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A Bride Until Midnight

Sandra Steffen

Something Unexpected

Wendy Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Bride Until Midnight

Sandra Steffen

Dear Reader,

As I write this letter, a song about going home again is playing on the radio. the lyrics call to me, for a few years ago my childhood home was nearly destroyed in a fire. By some lovely miracle, my parents got out alive.

Recently I had the pleasure of watching them as they celebrated a milestone anniversary. When asked to share the secret for such a long and successful marriage, my soft-spoken mother said, “divorce, never. Murder, maybe.”

Ah, the stuff of good old fairytales. It’s safe to say I came by my sense of humor and my determination naturally.

My parents couldn’t go home again after the fire, but I invite you to step into that feeling of homecoming with me as you begin my new series, Round-the-Clock Brides. Turn the page to read A Bride Until Midnight …

I hope you love every word.

Welcome home,

Sandra Steffen

About the Author

SANDRA STEFFEN has always been a storyteller. She began nurturing this hidden talent by concocting adventures for her brothers and sisters, even though the boys were more interested in her ability to hit a baseball over the barn—an automatic homerun. She didn’t begin her pursuit of publication until she was a young wife and mother of four sons. Since her thrilling debut as a published author in 1992, more than thirty-five of her novels have graced bookshelves across the country.

This winner of a RITA® Award, a Wish Award, and a national readers’ choice Award enjoys traveling with her husband. Usually their destinations are settings for her upcoming books. They are empty nesters these days. Who knew it could be so much fun? Please visit her at www.sandrasteffen.com.

For Denis & Mary Lou Rademacher,

two of the finest role models and

well-loved parents in the world.

Chapter One

Sheet lightning flirted with the treetops on the horizon as Innkeeper Summer Matthews started up the sidewalk of her inn. For a few seconds she could see the bridge over the river and the steeple of the tallest church in Orchard Hill. An instant later the starless sky was black again.

Directly ahead of her, The Orchard Inn beckoned. Nestled on a hill overlooking the river, the inn was just inside the Orchard Hill city limits. Built of sandstone and river rock, it was tall and angular and had a roof that looked like a top hat from here. The large windows, wide front walkway and ornate portico were welcoming. A single antique lamp glowed in the bay window on the first floor. Upstairs the flicker of laptops and televisions, modern technology in a 120-year-old inn, cast a blue haze on the wavy window panes.

Only one window remained dark.

Summer went in through the front door, the purling of the bell blending with the lively voices of her friends who were watching the front desk in her absence. She listened at the stairs for guests and checked the registration book on her way by. K. Miller, the last member of the restoration crew scheduled to begin work on the train depot first thing in the morning, still hadn’t checked in. Wondering what was keeping him, she followed her friends’ voices to her private quarters.

“You’re home early.” Madeline Sullivan, whose surprise engagement to Riley Merrick was the reason for tonight’s emergency wedding-planning session, was the first to notice Summer. Madeline’s blue eyes shone with newfound joy.

Chelsea Reynolds looked up from her laptop, and Abby Fitzpatrick turned in her chair.

Giving Summer a quick once over from head to toe, Abby said, “I saw the new veterinarian getting into his truck with roses and a bottle of wine. And you wore a dress, which means you shaved your legs. What are you doing home already?”

Summer went to the refrigerator for a Diet Coke before joining the others at her table. “Did you know that goats, when born, land on only three feet?”

There was a moment of silence while the others searched for the relevance in that little pearl of wisdom.

“Goats,” Abby repeated as Chelsea deftly plucked a blade of straw from Summer’s light brown hair.

“Do you have experience birthing goats?” Madeline asked.

“I do now.” She popped the top of her soda can and poured the cold beverage into a glass. “Nathan’s service called during dinner. One of the Jenkins’s goats was struggling to deliver. I went along on the emergency house call. The twins are fine, and the mother is resting, but I definitely shaved my legs for nothing.”

Madeline was a nurse whose blond hair and blue eyes gave her an angelic appearance. Blond, too, Abby wore her hair in a short, wispy style that suited her petite frame but camouflaged an IQ that rivaled Einstein’s. Chelsea had dark brown hair, a curvy build and a no-nonsense attitude. All three of her friends burst out laughing, and Summer couldn’t help joining in.

