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Heart of a Hero

ANNE MARIE WINSTON

LORETH ANNE WHITE

LYN STONE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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THE SOLDIER’S SEDUCTION

ANNE MARIE WINSTON

About the Author

RITA® Award finalist and bestselling author ANNE MARIE WINSTON loves babies she can give back when they cry, animals in all shapes and sizes and just about anything that blooms. When she’s not writing, she’s managing a house full of animals and teenagers, reading anything she can find and trying not to eat chocolate. She will dance at the slightest provocation and weeds her garden when she can’t see the sun for the weeds any more. You can learn more about Anne Marie’s novels by visiting her website at www.annemariewinston.com

Dedicated to the memory of those animals who

perished when they were left behind during

Hurricane Katrina and with warmest thanks

to every rescuer and animal lover who responded

and saved so many others.

One

It wasn’t what he’d expected.

Wade brought the rental car to a halt along the curb and simply absorbed the sight of the modest, cozy home nestled in the small-town neighborhood. Phoebe’s home. Phoebe’s neighborhood.

He cut the ignition and eased himself from the car, taking in the pretty autumn wreath on the front door, the carved pumpkin on the second of the brick steps leading to the porch, the fall flowers in bright shades of rust, burgundy and gold that brightened up the bare spaces in front of the small bushes along the foundation.

He’d assumed she would live in an apartment. He didn’t really know why he’d thought that, but every time he’d pictured Phoebe since he’d learned she had moved away, he’d imagined her living in an apartment or a small condo. Nothing so…permanent, as this house appeared to be.

He’d gotten quite a shock when he’d finally returned home, eagerly anticipating his first sight of her—only to learn that she’d left California months earlier. He didn’t even want to think about the bleak misery that had swept through him, the letdown that had been so overwhelming that he’d just wanted to sit down and cry.

Not that he ever would. Soldiers didn’t cry. Especially soldiers who had been decorated all to hell and back.

Living at home had been difficult. Only two short months before he’d been injured, he’d gone home on leave for his mother’s funeral. While he was recuperating, his father made valiant attempts to keep things as normal around the house as possible. But without his mother, there was a big hole nothing could disguise.

He made casual inquiries about where Phoebe had gone, but no one seemed to know. By the time he was home for a month, he was desperate enough to start digging. The secretary of her high school graduating class had no forwarding address. A light Internet search turned up nothing. He finally thought to call Berkeley, the university she’d attended, but they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, give him any information.

He was about ready to consider hiring a private investigator when he thought of calling June, the only girl other than Phoebe’s twin sister Melanie who he could really remember Phoebe hanging around with in high school. Geeky little June with her thick glasses and straight As. Someone Melanie wouldn’t have been caught dead hanging out with, but as he recalled, a genuinely sweet kid.

They really had seemed like kids to his four-years-older eyes back then. But by the time the twins had graduated from high school, those years had no longer seemed to be of much consequence.

Getting in touch with Phoebe’s old friend was a stroke of luck. June had gotten a Christmas card from Phoebe four months after she’d moved. And God bless her, she’d kept the address.

That address had been quite a shock. She’d gone from California clear across the country to a small town in rural New York state.

Ironically, it was a familiar area. Phoebe’s new home was less than an hour from West Point, where he’d spent four long years in a gray uniform chafing for graduation day, when he could finally become a real soldier.

He wouldn’t have been so impatient for those days to end if he’d known what lay ahead of him.

He climbed the small set of steps carefully. His doctors were sure he’d make a full recovery—full enough for civilian life, anyway. But the long flight from San Diego to JFK had been more taxing than he’d anticipated. He probably should have gotten a room for the night, looked up Phoebe tomorrow when he was rested.

But he hadn’t been able to make himself wait a moment longer.

He knocked on the wooden front door, eyeing the wavy glass diamond pane in the door’s upper portion. Although it was designed to obscure a good view of the home’s occupants, he might be able to see someone coming toward the door. But after a few moments and two more knocks, nobody showed. Phoebe wasn’t home.

Disappointment swamped him. He leaned his head against the door frame, completely spent. He’d counted on seeing her so badly. But…he glanced at his watch. He hadn’t even considered the time. It was barely four o’clock.

The last time he’d seen her, she was a year out of college with a degree in elementary education, and she’d been teaching first grade. If she still was a teacher, she might soon be getting home. She probably worked, he decided as relief seeped through him.

If she wasn’t married, he thought, trying to encourage himself, it stood to reason she’d need income. And June hadn’t heard anything about a husband. If she had married, she hadn’t taken his name, which didn’t really fit with the quiet, traditional girl he’d known so well. And he knew she hadn’t taken anyone’s name because he’d checked the local phone book and found her there: P. Merriman.

Fine. He’d wait. He turned and started for his car, but a porch swing piled with pillows caught his attention. He’d just sit there and wait for her.

If she’d been married, he wouldn’t be here, he assured himself. If she’d been married, he would have left her alone, wouldn’t have attempted to contact her again in this lifetime.

But he was pretty sure she wasn’t.

And despite the good reasons he had for staying away from Phoebe Merriman, despite the fact that he’d behaved like a jerk the last time they’d been together, he’d never been able to forget her. Never been able to convince himself that being with her had been a mistake. He’d thought of little else during his long months of recuperation and therapy. He’d nearly reached out to her then, but some part of him had shied away from a phone call or an e-mail.

He wanted to see her in person when he asked her if there was any chance she’d let him into her life again. Sighing, he dragged one of the pillows up and leaned his head against it. If only things hadn’t gotten so screwed up at the end.

It had been bad enough that Phoebe’s twin Melanie had died because of him. Indirectly, maybe, but it still had been his fault.

He’d compounded it in the biggest damn way possible when he’d made love to Phoebe after the funeral. And then he’d run.

Phoebe Merriman jumped when the mobile phone in her minivan began to play the jazzy tune she’d programmed into it. That phone hardly ever rang. The only reason she had it, really, was so that Bridget’s babysitter could always reach her in case of an emergency.

Alarmed, she punched the button to take the call. A quick glance at the display had the dread in her stomach lurching uncomfortably. Phoebe had good reason to fear unexpected phone calls. And just as she’d feared, it was her home number. “Hello?”

“Phoebe?” The babysitter, Angie, sounded breathless.

“Angie. What’s wrong?”

“There’s a man sitting on the front porch. In the swing.”

The news was almost anticlimactic, considering that she’d been fearing a high fever, blood or broken bones.

“Sitting? And what else?”

“Nothing else.” Phoebe realized Angie wasn’t breathless; she was whispering. “He came to the door but I didn’t answer, so he sat down on the swing and I thought I’d better call you.” Her voice quavered a little.

Phoebe remembered how young her sitter was, newly graduated from high school and still living with her parents on the next street over, taking evening classes at a local community college. Phoebe had met Angie’s mother in her Sunday-school class and had felt lucky to find Angie.

“You did exactly right,” she assured the younger woman. “If all he’s doing is sitting there, just stay inside with the doors closed. I’m only a few blocks from home.”

She pulled into her driveway a few minutes later, the cell phone’s line still open. There was a gray sedan with a rental tag parked in front of her house. Maybe it belonged to whoever was waiting on her front porch.

“Okay, Angie,” she said. “I’m home. You stay right where you are until I come inside.”

She took a deep breath. Should she call the police? Common sense told her whoever was waiting on her porch probably wasn’t a criminal. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here in the middle of the day, unconcerned about the neighbors taking down his license plate or identifying him. She positioned her keys between her fingers with one key thrust outward, as she’d learned in the self-defense class she’d taken when she’d first started college. Then she pivoted on her heel and headed up her front walk.

