket.

“I was able to obtain bread and carrots and lettuce,” the man said.

His wife sighed. Most people had no idea what it was like to live hand to mouth, Ben thought. Many of the impoverished would work but couldn’t find jobs. Ben hadn’t known any of this, not really, until he’d experienced his own downslide. His heart went out to them.

The meal was served and Ben tried hard not to watch Emily, but his gaze kept tracking her as she glided over the floor like the dancer that she was. He wondered what she did for a living—not dance, he knew that. Did she like her job? Who were her friends? Did she have a guy in her life?

When she brought his meal, her arm brushed against him and he felt it all the way to his toes. “Thanks,” he muttered hoarsely.

She placed plates in front of the family and asked what to do with Mohammed’s dinner. “Set it here,” the mother said. “I’ll feed him first.”

“No need.” Emily pulled up a chair. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

The boy looked up at her. He babbled something in his native language. “Hungry, aren’t you, little guy?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben could see her cut the boy’s food. She fed him some chicken and let him spoon up his own mashed potatoes. The few minutes she spent with the child gave the mother an opportunity to eat. When the second boy, Anwar, started to whine, Ben leaned over. “What do you need, buddy?”

He pointed to his milk.

The mother tried to adjust the baby in the front makeshift knapsack. “Wait for a minute, Ani.”

“I’ll get it.” Ben helped the four-year-old sip. Over the child’s head, he caught Emily’s gaze. The approval there warmed him. He smiled, genuinely, without holding back. Her eyes darkened and she focused on his mouth.

He glanced away, affected by that look. So when he finished his dessert, he decided to head out. He preferred to wait until the evening was over to help close up, but he needed to get away from Emily. Unfortunately, she caught his arm when he was halfway to the door.

“Leaving already?”

“Yes.”

“I wish you’d stay. Talk a while.”

“I told you two weeks ago that kind of thing wasn’t a good idea.”

Her cute little chin tilted. “Says you.”

“Yep. Says me. Night, ma’am.”

On his way out, he heard some rustling in the alcove where the dog was resting. Lady was up, pacing. Ben frowned. “Hey, girl, you all right?” As he petted her head, he noticed she was shivering. Uh-oh. On the other side of the room, Ben saw Emily at the counter and motioned her over.

She hurried to him. “What’s going on?”

He nodded down to the dog, who’d begun to pant. “I think you’re about to become a grandmother.”

“Oh, dear. It’s too early. What should I do?”

“Hopefully, we won’t have to do anything. But find some newspapers.” He rolled up his sleeves. “It’s okay, girl, I’m here. And I’ve done this before.”



EMILY STRETCHED OUT on her couch in the great room of her house and watched Lady feed her five puppies in a nest set up for them by the fireplace. Exhausted, she yawned. She knew she should take a nap, but she didn’t want to leave them just yet. What a night! It had taken five hours for the pups to make their debut. And there had been complications. Thankfully Ben was there. He’d had to tug one puppy out and clean two from their sacs. She knew from what she’d read they could have died without his help.

Alice had stayed, too, and they’d loaded Lady and her pups into Emily’s car at about 3:00 a.m.

Before she’d left, Emily had stood by her Taurus in the parking lot with Ben. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked truly happy.

“I’m glad I was here.” He leaned against the side of the car, a genuine smile on his face. “It’s a thrill, isn’t it, to see new life into the world?”

“Yes.” They shared that bond now. “I wish you’d take one of the puppies when they’re weaned.”

“I’d like nothing better. But my situation precludes that.” There was that extensive vocabulary again.

Apparently riding high from adrenaline, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Take good care of them.”

Before she thought better about it, she stood on tiptoes and slid her arms around his neck. He stilled for a minute, then his arms encircled her waist and he drew her closer. He was all muscle and steely strength. His lips brushed her hair. “You’d better go.”

She stepped back.

“Good night,” he’d said and walked away into the darkness….

Sighing, Emily curled up on her side. The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed ten times, but still, she stayed where she was, fascinated by the pups burrowing into their mother, snoozing, stretching. The doorbell intruded on the moment. Reluctantly she got off the couch, crossed to the foyer, checked through the window and opened the door. “Hi, Dad.”