Looking at these women sitting around her table on this quiet Tuesday night, it occurred to her that when she’d arrived in Orchard Hill six years ago at the tender age of twenty-three, she’d been as fragile and wobbly as one of the Jenkins’s newborn goats. Madeline, Chelsea and Abby had befriended her, and in doing so, they’d held her up until she’d gotten both feet firmly underneath her. A year and a half ago, they’d all done the same for Madeline when her fiancé was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident. Now Madeline was standing on her own again, about to be married to the man who’d received Aaron’s heart.

“How are the wedding plans coming?” Summer asked.

“Amazing,” Abby said. “In ten days the most miraculous wedding of the century will go down in history right here in Orchard Hill.”

Summer wished Abby hadn’t worded it exactly that way. She wanted Madeline’s wedding to be a dream come true—nobody deserved this happiness more—but a wedding that went down in history would undoubtedly be high profile. The thought of that sent dread to the pit of her stomach.

She reminded herself that most people harbored a profound desire to be remembered for something, to leave their mark on the world. At the very least they wanted their elusive five minutes of fame.

Not Summer.

She’d already made her splash and a messy one at that. Not that anyone in Orchard Hill knew the melodramatic details of her former life. As much as she loved this town and the life she’d found here, she preferred her little secret to remain just that. Hers.

“I think we’ve done all we can do until morning,” Chelsea said. The official wedding planner, she closed her laptop.

The others gathered up their things, too.

Leading the little entourage out the door, Chelsea said, “We have the church, the reception hall, the caterers, the gown and the guest list. We still have to talk about music, flowers, table favors and Madeline’s vows, but we’re in good shape. Don’t you agree, Madeline?”

Summer wondered when Chelsea would notice that Madeline wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even following anymore. She’d stopped in the center of the courtyard and, as she often did, lifted her face to the dark sky.

“I want apple blossoms on the altar and no gifts,” she said. “I want a simple wedding.”

From across the courtyard, Chelsea said, “Apple blossoms on the altar will be lovely, and we can request no gifts. But a simple wedding with three hundred guests?”

“Two-hundred-ninety-eight,” Madeline said, blinking up at the starless sky. “Riley spoke with his brothers. They don’t see how they can possibly get out of their commitments on such short notice. They’ll both be out of the country for the wedding.”

“Two of the most eligible bachelors on the guest list aren’t coming?” Abby asked.

“Shoot,” Chelsea said at the same time.

It was all Summer could do to keep the relief from bubbling out of her. Kyle Merrick was Riley’s older brother and had grown up in Bay City on Michigan’s gold coast. He’d caused quite a stir when he’d gotten kicked out of his Ivy League college, but it was his exposé of a professor’s wrongdoing that gained him real notoriety. He’d accepted the formal apology from the university but turned his nose up at their invitation to return. With an attitude like his, it wasn’t surprising he’d become a nationally acclaimed journalist. As a newspaperman, he’d likely caught her exclusive the day she’d made the front page of the society section of every major newspaper on the eastern seaboard.

He wasn’t coming to his brother’s wedding. Summer couldn’t contain her happiness about that. It was all she could do to keep from performing cartwheels across the courtyard.

“Before you go,” Madeline called. “I want all three of you to close your eyes.”

Abby was the first to do as Madeline asked. Although Chelsea complained, she closed her eyes, too. Summer was still smiling when she finally acquiesced.

“Take a deep breath,” Madeline continued in her quiet, lilting voice that for a moment seemed almost otherworldly. “Now, slowly release it and draw in another. Relax. Breathe. With your eyes closed, picture the man of your dreams. Do you see him? Maybe he’s rugged and moody, or shirtless and sexy, or brainy and pensive.”

An image sauntered unbidden across Summer’s mind. No matter how many dates she accepted, or how much she enjoyed the attention of the rugged, earthy men of Orchard Hill, her fantasy man wasn’t clad in faded jeans or chinos. He was loosening the button on a fine European suit.

Champagne taste on a beer budget.

“Believe your paths will cross, and they will,” Madeline said. “I’m living proof. Now open your eyes.”

All four of them opened their eyes at the same time. They were still blinking when lightning flashed across the horizon. As if in answer, the lights in the inn flickered.

“The universe just sent us a sign,” Madeline whispered in awe. “Your lover is on his way.”

Summer didn’t know if Chelsea and Abby believed in Madeline’s prediction, but they got in Chelsea’s car without disputing it. Madeline had always been intuitive and romantic. Since she’d discovered wealthy architect Riley Merrick and had proceeded to fall in love with him, she’d become even more wise and serene. She believed in destiny and positive thoughts manifesting into positive results. And she believed the flickering lights were a sign.