She started up the porch steps, unable to see the swing because of the trellis of roses blooming across the front of the porch. She knew from experience that a person sitting there on the swing could see out much more easily than anyone could see in.

As she reached the porch, a very large man came into view. Adrenaline rushed through her as he began to rise from the swing. She angled her body to confront him.

“What are—Wade!”

As the man’s identity registered, a wave of shock slammed into her. It couldn’t be.

Wade was dead.

Her knees felt as if they might buckle and she groped for the railing behind her. The keys fell to the floor with a loud jangle. “You—you’re Wade.” An inane statement. Of course it was Wade.

He was smiling but his eyes were watchful as he took a step forward. “Yeah. Hi, Phoebe.”

“B-b-but…”

His smile faded as she took a step backward. One eyebrow rose in a quirk as familiar to her as her own smile in the mirror. That quizzical expression had been only one of the things she’d loved about Wade Donnelly. “But what?” he asked quietly.

“I thought you were dead!” She blurted out the words as her legs gave way and she sank to the top step, dropping her head onto her knees as incredulity warred with a strong desire to cry hysterically.

Footsteps rang out as Wade crossed the porch and then the boards of the top step depressed as he sat down beside her. One large hand touched her back. “My God,” she said, the words muffled. “You really are here, aren’t you?”

“I’m really here.” It was definitely Wade, his distinctly masculine tone one she would recognize anywhere. He touched her back again, just one small uncertain touch, and she had to fight the urge to throw herself into his arms.

He never really belonged to me, she reminded herself.

“I’m sorry it’s such a shock.” His voice was quiet and deep and rang with sincerity. “I was presumed to be dead for a couple of days until I could get back to my unit. But that was months ago.”

“How long have you been home?” He’d been deployed right after Melanie’s funeral. The memory brought back others she’d tried to forget, as well, and she focused on his answer, trying to ignore the past.

“About five weeks. I’ve been trying to find you.” He hesitated for a moment. “June gave me your address and she knew I survived. I assumed she—or someone back home—had told you.”

“No.” She shook her head without lifting it. She’d stopped reading the news from home the day she’d read his obituary. And though she’d sent June a Christmas card this year, they hadn’t exchanged more than signatures since she’d moved.

Silence fell. She sensed that he didn’t know what to say any more than she did—

Bridget! Shocked that she could have forgotten her own child for a moment—particularly this moment—Phoebe leaped to her feet, ignoring Wade’s startled exclamation. “Just—ah, just let me put my things inside,” she said. “Then we can talk.”

Her hands trembled as she turned away from the man she’d loved throughout her adolescent years and into young womanhood. The keys were slippery in her sweaty grasp and she dropped them again. Before she could react, Wade came to her side and stretched down for the keys.

“Here.”

“Thank you.” She took the keys carefully, without touching his hand, fumbled the correct one into the lock and opened her front door.

Reality hit her in the face again. Wade Donnelly was alive and waiting to talk to her. And she had to tell him she’d borne his child.

Angie rushed forward as Phoebe came through the door and closed it firmly behind herself. Before the sitter could speak, Phoebe put her finger to her lips to indicate silence. She walked through the front rooms toward the back of the little house and dropped her things onto the kitchen table. “Listen,” she said to Angie in a quiet tone, “there’s nothing to worry about. He’s an old friend I haven’t seen in a long time. Can you stay a little longer in case Bridget wakes up?”

Angie nodded, her eyes wide. “Sure.”

“We’re going to talk outside. “I don’t—I’m not inviting him in and I don’t particularly want him to know about Bridget, so please don’t come out.”

Angie nodded, an uncharacteristically knowing smile crossing her face. “No problem. I wouldn’t want to cause trouble for you.”

Phoebe paused in the act of walking back through the living room. “Cause trouble for me?”

“With people back where you came from.” Angie gestured vaguely. “I mean, I know everybody has babies without getting married these days, but if you don’t want anyone back home to know, that’s your business.”

Phoebe felt her eyebrows rising practically to her hairline. She opened her mouth, then closed it abruptly before hysterical laughter could bubble out. Dear innocent Angie thought she was hiding Bridget because she was ashamed of having an illegitimate child. If only it were that simple!

She swallowed as she slipped through the front door again, closing it securely behind her. Wade was standing now, leaning against one of the porch posts, dwarfing the small space. Lord, she’d forgotten how big he really was.

She drank in his appearance, trying to reconcile the grief she’d carried for the past six months with the reality of seeing him alive and apparently well. His dark, wavy hair was conservatively short compared to the out-of-control locks he’d sported in high school, but quite a bit longer than the last time she’d seen him, when he’d had a high and tight military cut that had stripped every bit of curl away. If he weighed an ounce more than he had then, it wasn’t noticeable; his shoulders were still wide and heavily muscled, his hips narrow and his belly flat, his legs still as powerful looking as they’d been when he’d been a running back for the high school football team. That had been almost a dozen years ago, and she’d been a silly middle-school teen at the time, already pathetically infatuated with her older, totally hot neighbor.

Then she realized he was watching her stare at him, his gray eyes as clear and piercing as always beneath the black slashes of his eyebrows. She felt her cheeks heat and she crossed her arms over her chest.

Taking a deep breath, she voiced the question burning in her mind. “Why were you reported dead if they weren’t sure?” Her voice shook with the remembered agony of learning that Wade was gone forever. “I read about your funeral…” The sentence died unfinished as she realized she’d read about the plans for his funeral. In his obituary.

Wade blinked, but before his gaze slid away from hers, she caught a glimpse of a haunting pain. “Battlefield mistake,” he said. “They found my dog tags but not my body. By the time the mistake was corrected, word had already gone out that I’d been KIA.”

She put a hand to her mouth, fighting the tears that desperately wanted to escape. All these months she’d thought he was dead….

“I was injured,” he said. “In the chaos that followed the explosion, a friendly Afghani hid me. It took the guy three days to make contact with American troops, and it wasn’t until then that the mistake was caught. The fellow who died whom they’d assumed was me had already been shipped to Germany for autopsy. They’d have caught the mistake eventually, but I sure gave a lot of people a shock. And just for the record,” he added, “Mom and Dad didn’t actually have a funeral. It was planned, then canceled. I guess you didn’t attend or you’d have found out.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again and simply shook her head. She still wanted to cry. Badly. I was having your baby at the time was so not the thing to say.

She risked a glance at him and was almost undone by the pain in his eyes.

Unable to bear being the cause of that pain, she said, “I couldn’t come back for the funeral.” She turned away and settled on the porch swing. “It took every penny I had to move here.” Well, that wasn’t a lie. She’d been lucky to find this place, luckier still that, although she had few assets, her credit history was good and with the teachers’ credit union behind her, she’d been able to qualify for a mortgage. It hadn’t hurt that the cost of living in California was so much higher than it was here. She’d never have been able to afford even this modest little home if she’d stayed on the West Coast.

“Why did you move?” he asked suddenly. “All the way across the country? I know you don’t have any family to keep you in California, but that’s where you grew up, where your roots are. Don’t you miss it?”

She swallowed. “Of course I miss it.” Terribly. I miss the cobblestones on the beaches and the freezing cold water, the balmy days and cooler nights that rarely vary. I miss driving down to Point Loma, or over to Cardiff, and watching whale migrations in the fall. I even miss the insanity of driving on the freeway and the fire danger. Most of all, I miss you. “But my life is here now.”

“Why?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why what?”

“What makes rural New York state so special that you have to live here?”

She shrugged. “I’m a teacher. I’ll have tenure in two more years and I don’t want to start over again somewhere else. The pay is good here and the cost of living is more manageable than in Southern California.”