“Well, you don’t look sick.” He looked worried.

“I told Donna I wasn’t when I called in. Just that I’d been up all night.”

“Why?”

“Come see for yourself.” She tugged him through the foyer, over the Italian marble tile, into her great room. “Look.”

He tracked her gaze. “Harrumph.” But she saw his smile. “I can’t believe you kept that bitch after she got pregnant.”

“I love that bitch, Dad. Come look at the babies.”

He hesitated and she wondered what was in her father’s makeup that always made him resist his soft side. She knew he’d grown up poor and had been knocked around by the uncle who’d raised him, but still, a lot of people overcame those odds. Finally, he knelt in front of the box. “Hey, girl.” He didn’t touch the mom or pups, though. He just watched them and shook his head. “You used to love that storybook when you were little. Lady and the Tramp.”

“I remember.” She waited. “Mother used to read it to me.”

His body tensed but he stayed where he was, studying the dogs. “We had a cocker spaniel.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“It was before you were born.” He stood and jammed his hands in the trousers of his suit. “It took us a while to have you so we got a dog in the interim.”

“Did she like dogs?”

Her dad got a faraway look in his eyes. “Yes.” When he answered, his voice was gruff.

He never talked about her mother. All pictures of the woman who’d given birth to her had been destroyed when she’d left. Emily had no idea why she’d abandoned them; her father would only say she didn’t want to be his wife and her mother anymore. A few times, Emily had been tempted to search for her, but she didn’t have the courage. What good would it do to look for a woman who’d made it clear she didn’t want her young daughter, anyway?

“Do you ever think about her?”

His face flushed. “No.”

“I wonder where she is.”

“Last I heard she went to New York.” He crossed to the bank of windows and stood in the spring sunshine, staring out at the front lawn. “Before we married, she worked in a bookstore.” He shook his head. “She loved to read to you.”

“Not enough to stick around, apparently.”

It seemed as if her dad was about to say something, then he shook himself and checked his watch. “I have to go. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“You don’t have to escape. Stay for lunch.”

“No, I can’t. I have a meeting.” He kissed her cheek and strode to the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Emily sighed as she watched her father leave. She suspected he didn’t have a meeting, but that talking about his ex-wife made him uncomfortable. When she thought about her mother, Emily just got sad. She had to fight hard not to dwell on the fact that the woman who’d given her life didn’t love her enough to stick around and raise her. She’d never be that way with her kids, if she ever had any.

Slowly Emily sank onto the Aubusson carpet. “You’re lucky to have those pups, Lady. I envy you.”

Fatigue settled on her like a heavy blanket. How pathetic it was to be jealous of a dog.



BEN SWORE SILENTLY at himself as he rode the bus from the inner city to Corn Hill, where he used to live and where Trey still did. After finishing a day’s work that just about broke his thirty-eight-year-old back, coming off a night of no sleep, he couldn’t resist the urge to make this trip. He didn’t even know if Trey would be home, but after last night, he needed company.

As Ben got off at his stop and covered the few blocks to Trey’s upscale condo, he thought about delivering the puppies. He hadn’t felt that needed in two years.

And then what had happened in the parking lot with Emily: he hadn’t backed away from the hug and couldn’t help brushing his lips across her corn-silk soft hair. God, she’d felt good against him. Curvier than she looked. Just the right complement to the hard planes of his body.

A body that had given him grief for hours because of that simple indulgence. Damn it.

He reached the brick building on Hoffman Street where Trey lived and caught sight of the Porsche in the condo’s parking lot.

You got a Porsche? What’s wrong with you?

Just because you prefer those little Jags….

Their taste in cars had been as dramatically different as their taste in women.

Man, give me a redhead any day, his friend always said.

Not me. I’m a brunette connoisseur.

And he had been. Mallory had worn her black hair short, styled in a careless bob. She’d been rail thin, too, and most of the time she’d looked like she’d just walked out of Vogue. Hell, when had he begun to prefer strawberry-blondes with generous curves and freckles?