Summer believed in the cantankerous electrical system in her inn. If that storm came any closer, a fuse would blow, and her lights would go out. There was nothing magical about it, she thought, after Madeline left, too. And the balmy breeze fluttering the loose gathers in her dress’s bodice wasn’t a prelude to a lover’s touch.

It was just the wind.

Tall and muscular, the man crossing Summer’s threshold watched her watching him. Although she couldn’t see his eyes clearly, she saw his bold smile.

Bold with a capital B.

There were times when a woman didn’t appreciate such over-confidence. This wasn’t one of them.

His chest was bare. Why, she didn’t know. He didn’t seem to care that he was dripping on an impeccably tailored, white shirt lying on the floor. He kicked it aside with the toe of one worn boot. Summer knew there was something incongruous about his attire, but this was her dream, and she was enjoying it too much to rouse herself enough to analyze the inconsistencies.

Thunder rolled, ever closer, the sound moving through the darkness, approaching as rhythmically and steadily as the man. And what a man—a long, lean paradigm of natural elegance, honed muscle and masculine intent. Apparently unaffected by the fury of the storm, he smiled as he leaned over her. She held her breath as she waited to be awakened with his kiss.

Thunder cracked right outside the window, and Summer jerked awake. She blinked. Floundered.

Where was she?

Rain pelted the windowpanes, and thunder rumbled again. As she ran her hand over the cushion beside her, her memory gradually returned. She’d curled her feet underneath her at one corner of the settee in the central foyer to wait for the last guest to arrive. She must have fallen asleep. Had she been dreaming? The details of the fantasy escaped her, but there was a yearning in her belly that reminded her how long it had been since she’d known a lover’s touch.

Darn Madeline and her silly predictions.

Summer squinted into the darkness. Darkness?

The lights had been on when she’d curled up with her magazine. The power must have gone out. Luckily she’d anticipated the likelihood of that and had put her candle lighter and hurricane lamp on the registration counter soon after Madeline, Chelsea and Abby left.

Now that she had her bearings, she padded barefoot to the desk where she easily located the lighter and removed the glass chimney from the hurricane lamp. She was in the process of lighting the wick when a fist pounded the door behind her.

She spun around, the lighter still flaming. Lightning blazed across the sky just then, outlining the dark figure of a man on her portico.

She reeled backwards.

“I’m here for the room,” he said, water sluicing off his rain slicker.

K. Miller, the missing carpenter, she thought. Of course.

With her heart still racing, she took her finger off the lighter’s trigger then turned down the wick of the lamp. “The power’s out,” she called, after replacing the globe.

“It went out with that last streak of lightning as I was pulling in,” he said loudly enough to be heard through her front door. “I don’t need electricity. All I need is a dry corner to crash until morning.”

She unlocked the door. Leaving him space to enter, she slipped behind the counter where she normally greeted guests.

There was something oddly familiar about the way he stepped over the threshold. Which was strange, because she was sure she didn’t know him.

Wet, his hair was the color of her favorite coffee, dark and rich and thick. His eyebrows were straight and slightly lighter than his hair, his eyes too shadowed for her to discern their color from here. A drop of water trailed down his cheek before getting caught on the whisker stubble darkening his jaw. He hung his jacket on the coat tree next to the door then started toward the desk.

Green. His eyes were green and so deep they shot a bolt of electricity straight through her. The atmosphere in the room thickened—desire at first sight. He must have felt it, too, because he wasn’t moving anymore, either.

“Are you the innkeeper?” he finally asked, dropping his duffel bag at his feet.

“Summer Matthews, yes. Welcome to The Orchard Inn.”

Maybe it was the lamplight. Maybe it was the late hour and the rain, but her voice sounded throatier and somehow sultrier in her own ears. If one of them didn’t put an end to this soon, clothes were going to start falling off.

“Everyone else arrived hours ago,” she said, taking a stab at normalcy.

He delved into his back pocket. It took her a little longer than usual to realize that he was probably fishing for his credit card so he could register.

She pushed the leather-bound book toward him and said, “As long as the power is out, my computer is, too. If you’d just sign the registry, we can settle up in the morning.”

He hurriedly wrote his name. Leaving the book open on the other side of the counter, he turned his attention back to her. That delicious warmth uncurled deep inside her again.