He nodded. “I see.” He joined her on the swing, sitting close but not touching. He placed an arm along the back of the swing and turned slightly toward her. “It’s good to see you.” His voice was warm, his eyes even more so.

She could barely breathe. He was looking at her the way she’d dreamed of for years. Years when he’d been too old for her to do more than dream of, years when he’d been her sister’s boyfriend, more recently when she’d thought he was dead and she was raising his child alone.

“Wade…” She reached out a hand and placed her palm gently against his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re alive. It’s good to see you, too, but—”

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

“I can’t.” Fear infused her voice with a touch of panic. She started to withdraw her hand but he covered it with his, turning his face into her palm, and she felt the warmth of his lips whispering against the tender skin.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“I—”

“Phoeber, I’m not taking no for an answer.” The silly childhood nickname gave the moment an even deeper intimacy. “I’m not leaving here until you say yes.”

She stepped back a full pace as he finally released her hand. Dinner was a bad idea, given the way her heart still pounded at the mere sight of him.

She’d grown up in the months since she’d become a parent. She no longer believed in the kind of love she read about in romance novels. At least, not mutual love that was returned. And she’d stopped allowing herself to believe that what had happened between Wade and her that day at the cabin had been anything but his reaction to the shock of her sister’s death.

Now Wade was here, back from the dead, untying every neatly packed-away detail in her memories. Confusing her, rousing feelings she hadn’t let herself feel in more than a year, the warmth of possibilities in his eyes scaring her to death.

She wanted to go back an hour, to come home as always to an empty porch and no tough conversations.

But she had to tell him about Bridget.

It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to. A few weeks before she thought he had died, she’d realized she couldn’t keep Wade’s child from him. Telling him in an e-mail or on the phone was unthinkable, however. She’d been planning to visit him, wherever he was stationed, as soon as she could travel again, and a promise was a promise. Even if it was only to herself.

But not yet. She could hardly just invite him in, not with the bassinet and high chair, the board books and infant toys, unmistakable signs of a baby in residence. And anyway, Angie had class tonight so she wouldn’t be able to stay much longer. Phoebe needed to get rid of him, plan the best way to tell him of his fatherhood.

“All right,” she finally said. “Dinner tomorrow night because I have something to tell you.” The words nearly choked her.

Wade raised an eyebrow in question, but when she didn’t elaborate he made no comment. All he said was “Shall I pick you up at seven?”

“I’ll meet you,” she said quickly. “Are you staying in town?”

As it turned out, he was staying at a hotel on the other side of town. Attached to it was a restaurant that she knew had somewhat secluded booths along the walls, so she suggested they meet there. Then she stood on the porch and watched as he walked to the gray sedan.

He smiled at her over the roof of the car before he climbed in. “See you tomorrow night.”

She nodded, her heart stuttering at the warmth in his eyes, even though she reminded herself it wasn’t anything more than friendship she saw there. “See you then.”

But as she watched him drive away, she wondered if it wouldn’t just be easier to vanish, the way people in the witness protection program did. Anything had to be easier than telling Wade he was the father of a child. Her child.

Memories bombarded her….

She was twelve. Her twin sister Melanie perched beside her on a pink bike exactly like Phoebe’s purple one, and they both watched the neighborhood boys playing baseball on the local park’s grassy ball field.

“I’m gonna marry Wade when I grow up,” Melanie announced.

Phoebe frowned. “He’s going to be grown up before we are. What if he marries somebody else?” The thought of Wade Donnelly marrying anybody made her feel all twisted up inside. Wade lived across the street from them, and he was four years older than they were. Phoebe had had a crush on him since before she could remember.

“He won’t marry anybody else,” Melanie said confidently. “I’m going to make him love me.”

And she had.

When they were seniors in high school, Melanie had initiated her move. Phoebe went to the prom with Tim DeGrange, a friend from her Latin class. Melanie had asked Wade, even though he had just graduated from West Point that year, and to Phoebe’s shock he had said yes. Prom night had been long and miserable. Melanie had clung to Wade all evening. He’d looked so handsome in his brand-new dress uniform that he’d made Phoebe’s heart hurt, and she’d been suddenly so shy she could barely force herself to talk to him.

That had been the beginning. Melanie and Wade had dated through the early summer until his leave had ended and he’d headed off for his first assignment at a training school. It had been hell for Phoebe, seeing them together. But it had grown much, much worse when Melanie had begun seeing other guys while Wade was away….

“We’re not exclusive, Phoebe.” Melanie’s voice was sharp as she responded to the censure in her twin’s eyes.

“Wade thinks you are.” Phoebe was certain of that. She’d been all too aware of Wade’s devotion to her sister throughout the early weeks of the summer.

“I’m sure he doesn’t expect me to just sit at home while he’s gone,” Melanie said. “It’s not like he’s on a short vacation. He’s in the army.”

“If you’re going to date other people, you should tell him.”

But Melanie hadn’t listened. Which was nothing new. Melanie had never listened to Phoebe’s words of warning since they’d been very small girls.

It hadn’t taken Wade long to realize that Melanie’s affections for him were…something less than he clearly wanted. And it had wrung Phoebe’s heart when he’d come home on leave to find that Melanie wasn’t waiting for him. The two had had fight after fight. They’d finally broken up for good a year and a half later, after Christmas of the girls’ sophomore year in college. Phoebe only knew the details from a distance, since she’d gone to school at Berkeley, hours north of their home in Carlsbad, California. Melanie had stayed closer to home and, although the sisters had stayed in touch largely through e-mail and instant messaging, Melanie hadn’t volunteered much about Wade. Phoebe, always terrified her attraction to him would be noticed, had never asked.

After Wade and Melanie had broken up, Phoebe had noticed Wade came home less and less often over the next few years. His parents, who lived two doors down the street, had occasionally mentioned his travels to her mother, but they never shared enough information to satisfy Phoebe’s hungry heart. And after her mother had passed away at the end of her junior year at Berkeley, she’d heard even less.

Then came her high-school class’s five-year reunion. Melanie had invited Wade…and everything had changed forever.

Two

The following evening, Wade was ready a full fifteen minutes early. He went down to the bar in the restaurant and took a seat facing the door. And barely ten minutes later, Phoebe arrived. Also early.

He took the fact that she was early as a good sign. Did she still want to be with him the way he wanted her? Yesterday’s conversation on her porch had been confusing. One moment he’d have sworn she was about to fall into his arms; the next, she seemed as distant as the moon, and only slightly more talkative.

How had he missed seeing how beautiful Phoebe was all those years they’d been living on the same damned street?

Wade knew the answer as he watched her come across the room toward him.

Both Merriman sisters had been pretty, but Melanie’s dramatic coloring had always drawn more attention. Melanie had been a strawberry redhead with fair, porcelain skin, and eyes so blue they looked like a piece of the sky. Phoebe’s darker, coppery curls and deeper blue eyes were equally lovely but her quiet, reserved personality kept her from joining her exuberant, vivacious sister in the limelight. Which wasn’t a bad thing, he decided. Melanie had been volatile, her moods extreme, her desire for attention exhausting sometimes. Hell, most of the time, if he were honest.

She had had a sunny, sweet side and, when she was in a good mood, she was irresistible. But she’d always been excited about something, always looking for something to do.

Phoebe was calm and restful. And capable. She had always seemed very self-sufficient to him. If Melanie had had a problem, Phoebe had been the one to whom she’d turned.

Melanie. He’d successfully avoided thinking about her for a very long time. It seemed inconceivable that she wasn’t leading some man in a merry dance somewhere in Southern California. Instead, she was locked forever in his memory at the age of twenty-three.