He slipped into the building along with another couple and made his way to Trey’s unit. Punching the doorbell, he forced Emily out of his mind.

Trey answered before he could ring again. “I don’t believe it. You haven’t been here in two years.”

Ben jammed his hands into the pockets of his best jeans. “Hello to you, too.”

“Hey, Ben.”

“So, are you going to invite me in or not?”

Trey moved aside.

Ben stepped into the living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows and designer furniture. He remembered his own condo and how he’d worked with a decorator—at Mallory’s urging—to furnish it. “I forgot how nice this place was.”

“Like yours was, buddy.” When Ben didn’t comment, Trey said, “Sit. Can I get you a beer—” He cut himself off. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ben hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in over eleven months. “I’ll take a soda.”

Trey glanced to his own drink on the table in front of a large-screen TV.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“All right.”

Trey got Ben his soda and took a chair facing him. “It’s a crime you’ve never visited me here just because you hit on hard times.”

Ben took a swig of the soda. “It was a little more than hard times.”

“It didn’t have to be. Your life as you knew it didn’t have to be over.”

“Mallory didn’t agree with you.”

“What did you expect from a snob like her?”

“She had her good points.” And she had. Loyalty just wasn’t one of them. Of course, he hadn’t given her much choice when he’d drunk himself into the gutter and stayed there for months.

Trey sipped his scotch. “So what brings you here?”

“I delivered pups last night. Five of them.” He shook his head. “It reminded me of Harriet. I got thinking about my old life, I guess.”

“No kidding? Where was this?”

“At Cassidy Place.”

“You still work there?”

“Not exactly. Long story.” He glanced around the apartment. “So, how’s everything going?”

“Great.” Trey’s expression intensified. “Since you seem more open tonight, I’m going to ask again if I can help get you out of this funk and back to your real world.”

“My real world has no appeal to me anymore.” Except for the fact that, if he wasn’t a bum, he might be able to go after Emily.

“Come on, Ben. I can help you get a job. A good job. You can start over in the corporate world.”

He felt himself weakening. “Nobody’s going to hire me after my two-year disappearance.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ben didn’t say anything.

Trey studied him. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”

He glared at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

“Why you’re here.”

“I came here to see you.” He scanned the living room. “Like I said, I miss sitting around and shooting the breeze with you.”

“I think you miss your old life. And I think maybe some female’s got you thinking that way.”

Ben frowned at the validity of what Trey said.

“I recognize the signs, buddy. I’ve known you for a long time.”

“There’s no woman, Trey.” He picked threads on a pillow. “But I have been thinking about what you said about investigating Mackenzie.” Ben wondered if, down deep, that’s why he’d come here tonight.

“I haven’t done anything more on it, like you said. But I could put out some additional feelers, if you’re interested?”

“I guess I am. What harm could there be for you to at least look into it?”

“None that I can see.”

He looked at this friend. “And it might help out the employees.”

“Just the employees?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather live like I do, than go back to where I went the year after Mackenzie screwed me.”

“Is playing it safe worth the price?”

It had been. Until Emily. But he wouldn’t tell Trey that, at least not yet. “Yeah, it is.”

Trey just waited.

Finally, Ben said, “So, okay, do it. Poke around some. Don’t go all out or anything. But see if you can get some dirt on Mackenzie.”




CHAPTER FOUR


EMILY PULLED INTO CASSIDY Place’s parking lot at five o’clock. The air was still warm and filled with the smell of budding flowers. Since it was Wednesday, she wouldn’t see Ben, but she wanted to get her mind off her own issues.

The first thing Emily saw when she entered the building was Alice standing by the stove with Jimmy and the three volunteers who’d come in to cook at four o’clock. The older woman’s expression was a mixture of anger and disgust.

“Oh, my God, what happened?” Emily asked, looking past them.

The tables and floor were covered with milk and flour, creating a gooey mass. Ripped apart bread bags, fresh vegetables and frozen meat had been tossed into the mess.

Alice shook her head. “Vandals. They ransacked the kitchen, then left their signature on the walls of the dining hall.”