Well well well. Here she was having sexy thoughts about a rugged, earthy man who definitely was not wearing a two-hundred-dollar tie. There was hope for her yet.

“You’re in Room Seven.” She handed him a key, since the electronic key card wouldn’t work during a power outage, the number seven dangling from a metal ring. “Upstairs, to your right, then all the way to the end of the hall.”

He accepted the key and her venture back to decorum without saying a word. After picking up his duffel bag, he headed for the stairs.

“Wait,” she called.

He turned around slowly, his gaze steady and bold. Bold with a capital B.

Outside, thunder rumbled. Inside, lamplight flickered like temptation.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You’ll need this flashlight.”

He wrapped his fingers around one end of the light. The logical corner of her brain that was still functioning knew she was supposed to release her end now, but she couldn’t seem to do more than tip her head back and look at him.

He was handsome but not in a classical way. His features were too rugged for that, his jaw darkened with beard stubble and damp from the rain. His face was lean and angular, forehead, cheekbones, chin; his lips were just full enough to cause a woman to look twice. There was a small scar below his nose, but it was his eyes that caused a ripple to go through her. Something about him brought out a yearning to hold and be held, to touch and be touched.

He must have felt it, too, because his gaze delved hers before dropping to her mouth. From there, it was a natural progression to her shoulders, bared by her sleeveless dress, and finally to the V that skimmed the upper swells of her breasts.

He drew a slow breath, and it was as if they were both suspended, on the brink of taking the next step. If either of them made the slightest movement, be it a gentle sway or the hint of a smile, there would be no turning back.

She finally garnered the wherewithal to release the flashlight and step away. Giving herself a mental shake, she said, “I hope you enjoy your stay at the inn. Good night, Mr. Miller.”

She’d surprised him. No doubt a man with his masculine appeal was accustomed to a different outcome. But he didn’t press her. Instead, he turned the flashlight on and followed the beam of light up the stairs.

“It’s not Miller,” he said, halfway to the top.

“Pardon me?” she asked.

“My name isn’t Miller. It’s Merrick. Kyle Merrick.”

The thud of his footsteps had quieted, and his door had closed before Summer moved. Looking dazedly around the room, her gaze finally fell upon the open registration book. She ran to it and spun it around. By the light of the oil lamp she read the bold scrawl.

Kyle Merrick.

Oh no.

A few hours ago Madeline had said that neither of Riley’s brothers was planning to attend the wedding. So what was Kyle doing here?

Regardless of his reasons, the wealthy, world-renowned journalist with a nose for scandal and a penchant for stirring up trouble was spending the night right upstairs, and it was too late for Summer to do anything about it.

The Merricks were self-made millionaires. The jacket hanging on the coat rack was likely made in Italy. Kyle probably owned a closet full of European suits. No matter how far she’d thought she’d come these past six years, her taste in men hadn’t changed.

She’d been wildly attracted to him and had come very close to succumbing to the desire he brought out in her. There was no other way to describe the awareness that had arced between them. She couldn’t explain it, and she couldn’t deny that she’d felt it. A delicious current lingered even now. She had little doubt an attraction like that would have led to more passion than she’d experienced in a long time.

But he was Kyle Merrick.

And she was … well, Summer wasn’t her given name.

Chapter Two

Kyle Merrick’s Jeep Wrangler was equipped with the most advanced navigational system on the market, but he rarely turned it on. Relying on technology dulled a man’s natural instincts. Besides, it was more fun to use the sense of direction he’d been born with. It came in handy when he needed to find a way out of dicey situations in some of the world’s largest cities, poorest villages and, on occasion, women’s hotel rooms.

Locating the house where his brother was staying didn’t require navigational gadgetry, carefully honed skill or God-given talent. Once Kyle had narrowed it down to the general vicinity—east of the river and north of Village Street—Riley’s silver Porsche in the driveway had been impossible to miss.

Kyle parked the Jeep and got out. As he sauntered to the door, he noted his surroundings, something else that came naturally. This neighborhood was in an old section of Orchard Hill, but, unlike the residences on the national historic registry, the houses here were small and nondescript. This bungalow wasn’t Riley’s type of house at all. Which meant it was Madeline Sullivan’s.

Since there was no sense putting off the inevitable, he raised his fist and knocked on the door. A large, brown dog bounded outside the instant the door was opened.

While the dog took care of business on an unsuspecting hedge, the Merrick brothers faced one another, each carefully assessing the other.