The same age Phoebe had been when he’d realized he had been chasing the wrong twin for several years.

As she drew near, he drank in every detail of her appearance. Her hair was longer than it had once been, and she wore it up in a practical twist. She had on a khaki-colored pencil-slim skirt with a sweater set in some shade of a pretty green-blue that he didn’t even have a name for. Although she probably thought it was a modest outfit, the skirt ended just above her knees, showing off her slender, shapely calves and ankles, and the sleeveless top beneath the outer sweater clung enticingly to her curves. Tendrils of curls had escaped from the twist and danced around her face in the light breeze.

She was looking down at the floor rather than at him and he had a sudden moment of doubt. She’d been all he’d thought about since the last day he’d seen her. Even when he’d been in combat, or leading troops, he’d carried the memory of her deep in the recesses of his mind, where everything he couldn’t afford to think about in the heat of battle lived.

Guilt—and being deployed halfway around the world—had kept him away from her in those months after the funeral, but nearly losing his life in the mountains of Afghanistan had made him realize how sorry he would be if he walked away from the possibility of a life with Phoebe.

Had he waited too long? It had been fifteen months since the fateful class reunion that had changed their lives forever, since Melanie’s death and their unexpected intimacy after the funeral.

Did Phoebe regret that? Or even worse, did she blame him for Melanie’s death? That niggling little fear had lodged in his brain months ago and, despite the memories of Phoebe’s shining eyes at the reunion and the sweet way she’d kissed him a few days later, he couldn’t shake his worry. It didn’t help that deep down, he knew he was to blame. He’d been Melanie’s date that night, he’d known how possessive she could be and yet, when he’d taken Phoebe in his arms on that dance floor, he’d forgotten everything but the wonder of what had suddenly flared between them.

After her initial shock had faded yesterday, she’d been a little too distant for comfort. She’d always been reserved, but never with him. He’d enjoyed drawing her out and making her laugh, even when they’d been young, but he’d never realized just how much he took it for granted that she relaxed around him.

On her porch last afternoon, she hadn’t been relaxed.

Maybe she had a serious relationship, even though she wasn’t married or engaged. He knew because one of the first things he’d done was check out her ring finger. And besides, her name hadn’t changed. She had been listed as Merriman in that phone book. I have something to tell you, she’d said. It had sounded ominous and he’d had to struggle not to react. He sure as hell hoped she wasn’t going to try to brush him off for some other guy. He’d been a clueless idiot when they were younger, had failed to realize what a treasure she was. But he knew now, and any man who thought he had a claim to Phoebe could think again.

She was going to be his.

“Hello,” she said. “Is my lipstick smeared or something?”

He jolted and smiled wryly. She’d caught him staring. “No,” he said honestly. “I just couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Phoebe blushed as he rose and came around the table to seat her. To his astonishment, her entire pretty face turned pink.

Returning to his seat, he said, “You look beautiful. That sweater makes your eyes even bluer.”

Her face was still chair. “You don’t have to say that,” she said. “Melanie was the beautiful one in our family.”

“One of the beautiful ones,” he corrected, studying her expressionless face. “Melanie drew attention to herself and people noticed her. You did the exact opposite and managed to make yourself practically invisible most of the time. Quite a feat for a woman as beautiful as you are.”

Her gaze flew to his. Finally. “Thank you,” she whispered. And when their eyes met, he felt again that sudden shiver of knowledge, a “we are meant to be” moment unlike anything he’d ever felt with any other woman. He’d felt it yesterday when she’d first noticed him; if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been here now.

He could remember the first time he’d experienced it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Funny that he and Phoebe had grown up in the same neighborhood, had known each other all their lives, but suddenly one night, everything had clicked into place, and he’d recognized the woman he wanted to spend forever with….

He stood by the bar and finished his soda, watching his date. Melanie sat at a table across the room on some guy’s lap. She was shrieking with laughter and as Wade watched, she tilted a glass to her lips and drank. She listed to one side and nearly fell off the man’s lap, and Wade suddenly realized how drunk she was. Why had he ever thought she was what he wanted?

Because you were listening to the brain in your pants, dope.

He’d been stupid to say yes when Melanie had asked him to accompany her to her first class reunion. He knew her well by then, well enough to know that Melanie didn’t really want him so much as she wanted the effect she had on people when she walked in with a man in uniform. It didn’t bother him anymore the way it once had, but he wasn’t going to stick around here and wait for her for the rest of the evening. Phoebe had driven Melanie to meet him here, so he wasn’t obligated to get her home.

He raised his glass and finished the drink, then straightened and headed for the exit.

“Wade! Wait!”

He turned at the sound of the husky female voice, his irritation fading. “Hey, Phoeber,” he said. “I’m heading out. Melanie’s going to catch a ride with someone else.”

“You’re leaving?” Her dismay was plain.

He nodded. Over the beat of the music, he said, “Yeah. I’ll see you before I leave again. Promise.”

“But…” Phoebe’s eyes were fastened to his and he thought for a moment that she was fighting tears. Had someone hurt her feelings?

Behind her, the band segued into a familiar slow song and couples began flocking to the dance floor.

Phoebe swallowed and licked her lips. “I was hoping you’d dance with me tonight.”

Because it was Phoebe, and because he sensed she wasn’t very happy, he turned away from the exit. “All right.” He took her hand and began to draw her after him to the dance floor. Whatever had upset her, he could worm it out of her while they danced.

He pulled her into the middle of the crowded area and turned to draw her into his arms. There were so many people they were literally pushed together.

Phoebe’s slender body slid against his and settled as if she’d been made just for him. He realized suddenly that he’d never danced with her before. Never.

Would it have been like this between them before now if he’d been smart enough to dance with her? His heart began to pound and arousal began to stir. Automatically, he began to move to the beat of the music, and she moved with him, her soft curves a shocking temptation beneath his hands.

It was heaven. He turned his head slightly and breathed in her scent, and his entire body tightened.

What the hell…This was Phoebe. His little neighbor.

Not so little anymore. She was the same age Melanie was, though he’d bet his paycheck she was far less experienced. Stunned, confused, he actually stopped dancing right there in the middle of the crowd.

“Phoebe?” He pulled back far enough to see her face, wondering if she was feeling as overwhelmed as he was.

She tilted her head back and her entire face was shining as if someone had lit a lantern inside her. “Yes?”

When she met his eyes, something clicked into place. Something precious and irreplaceable, something that filled a spot inside him that he hadn’t even realized was empty. He forgot everything he’d been going to say, everything in his head, everything in the world. Nothing else mattered because everything he needed was right here in his arms, her eyes telling him that she felt the magic they were making together as well as he.

“Never mind,” he said at last. He pulled her close again, then grasped her hands, which had been resting on his shoulders, and slid them up behind his neck. The movement increased the intimacy of their position and he had to fight the urge to shift his hips against the soft body plastered to his. This was crazy. He was crazy. Crazy about a woman he’d known most of his life without really knowing her at all.

Phoebe made a small sound and turned her head toward him, nestling against his chest. He bent his head to hers and set his lips against her ear. “The rest of the evening.”

A shiver rippled down her spine and he delighted in the knowledge that she was as aroused as he was. Her head came up and their lips were a whisper apart. “What?”

He smiled and dropped his head farther, then brushed his nose lightly across hers. He wanted to kiss her worse than he’d ever wanted anything, including his first brand new bike and his ranger tab. But when he kissed Phoebe for the first time, he didn’t want an audience, and he didn’t want to have to stop. “You’re dancing with me for the rest of the evening.”

She shot him a glowing smile, and he swore there were stars twinkling and sparkling in the depths of those blue eyes. “All right.”