“I don’t understand. Why would someone do this?”

Two police officers entered just as she asked the question.

Alice nodded to them. “Maybe they can answer that.”

The older cop, stout and stern-looking, crossed to Alice. “This seems like a case of pure vandalism, Mrs. Smith. You’re sure nothing’s been taken?”

“Not even the food that wasn’t destroyed.”

“Well, there’s no use in dustin’ for prints. This place would be a hotbed of suspicious ones. We took pictures and we’ll ask around the neighborhood if anybody saw anything, but if I were you, I wouldn’t count on findin’ out who did this.” He glanced at the other volunteers and at Emily. “Meanwhile, you all should be careful about coming and going here. I’ll alert patrol cars, but don’t walk out alone at night or hang around inside without a lot of people to keep you company.” He made some notes on his pad. “And get those locks reinforced. Heavy dead bolts at the top and bottom oughtta do it.”

“I’ve already called the chair of the board,” Alice said. “He’s going to have a locksmith here tomorrow.”

After the police left, Emily faced Alice. “I’m so sorry.”

“Damn it.” The older woman kicked a nearby stool, then pulled herself together. “Well, no use cryin’ over spilled milk—” she rolled her eyes “—pardon the pun. We have to clean up. And somebody has to tell them outside there won’t be a meal tonight.”

“I will.” They all turned to see Ben standing in the doorway. “I heard what the police said. I’m sorry.”

Alice gave Ben a grateful smile. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it if you’d tell the guests.”

As Ben left, Emily wondered why he was here on a Wednesday, so early in the evening. Shrugging, she rolled up her sleeves. “What can I do?”

Alice surveyed the kitchen. “Might as well start in here. Then we can see about the damage in the dining room.”

They began by tossing the trashed food into barrels, and went on to clean up appliances and countertops. They were about half finished when they heard banging in the dining room. “Oh, dear,” one of the volunteers said. “Do you think the vandals are back?”

Everybody in the kitchen stood still. Finally, Jimmy crept to the swinging doors, cracked one and peeked through. Smiling, he pushed the door all the way open. “Way to go Ben,” he called out.

There were about a dozen men straightening tables and righting chairs. Emily scanned the dining hall where graffiti had been scrawled on walls in ugly black lettering: epithets, four-letter words, boasts including I Am the King!

In an hour, both rooms were set to order. Ben entered the kitchen just as they finished mopping the floor. “Alice, got a sec?”

“Sure, Ben, for you.”

When she returned a few minutes later, she was grinning like a proud grandma. “He’s got a crew organized to stay tomorrow night and paint after we serve dinner.”

“How sweet,” Emily said. “I’m going to go thank them all.” But when she hurried into the dining room, Ben was gone.

The next night, Emily shared a quick meal with her father, and though it wasn’t one of her regular shifts to volunteer, she changed into old jeans spattered with paint, a T-shirt she’d bought on a trip to Italy, which read Ciao, Bella, and ancient tennis shoes. She arrived at Cassidy Place just after the painting had begun.

Standing in the doorway, she watched Ben direct the cleanup as if he’d been leading men all his life, as if he had experience being in charge. As she reached him, she noticed he wore low-riding jeans, a black T-shirt and battered sneakers, but he might as well have been dressed in a thousand-dollar suit for his commanding presence. “Hi. What can I do?”

He obviously hadn’t seen her come in. His smile was brilliant—for a moment—then the Mr. Leave-Me-Alone mask fell into place. “You don’t volunteer on Thursdays.”

“Not normally. But I knew you were painting so I came to help.”

He eyed her outfit. “I see you’ve had some experience.”

“Yep. Put me to work.”

“Alice and Pat can use help over in the entryway.” He handed her a paintbrush. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

His whimsy warmed her as much as his grin—as much as his uncensored reaction to the puppies. Given a different situation, this man would enjoy life. He probably had at one time. More than ever, she wished she knew his background.

There were nearly two dozen workers, so it only took a few hours to give the dining hall a couple of coats of paint. By the time they finished, Emily’s shoulders ached. But her heart was full. Humming softly, she cleaned her brush. When she finished, she looked for Alice, who was talking to Ben near the kitchen.