Dinner was the most nerve-racking experience Phoebe had ever had in her life. In the back of her head a steady cadence hammered: I have to tell him I have to tell him I have to tell him.

It was so insistent that she couldn’t relax and enjoy these moments she’d thought were gone forever. But she couldn’t tell him here, not in a restaurant.

Fortunately, Wade didn’t seem to want to discuss serious topics, either. He asked about her teaching job and seemed honestly interested. He asked questions about the little house in which she lived and how she’d found it. He asked about New York and how it was different from California, but he didn’t ask her why she’d moved. Thank heavens. Maybe he simply assumed that she’d wanted to get away from all the memories.

He told her a little bit about where he’d been and what he’d done. A lot of it was classified, but he could share generalities.

They didn’t talk about anything important. Neither of them mentioned the reunion, or the magical moments they’d shared, or what had occurred between them after the funeral.

And they didn’t talk about Melanie.

Melanie, for whom Wade had cared deeply for years before one evening of dancing…

“Phoebe, you’ll never guess who’s coming to the reunion with me.”

“I give.” She smiled as Melanie breezed into the living room of her small apartment on the weekend of their first class reunion. It had been nice to move away from home and get away from her sister, but it also was nice to see her from time to time. Melanie was lovable; she was just…too much sometimes. “Who?”

“Wade!”

Phoebe froze. She’d been expecting her sister to name a classmate, probably a male one, knowing Melanie. “Wade didn’t graduate with us,” she said carefully.

“I know, silly.” Melanie shook her head in exasperation. “I invited him.”

“But…”

“He’s going to wear his uniform.” Melanie waved a hand as if she was fanning herself. “I can’t resist a man in uniform.”

Neither could Phoebe, if that man was Wade. But she couldn’t say that to Mel.

The doorbell rang then, saving her from making a response. Melanie said, “That must be Wade. Let him in, will you? I’ve got to finish getting ready!”

Phoebe resisted the temptation to salute as she reluctantly moved toward the door and opened it.

“Wade.” It wasn’t hard to smile as she lifted her arms. It was much harder not to appear too thrilled. “It’s great to see you.”

“You, too.” Wade’s arms came around her and he kissed her lightly on the cheek before she backed away. “How’ve you been, Phoeber? You look terrific.”

He released her and stepped back a pace. “Seriously terrific,” he added, as he scanned the simple navy-blue dress she’d chosen.

“Thank you.” She knew she was blushing, and not just because of the admiration in his eyes. The feel of his hard arms around her had been overwhelming to senses that had been starved for even the sight of him. To suddenly be in her version of heaven was too much. She took a deep breath. “You look good, too. The army’s agreeing with you?”

He nodded. “And you’re enjoying teaching.” It wasn’t a question; they had stayed in loose touch by e-mail once or twice a month since she’d graduated from high school and headed off to Berkeley. As badly as she longed to hear from him, Phoebe always forced herself to wait at least a week before e-mailing him back. The last thing she wanted was for Wade to realize how she felt about him.

She nodded. “I think I told you I’m switching from first grade to fourth next year. It’ll be an interesting change.”

He grinned. “Yeah, the boys will have gone from being mildly annoying to thoroughly bratty.”

She laughed. “Hmm. Sounds like personal experience speaking.”

“Fourth grade was the year I got sent to the principal’s office for putting a tadpole in Miss Ladly’s Thermos of iced tea.”

“I’ve heard that story before. Guess I’ll be checking before I take a sip of anything.”

They smiled at each other and a companionable silence fell for a moment. But then she broke the mood. “How long are you home for, and where do you go after that?” He probably had no idea that she could recite every move he’d made in the nine years since he’d graduated from high school.

Wade’s face suddenly seemed guarded, his gray eyes darkening. “I have a few more days left of my two weeks’ leave and then I’m being deployed to Afghanistan.”

Afghanistan. The fear she’d always lived with rose, almost choking her. “Oh, God, Wade.”

“I’ll be back,” he said. “Who would come around to bug you once in a while if I didn’t?”

She forced herself to smile. “Just be careful.”

He nodded, reaching out a hand and rubbing her arm. “Thanks. I will.”

“Hey there!” Her sister’s voice singsonged a flirtatious greeting Phoebe had heard her employ dozens of times before. And just like many of those other times, Wade’s head swiveled around and Phoebe was instantly forgotten.

Lowering her eyes, she stepped away and busied herself gathering a few items for her evening bag while Melanie threw herself into Wade’s arms and gave him a loud kiss.

For the rest of the evening, she avoided looking at Wade and her sister as much as she could. It was just too painful.

Not long after they arrived at the reunion, she lost herself on the other side of the crowd. Her best friend from high school, June Nash, had come. June still lived in town. She’d married a former classmate and was expecting her first child. Phoebe felt conspicuously alone as she looked around. Everyone seemed either to be married by now or to have brought a date.

But June was genuinely delighted to see her, and they spent the mealtime catching up on the years since high school. Although they faithfully exchanged Christmas cards, their e-mails and phone calls had gradually slowed as their lives took different paths.

“So you’re teaching.” June smiled. “I bet you’re fantastic with children. I still remember how great you were when the student council helped with Special Olympics.”

Phoebe shrugged. “I enjoy it.” And the school district in which she taught was far enough from where she’d grown up that few people knew her as “the quiet twin.”

“That’s good.” June nodded her head in the direction of another group. “I see Melanie and Wade are an item again. I thought that ended a couple of years ago.”

Phoebe winced. “It did. But we’ve all stayed friends and Melanie invited him as her date tonight.”

Thankfully, the band began to play at that moment and she was spared any more discussion. June wasn’t dancing since her first child was due in less than two weeks and she said she felt like a hippo in a mud hole. But a group of girls Phoebe had known when they were all in the marching band dragged her up to the dance floor with them, and Phoebe decided she was going to enjoy what was left of the evening. She danced with a group of her classmates until the first slow song and then moved to another table to visit, forbidding herself to look around the room for Wade.

An hour later, she’d had enough. She’d seen the people she’d wanted to see, had danced and laughed and done her best to give the impression that life was treating Phoebe Merriman well. Melanie, as always, was the life of the party. She had abandoned Wade for a guy Phoebe barely remembered, and the two of them were knocking back drinks with a like-minded group.

This time Phoebe did look for Wade. He was standing alone by the bar and, as she watched, he set down his drink and approached Melanie. After a brief exchange, Melanie laughed and Wade turned and walked away.

When she realized he was heading for the door, she panicked. Plain and simple, she couldn’t bear the thought of Wade leaving without at least speaking to him one more time.

“Wade!” she called out. “Wait!”

Two little words. She could still remember them. Two little words that had altered her life. And not just hers. Three lives had been altered by that evening, four if you counted Bridget. If Wade had left the dance when he’d intended to, Melanie might still be alive. If Melanie were still alive, Phoebe and Wade would never have walked up to that cabin, would never have…and Bridget would never have been conceived.

Try as she might, Phoebe couldn’t regret those stolen moments of heaven she’d experienced with him. Nor could she imagine her world without her beautiful baby daughter in it.

“Would you like to go to a movie when we’re finished eating?” Wade smiled at her across the table. A movie. With Wade.

There was a time when she would have given an arm for that invitation. But things were different now. What she wanted and what was reality were two very separate things.

“Thank you, but no,” she said. “I have to get home pretty soon.”

He looked taken aback and, as she watched, the warmth in his eyes drained away. “All right.”

“Wade.” She leaned forward and took an irrevocable step. “I’d like you to come with me. There’s something I have to tell you.”

“You mentioned that yesterday,” he said, but she noticed he seemed to unbend a little. “Sounds scary.”

She couldn’t even smile. “I hope not.”

They left the restaurant and he followed her minivan directly back to her house. She’d offer him a glass of wine first, she decided, and then… then she’d have to decide how to tell him. But none of her opening lines sounded good. And now she had a new worry.

What if Wade didn’t want to be a father? What if he rejected Bridget and didn’t want to be part of her life?

Since yesterday, Phoebe had been trying to brace herself for sharing Bridget with her father when he came East. Which could be quite infrequently. After all, the man was probably going to be out of the country most of the time. If Wade didn’t want anything to do with them, their lives wouldn’t change appreciably.

But it would break her heart if he didn’t find Bridget as miraculous and irresistible as she did.

He followed her into the house at her invitation.

And it was then that she realized the flaw in her plan. Duh. How could she possibly explain the presence of a nanny?

Angie rose from the couch and gathered up her schoolwork. “Hi, Phoebe. Give me a minute to get organized and call my brother. I have an econ test tomorrow.”

Phoebe managed a smile. “Do you think you’re ready?”

Angie shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” She glanced at the ceiling. “Everything went fine this evening.”

Phoebe was having trouble getting out words. Her chest felt like there was an enormous weight bearing down, preventing her from taking one good, deep breath. “Good.”

Angie nodded and went to the phone. A moment later, she said, “He’s on his way.”

“I’ll walk out with you.” One more minute. Just one more minute to plan what she was going to say. Her hands were shaking as she followed the sitter to the end of her driveway. Angie’s brother was already rounding the corner and walking toward them, and Phoebe returned his wave as Angie moved away.

Then she took one last stab at a deep breath and turned toward her home again.

Wade stood framed in the doorway. His face was in the shadow, and golden light from her cozy little home streamed around him, illuminating the tall, unmoving figure. It looked right, she thought. Then she immediately censored the notion. There was no point in wishing for the moon.

Phoebe mounted the steps and he moved aside to let her enter. His brow furrowed as he watched her close the door behind herself. “You have a housekeeper?”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “No, I don’t. Angela is my nanny.” It wasn’t, perhaps, a perfect opening line, but she might as well jump in. She had to get this over with.

She watched the expressions move swiftly across his face: simple acceptance of an answer, then shock, and a growing incredulity as he took in what she had said. “Why do you have a nanny?” He looked around as if to confirm the obvious conclusion, but the books and toys had been put away in the large basket beneath the window, so there was no obvious evidence of a child in residence in the living room.

“I have a daughter.”

“I see.” His expression had gone so noncommittal she wondered what in the world he was thinking. Of all the reactions, calm acceptance wasn’t the one she’d anticipated.

“Wade?”

To her shock, he had started for the door. “This was a mistake,” he said. “Goodbye, Phoebe.”

“Wade!”

He stopped halfway to the door without turning around. “Yeah?”

“Don’t you even want to know about her?”

There was a long moment in which she held her breath. Then he turned around and in his eyes she saw a sadness so deep she couldn’t fathom what was wrong. Surely the existence of a child couldn’t be that terrible, could it? Maybe it reminded him of what he would never have with Melanie—

“No,” he finally said. “I don’t.”

“But—”

“What we did—after the funeral—meant something to me.”

And she had known it would. He’d had a sense of honor a mile wide as long as she’d known him. It was one of the reasons she had been so loath to tell him she was pregnant. Even after she’d gotten past the hurt and the anger that he’d never contacted her after what they’d shared, she’d feared his reaction. She knew Wade well. He would have felt obligated to ask her to marry him.

The last thing she wanted was a man who felt forced into a loveless marriage with his child’s mother. But dear Lord, if he’d asked her to marry him then…she wasn’t sure she’d have had the strength to turn him down.

“I assumed it meant something to you,” he added.

“It did!” He was the first and only man she’d ever been with. He couldn’t possibly know what that meant to her.

“But you’ve moved on.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a sound of humor. “You’ve moved on in a big way.”

She couldn’t follow…. “I didn’t have a choice,” she said.

“Is the father still in the picture? I presume you’re not married or you wouldn’t have gone out with me tonight. I hope,” he said coolly.

She blinked, completely thrown off stride. He thought she’d—he thought Bridget was—”No,” she said. “You don’t understand. There is no other man.”

“Maybe not now, but—”

“She’s yours.”

Three

Wade froze, his face a classic mask of disbelief. Finally, as if he were sure he hadn’t understood what language she was speaking, he said, “What?”

“She’s your child,” Phoebe said. She probably should have been angry at his initial assumption that there’d been another man, but he looked so totally poleaxed now that she couldn’t summon much outrage.

“Are you kidding me?” He sounded as shocked as he looked. “We only—that one time—”

She nodded sympathetically, understanding his shock. “That’s how I felt when I found out, too.”

“When you found out.” He pounced on that like a cat waiting for the mouse to come out just far enough, shock morphing into anger right before her eyes. “Just when in the hell did you find out? And why didn’t you bother to tell me?”

She forced herself not to stammer apologetically. Instead, she indicated the couch. “Would you like to sit down? I’ll explain it all.”

“Hell, no, I don’t want to sit down!” The words exploded with fury. “I just want to know why you didn’t tell me you were going to have a baby!”

She wanted to shrink into a little ball and hide beneath the furniture, exactly like a frightened mouse. The guilt she had lived with since his death flared to life. “I don’t know,” she said in a quiet voice. “At the time, it seemed like the thing to do. Now—for some time now—I’ve known it was wrong.”

“So why didn’t you look me up and tell me?”

“You were dead! At least, I thought you were.”

He fell silent, clearly taken aback. “I keep forgetting that,” he said in a slightly milder tone. Then his eyes narrowed. “But I wasn’t dead when you found out you were pregnant.”

She had to look away. “No,” she said, “you weren’t.”

Silence fell. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, feeling the rage crackling in the room behind her.

“I want to see her,” he said.

“All right.” She swallowed. “Tomorrow after school—”

“Now.” The word was a whip and she jumped as it lashed her ears.

“She’s asleep,” she said protectively. But Wade’s face was stony and unmoved when she looked back at him. “All right.” She blew out a breath of nerves and exasperation, realizing she’d been stupid to imagine she could tell Wade about his child without letting him see her for himself immediately. “I’ll take you up to see her if you promise not to wake her.”

There was another tense silence. Finally, Wade said, “So let’s go.”

She turned on her heel and walked to the stairs on shaking legs, leaving him to follow.

She was extremely aware of his large presence at her back as she went up the steps and down the hall. At the door of her daughter’s room, she paused. Her chest felt as if someone were sitting on it and she couldn’t get enough air. She’d swear she could feel Wade’s breath on the back of her neck and she didn’t have the courage to turn around. Over her shoulder, she whispered, “Her name is Bridget. She’s six months old.”

The door was open just a shred, and she grasped the knob and carefully pulled it wide, then stepped aside and gestured. “Go ahead.”

Wade nodded once, a sharp jerk of his head, and she watched from the doorway as he took slow, almost hesitant steps toward the crib against the far wall.

He stood there for a long, long time, looking down at the sleeping baby in the low light she’d switched on. He didn’t move to touch her, didn’t glance around the room at the charming wallpaper border with the red-and-blue alphabet-blocks motif she’d found, the gingham curtains or the shelves filled with board books, stuffed animals and toys to stimulate a growing baby. He just…stood.

Finally, she entered the room and went to his side.

“Is she really mine?” His low voice was wondering and she understood he wasn’t trying to offend her.