“The place needed a new coat of paint anyway. Looks good, don’t you think, Alice?” There was pride in Ben’s voice.

“Yep. Don’t guess it had been painted since Cassidy Industries did it years ago.”

“No, it hadn’t been.”

Alice focused her shrewd gaze on him. “How do you know that?”

Flushed, Ben caught sight of Emily. “Well, looks like we’re all cleaned up. I’ll be going.” He scanned the room. “Jimmy seeing you to your cars?”

Alice nodded. “Uh-huh.”

When he started to walk away, Emily said, “Ben, wait. Let us give you a lift home.”

“No thanks,” he called over his shoulder. “See you Monday.”

She frowned after him. “He shouldn’t have to walk home after doing this for us.”

Squeezing her shoulder, Alice said, “Watch it girl, you’re playing with fire.”

Alice’s words echoed in Emily’s head as she climbed into her car, waved Jimmy off and drove out of the parking lot. Damn Ben. He could at least accept a ride as payment for his help. Annoyed by his foolish pride, she cruised the few blocks near the soup kitchen. Hell, she was thirty-four years old and she could drive downtown if she wanted.

Ten minutes later she was about to give up when she spotted him, stopped for a light at Andrews Street. Emily was touched by the loneliness of the figure, silhouetted in the streetlight. His head was down, his shoulders slumped and his hands were stuffed in his pockets. As she swerved to the curb beside him, he glanced toward her car and did a double take. For a moment, he stood still. Then he stalked to the Taurus. Given his now-rigid stance, she had a fleeting thought that maybe coming after him wasn’t such a good idea.



BEN WAITED FOR THE LOCKS to click—at least she’d taken that precaution—then yanked open the door. He slid in, relocked the car from the passenger side and counted to ten. Then he switched off the engine and grabbed her shoulders. “Damn it, Emily. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Wide-eyed, she trembled in his arms. “Looking for you.”

“Down here? At this hour of the night?”

“If it’s that dangerous, you shouldn’t be walking about alone, either.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“So can I.”

“Princess, you don’t have a clue.” He wanted to shake her and kiss her at the same time. The scent of her hung delicately in the car, and her slender form, under his hands, felt good. Damn, he wouldn’t do this. He saw her wince when his grip tightened. Immediately he gentled his hold, but didn’t let go.

“Why are you treating me this way?” she asked, her voice throaty. “I was just trying to do something nice for you. Like you did tonight for Cassidy Place with the cleanup and painting. Like you routinely do for everybody there.”

“You’re always trying to do something nice for me. What does a guy have to do to discourage you?”

She sucked in a breath and, in the moonlight, he could see moisture well in those huge eyes. “I—I didn’t know I was…” A few renegade drops trickled down her cheeks. She sniffled. “Let me go. I get the point. I didn’t realize…” Her words trailed off in sob.

“Aw, shit,” he said and drew her to him.

She cuddled into him like she was meant to be there, which she wasn’t. She grasped his shirt and buried her nose in his chest. His hand creeping to her hair, he pulled out the tie and tunneled through the heavy mass. Its flowery scent wafted up to him and he breathed her in.

“I’m sorry I made you cry. Please, Emily, stop.”

“Okay,” she mumbled. Then, after a moment, she added, “I’m embarrassed.”

“Why?”

She shook her head, her face hidden in the folds of his shirt.

He set her away so he could look at her. The bright streetlights, combined with the glow from the sliver of moon overhead, gave him a glimpse of her blotchy skin and eyes, red-rimmed. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“Paul said I didn’t know men. Didn’t know how to read them, please them,” she choked out. “I didn’t mean to impose myself on you.”

His body, taut as a wire, tightened impossibly more. “Paul’s your ex, right?”

She straightened her shoulders and nodded. “Leave me some dignity, Ben. I won’t bother you anymore.”

He couldn’t let the comment go. “Listen, lady, and listen good. Paul is an idiot. First off, to let a perfect woman like you go, and second, for filling your head with that nonsense about you and men.”