“She’s really yours,” she assured him softly. “You can touch her.” His big hands were still, grasping the rail of the crib. He made no move but Phoebe could practically feel the longing radiating from him. Finally, she couldn’t stand it. She took his hand, and when he didn’t resist, she lifted it and tugged him forward so his palm rested flat against Bridget’s small back.

Phoebe found she had a lump in her throat. Her daughter’s body looked so tiny and fragile with Wade’s hand covering her whole back.

Her own hand tingled where she’d touched his skin. It wasn’t fair. Even an innocent touch like that set her pulse racing. In the years before and after Wade, she’d never met another man who could affect her so effortlessly. She doubted he even knew he’d done it.

But she knew. For the rest of her life, she’d always be comparing any man she met to Wade. She hoped to marry someday, but she was realistic enough to know that she wasn’t going to be able to offer a man the kind of all-consuming love she felt for Wade. She also knew she could never pretend to care for someone just to get a ring on her finger, and she feared that there might be many lonely years in her future, broken up by the joys of motherhood.

She was distracted from her morose thoughts by movement. Bridget had squirmed and twitched in her sleep, and Wade had automatically soothed her with gentle circles on her back. The baby gave a sigh and stopped moving, but he didn’t. He extended his index finger and very, very lightly brushed it over the smooth petal softness of his daughter’s cheek. He stroked it back and forth over the wild red curls that sprang from her tiny head. Then his hand moved to touch her much smaller one.

And Phoebe thought her heart might break when Bridget grasped one big finger and held on for dear life, still sound asleep. A lump rose in her throat and she fought not to sob aloud at the tenderness of the moment.

She swallowed hard several times until she felt she had enough control not to cry. Then she opened her mouth to whisper an apology, but when her gaze landed on his face, the words dried up in her throat.

Wade had tears on his cheeks. Silvery in the moonlight, they made gleaming trails where they fell from his eyes and rolled down his face. He didn’t even seem to notice them, not even when one fat tear dripped from his jaw onto the back of the hand that still clutched the side of the crib.

His sorrow hit her harder than anything in the world had since the news of his death. And guilt was right on its heels. She was the cause of this agony. She was the source of the sadness that gripped him. She hadn’t told him about her pregnancy when she’d had the chance, and then she’d lost the chance, she’d thought, forever.

Wade turned away from the crib and made his way from the room slowly. She followed him equally slowly, her own battle with tears completely lost. As they moved down the hallway, she swallowed the sob that wanted to surge up and said, “Wade, I—”

“Don’t.” He held up one large hand in a gesture of denial without even turning around. “I can’t talk to you right now,” he said as he started down the steps.

Shaken by both his tears and the controlled ferocity in the low tone, Phoebe stopped talking.

And watched, stunned, as Wade walked out the front door of her home without another word.

Wade knew she went to work the next day because he was sitting in his parked car down the street, waiting for her to come home. When she emerged from her little minivan, she walked around to the passenger-side sliding door and unloaded what looked like a fifty-pound satchel, presumably full of work to be graded.

The sight of Phoebe lugging that obviously heavy load up her front steps aroused two emotions in him. The first was an instinctive protective urge. She shouldn’t be lifting things like that. The second was another blast of the anger that had consumed him since last night, when it had fully begun to sink in that he had a child—and had missed more than half a year of her life because Phoebe had chosen to deny him the knowledge of his fatherhood. He didn’t even know his child’s birthday but he could guess approximately when she had been born.

God, if only Phoebe had told him when she’d learned she was pregnant…it might have made all the difference in the world.

He’d have married her. Hell, he’d known he wanted to marry her since they’d danced together at her class reunion and he’d realized what had been right under his nose for years. But then Mel was killed and things had gotten more and more out of control after that.

She’d been extremely drunk and upset that night and it had been his fault. The thought would haunt him forever, and he knew it had to have occurred to Phoebe. He could have stopped her from drinking so much. He could have gone after her faster. God, was it any wonder Phoebe hadn’t wanted to contact him when she’d found out she was pregnant? If she blamed him for Melanie’s death, how must she feel about having slept with him the very day of her twin’s funeral?

He took deep, calming breaths as he got out of his rental car and strode along the sidewalk to her house. A twinge in his hip reminded him that he wasn’t quite as healthy as he wanted to be just yet. He had to get a grip. Yes, she’d been wrong, but shouting at her wasn’t going to help the situation any.

Even if it would make him feel one hell of a lot better.

The door had barely closed behind her when he turned into her walk and bounded up the steps. He rapped briskly on the door.

Phoebe pulled it open a moment later. “Yes? Wade!” She clearly hadn’t expected it to be him. Maybe she’d thought he’d gone back to California. Think again.

He stepped across the threshold, forcing her to step back. Her babysitter was just getting ready to slip out the door but she paused, brown eyes alight with interest.

“Bye, Angie.” Phoebe held the door open and waved a hand, ushering the younger woman out. “See you Monday. Have a good weekend.” The nanny was barely through the door when Phoebe closed it behind her. Then she turned to face him. “Hello. Would you like to come in?”

He snorted at her sarcasm, but he’d been thinking all night and he wanted to get things straight right from the get-go. “Okay. The way I see it, we have two choices. We go back to California, or we stay here.”

Her blue eyes widened to the size of saucers. “We? You can do whatever you like but—”

“I’d like to take my daughter back to California to meet her only surviving grandparent,” he said harshly.

Her lovely face registered horrified shock. “You can’t just take off with my child.”

“No, but I can take off with my child,” he said.

He could see the moment that his earlier words registered. Phoebe’s forehead wrinkled and her eyes widened as she said, “One grandparent? Wade, has one of your parents passed away?”

“My mother.” Anger was preferable by far to the grief that still gripped him at unexpected times. “She died seven months ago.”

“Oh, my God.” Phoebe looked stunned. Her eyes filled with tears. “I need to sit down.” Her voice was faint and she stepped backward until the couch hit the backs of her knees. Then she collapsed onto the cushion, her hands clasped together so tightly he could see her knuckles whiten. “Oh, Wade, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“She had a stroke,” he said flatly. “Ten months ago. It was terribly debilitating and she didn’t want to live. Three months after the first one, she had another.” But if she’d known she’d had a grandchild, things might have been different. He could see in Phoebe’s horrified eyes that the thought had occurred to her as well.

She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her eyes, elbows resting on her thighs. “I am so sorry,” she said in a muffled voice.

He knew she wasn’t offering condolences. No, she was apologizing—again—for not telling him he had a child. “I want Dad to meet Bridget,” he said, “before much more time passes.”

“But…I can’t just quit my job and go off to California.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said evenly.

Phoebe’s face lost what little color it still had. “Are you…are you going to fight me for custody?”

He took his time answering, finding himself a seat in the comfortable armchair angled close to the sofa. “Are you going to force me to?” He waited until she met his gaze. “I want to get to know my daughter. I want to be with her every day—I can’t get back all the time I missed but I sure as hell don’t want to miss any more.” He closed his eyes against the surge of anger that shook him and waited for her to argue.

“Okay.” Her voice was small.

He was startled. “Okay?” The Phoebe he knew might be quiet and calm, but underneath she was a fighter when she believed in something.

But she nodded. “Okay.” She swallowed. “I was wrong not to tell you as soon as I found out, Wade. I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. She was right—she had been wrong. Because she’d chosen not to tell him, his mother had died without ever knowing she had a grandchild.

He simply couldn’t utter the words to accept her apology yet. He liked to think he was a big enough man that he’d soon be able to forgive her…but he didn’t feel that magnanimous right now. Instead of answering, he stood and went out the front door to his car.

When he returned, Phoebe was still sitting on the couch with her hands clasped. She jumped up when he walked back in without knocking and dumped his duffel on the floor inside the door. There were tears on her face, which she hastily wiped away, and then she did a double take.

“What are you doing?” She already knew, and she was aghast.

“Moving in.” He shrugged. “It’s the only way to really get to know Bridget without taking her away from you.”

She nodded as if she saw the logic, but a moment later, she shook her head vigorously. “Wait! You can’t just move in here!”

“Why not? You and I have always gotten along well. We probably know each other better than a lot of couples do. And you have an extra bedroom. I saw it last night. I’ll pay rent.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head helplessly. Finally, she said, “This is outrageous. So how did you just make it sound so utterly logical?”

He grinned, feeling a lot more relaxed now that she hadn’t kicked him out first thing. “I’m gifted that way.” He’d hoped her obvious guilt would help sway her to his point of view and, apparently, it had worked.

Suddenly, he realized she hadn’t spoken. She was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. “What?”

She shrugged. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since you got off that swing yesterday.”

“I haven’t had much to smile about,” he pointed out.

Instantly, the angry tension was back in the room, humming between them like a downed electrical wire. He was about to speak again, to get more answers to the questions she’d never given him a chance to ask, when an odd whispering sound filled the air.

It was barely audible, but Phoebe reacted instantly, a blinding smile lighting her face. “Bridget is awake.”

His body reacted to that smile. But—

“A-ba-bah-bah-ba,” It was a little louder now. Wade glanced around the room and spotted a baby monitor on one end table. Aha.

Phoebe started for the stairs. “If I don’t get her fast, they’ll hear her down at the end of the street. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Wade smiled to himself as she took the steps two at a time. Bridget was six months old. That had to be a bit of an exaggeration—

“A-bah-bah-BAH-BAH!”

Whoa. His kid had a set of lungs on her like Pavarotti.

“Bridget.” Phoebe’s voice was a gentle singsong. “How’s my girl? Did you have a good nap?”

The baby gave a delighted squeal that just about split his eardrums. Did Phoebe have that monitor turned up too high?

“Hello, my sweet baby girl.” No, the monitor wasn’t too loud, because Phoebe’s voice sounded normal. “How was your nap? I’ve got somebody downstairs who wants to meet you.” He heard her chuckle. “But first we’d better change your diaper or he’s liable to keel over.”

He listened to the rustle of the plastic diaper and the baby cooing, to Phoebe talking and singing little nonsense verses. It sounded surprisingly right. But he shouldn’t be surprised. Phoebe had always had a sensible, motherly streak. Years ago, if someone had asked him if he could envision her as a mother, he wouldn’t have hesitated for an instant before saying yes.

A wave of intense sadness swamped him. And now she was the mother of his child. If he hadn’t been determined to find Phoebe, he’d never even have known he had a daughter.

Footsteps on the stairs alerted him that they were coming, and he shook off the moment of melancholy and braced himself for his first clear sight of his daughter. He knew from what he’d seen last night that her hair was some shade of red, but the low light of the nursery hadn’t yielded much more.

Phoebe’s legs came into view, and then the rest of her appeared. She was carrying a baby girl with the wildest red hair he’d ever seen in his life. Quirking in ringlets all over her head. Even at this young age, Phoebe had pulled the front of it atop her head with an elastic hair tie. Bridget’s hair was much lighter than Phoebe’s, and far more vibrant than Melanie’s pale strawberry had ever been. His kid’s hair looked like a live flame.

Her face was a pretty little oval with a slightly more determined chin than was probably good, her eyes blue and sparkling as they found him. His heart skipped a beat. He actually felt it trip and miss, and he took a deep breath. God, she looked a lot like Phoebe.

His throat closed up and he just stood there as they approached. Phoebe was talking to the baby as if she could understand every word she said, telling her about a friend of Mama’s from far away who was coming to stay with them for a little while.

A little while? Ha. She might not choose to accept it, but he was here for good.

He swallowed the thick knot clogging his voice. “Hi, Bridget,” he said. He was at a loss. What did you say to somebody this size?

The child grinned, a wide smile that sent a cascade of drool down her chin and showed him two tiny pearly white teeth on the bottom. Then she turned her head abruptly into her mother’s shoulder.

Before he could figure out what to say, Phoebe saved him. “Daddy,” she told his child. “Bridget, this is your daddy.”

The baby peeked out at him with one blue eye, then grinned before hiding her face again.

“Flirt,” said Phoebe. She walked across the room and expertly unfurled a large baby blanket while still holding the child on her hip with the other hand. Then she set the baby in the middle of the blanket.

Bridget wobbled for a moment, then seemed to find her balance and sit straighter. “She just started sitting up by herself two weeks ago,” she told Wade over her shoulder. “Why don’t you come sit down and play with us? She’s not usually shy and she should get used to you quickly.”

“All right.” He strove for a normal tone although his heart felt as if it were going to fly right out of his chest.

He joined them on the brightly colored blanket. Phoebe was building a tower of blocks. Every time she’d get three or four stacked up, Bridget swiped her hand and knocked them over, squealing and chortling. Once, when Phoebe stopped for a moment, the baby smacked her little hands together and yelled, “Ack!” in a tone that left no doubt what she wanted.

Wade hastily reached for another block. “Way to get what you want, kid.”

Phoebe chuckled. “She has a mind of her own. And if she doesn’t get her way, she lets me know about it.”

“Reminds me of Melanie.” He’d said it without thinking. The moment the words hit the air, he knew they’d been a mistake.

The happiness drained out of Phoebe’s eyes, leaving them guarded and sorrowful. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Bridget does seem to have a stronger personality than I ever had.”

He wanted to protest. There was nothing wrong with Phoebe’s personality. Just because Mel had been more vocal about everything under the sun didn’t mean Phoebe’s personality was any less pleasing. She just wasn’t loud and attention-grabbing, that was all. But he didn’t know how to say that in a way that made much sense, and he could almost feel the resistance in the air. She didn’t want to talk about Melanie, that much was clear.

A pang of guilt shot through him, tempering the anger that still simmered. He was blaming Phoebe for not telling him about the baby…but he’d been responsible for her sister’s death. No wonder she hadn’t told him.

The baby had grabbed a board book and was busily manhandling the sturdy pages. As he watched, she put it in her mouth.

“Here, honey.” Phoebe extended a brightly colored set of rings and confiscated the book. “We don’t chew on books.”

Wade looked at the frayed corners of the one she held. “Apparently, some of us do.”

She smiled, and abruptly it felt right between them again. “I’m working on it,” she said wryly. Then she glanced at her watch. “It’ll soon be dinnertime. Would you like to stay and eat with us?”

He raised one eyebrow.

“Are you planning to stay here tonight?”

“That’s the plan.” He stood and folded his arms. “If you spend the weekend teaching me how to take care of Bridget, then I could keep her while you work.”

“Don’t you have to work or something?” she asked in an exasperated tone.

“Or something,” he agreed.

“So you have to go back to California.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. I’m pretty sure I’m retiring from the service.”

She looked shocked. “But that’s what you’ve always wanted to do. To be. A soldier.”

“I’m not physically able to perform on the battlefield to the army’s satisfaction anymore,” he said quietly. “And I’m not interested in a desk job staring at a computer monitor all day. So I’m taking early retirement.”

“But what will you do?”

He shrugged. “I’m checking out a number of options. One of them is with a freelance security firm out of Virginia. I’d be establishing a West Coast office.”

“So you’d be going home?”

He noted with satisfaction that she still referred to California as home. But all he did was nod. “That would be the plan.” He shrugged. “But now, everything has changed.” He looked down at his daughter, who had rolled onto her stomach and was making swimming motions as she tried valiantly to get to another toy just out of reach. “Everything.”