He could tell she didn’t believe him. “That’s nice of you to say, but you’re just being polite.”

Polite? Holy hell, his body was about to combust from wanting her and she thought he was being polite. It was all too much. He lowered his mouth to hers. She started and he thought she might pull away.

Then she melted into him. Her body seemed to liquefy as she inched closer. Once Ben had her in his arms, rational thought fled. He was steeped in the feel and scent of her. Easing back into the seat, he tugged her onto his lap. She went willingly. His hand slid to her waist as his lips moved over hers. She responded in kind—opened her mouth and touched her tongue with his. He tasted her as deeply as he could. He caressed her breast; she was full and heavy in his hand. She moaned, and so did he. The kiss, the embrace, got hotter, deeper. A horn beeping and a screech of tires down the road shocked him back to conscious thought. Because he was afraid he might take her right there on Andrews Street in the front seat of her car, because he was afraid she might let him, he tore his mouth away.

“Sweetheart, we have to stop.”

“No.” She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

“Emily, please. You’re killing me.”

Slowly she drew back and looked at him, owl-eyed. “Really?”

He grinned and tucked her tousled hair behind her ear. “Really. Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

She smiled Jezebel’s smile and shifted on his lap. “Hmm. Some idea.”

“We have to stop,” he repeated.

“No.” The word was forceful, reminding him she could be a tough cookie when needed. He’d witnessed it at the soup kitchen. “Come home with me, Ben. Make love to me there.”

His jaw dropped open. He started to object, but months of loneliness silenced him. She was offering him a night’s respite from everything that had happened in the past two years.



FOR THE ELEVEN MONTHS he’d been frequenting the soup kitchen, Ben had tried hard to keep from getting to this place. Emotionally and physically. Emily’s bedroom was painted a pale peach and filled with finely crafted oak furniture. Impressionist prints decorated the walls and a thick peach-and-blue flowered rug covered most of the plank-wood floor. As Ben waited for Emily to come out of the bathroom, he sank onto her queen-size bed.

Problem was, it felt natural. It felt right to be here. Still, if he was a truly good man, he’d get up and leave before she came out of the bathroom. But he wasn’t going to do that because he was no longer the man he used to be. Lammon Mackenzie had seen to that. Instead, Ben unbuttoned his shirt, slid it and his T-shirt off and removed his boots and socks. He’d just gotten the snap of his jeans undone when the bathroom door opened.

Moonlight streamed into the bedroom through slatted blinds, catching Emily in its silvery net. She’d switched on a dresser lamp, and her hair shimmered in the light. Moved by her ethereal beauty, he swallowed hard and stood. Only inches away, she waited. She’d put on a sea-green little slip of a thing with barely there straps. He leaned down and kissed a strap. Her skin was so silky it made his body snap from hungry to voracious. He fisted his hands to gain control.

She didn’t help—running her fingers up his chest, licking his nipples. He manacled her wrists to stop her. Instead of devouring her, he planned to taste, to relish, to enjoy with epicurean delight, but his body was thrumming with need and he had to pace himself. When she raised her head, her eyes were wide and luminous.

“Do you have any idea how much I want this?” he whispered softly.

A blush crept up from the scoop of the silk to her neck. “I do, too.”

“You are so lovely.” His fingers slid from her shoulder to elbow, raising her gooseflesh.

“I want to be, for you.”

He lowered his head, starved for this kind of contact, for her. Pushing aside the strap, tugging on the top of the gown, he exposed a generous swell of her breast. Then a nipple. He closed his mouth over it. She started before letting out a soft moan. He suckled, fed on her body, let it nourish his soul. Soon though, he became greedy. Less gently, he pulled off the other strap, gave a yank so that she stood there naked, bathed in soft light like a Degas painting.

He forced himself to go slowly, to savor the experience. To that end, he brushed his lips down her throat, over her chest. Kneeling, he tantalized the silken skin of her abdomen. He felt her shiver, tremble with desire, so he linked his hands with hers and continued his slow exploration of the most beautiful female body he’d ever seen.




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