Riley was the first to speak. “I wondered which one of you The Sources would send.”

Kyle grimaced because this did feel a little like a mission. He’d wanted Braden to come but had lost the toss.

He and his brothers had a father in common and three separate mothers. It accounted for the similarities in their height and build and the differences in their eye colors and personalities. They hadn’t always gotten along, but they’d always been a united front when it came to their mothers, otherwise known as The Sources. In this instance, Kyle didn’t blame them for being concerned about Riley’s recent, hasty engagement.

Apparently Riley understood that this confrontation was inevitable. He threw the door wide and said, “You might as well come in.”

Kyle and the dog followed him through a comfortably furnished living room where blueprints were spread across a low table and a fax was coming in. They ended up in a yellow kitchen where a television droned and steam rose from a state-of-the-art coffeemaker.

Catching Kyle looking around, Riley said, “She’s not here.”

Instead of offering Kyle a seat at the table, Riley leaned against the counter and took a sip from one of the mugs he’d just filled. There was no delicate way to do this, and they both knew it. They also both knew that Kyle wouldn’t leave until he’d had his say.

Carrying his coffee to a spot that was a safe distance from his brother, Kyle leaned a hip against the counter, too, and said, “You can’t blame us for being concerned. Two years ago, you were dying. Two months ago, you still weren’t yourself. Now you’re getting married in a week and a half to a woman you proposed to after you’d known her a matter of days.”

“Don’t form an opinion until you’ve met Madeline.”

“I’m sure she’s a saint. I heard she was wearing your sheet the first time she met your mother.” Kyle wouldn’t have minded being a fly on that wall, but Riley didn’t share the details of the encounter. Merrick men didn’t kiss and tell.

“You have to admit it looks suspicious,” Kyle said. “She’s a nurse. You have money.”

“Madeline doesn’t care about money.”

Everybody cared about money. But Kyle said, “She showed up uninvited at one of your construction sites, and she failed to mention that the heart beating in your chest came from her deceased fiancé.”

“Water under the bridge,” Riley insisted before taking another sip of coffee.

Following suit, Kyle said, “You fell for her. Hard. I get that. So live with her for a while. Make sure the penny doesn’t lose its shine.”

“I’m marrying her, Kyle, the sooner, the better.”

The dog stood up and looked from one to the other.

“What’s your hurry?” Kyle asked. “It’s not as if you have to marry her.” He stopped. The drone of the television covered an uncomfortable lag in conversation. “Is that what this is about? She’s pregnant?”

Riley shot him a warning look.

And Kyle muttered the only word that came to mind.

“We’re not telling anyone yet,” Riley said. “So keep it to yourself. I don’t know what I did to deserve Madeline, to deserve any of this, but whatever it was, I’m not wasting another minute of my life without her.”

Kyle fought the urge to rake his fingers through his hair. “You slept with her, and now she claims she’s going to have your baby. Don’t hit me for what I’m thinking.”

He could tell Riley wanted to hit him. It wouldn’t be a sucker punch, either. Riley didn’t fight dirty, but he fought to win, something else the Merrick men had in common.

“Have you ever known a virgin, Kyle?” he asked.

It took a few seconds for Riley’s meaning to soak in. “You mean Madeline? For real? You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Kyle put his coffee down. “I’ll be damned. A virgin. I didn’t know there were any alive past the age of eighteen. Make that seventeen. Fine. The kid’s yours. That’s good. I guess. I’m just saying—”

“You’re saying it’s all happening fast and you, Braden and our mothers are worried about that. I trust you’ll put their minds at ease. In your own good time, of course.”

They shared their first smile. Riley knew him well.

“Anything else you’d like me to tell our mothers?” Kyle asked, suddenly not at all sorry he’d lost that toss to Braden.

“Tell them I can feel my heart beating.”

This time Kyle didn’t say anything. He simply stared in amazement at his younger brother.

He would never forget the panic and paralyzing fear that had ripped through the entire family twenty months ago when they’d learned that Riley had contracted a rare virus that was attacking his heart. In a matter of days, he’d gone from strong and athletic to wan and weak. He was only thirty years old. And he was dying.

Kyle, Braden and Riley’s friend Kipp had stayed with him around the clock. They’d begged him, badgered him and bullied him to hold on. Two years younger than Kyle, Riley had been at death’s door, literally, by the time he’d finally received a heart transplant. His recovery had been nothing short of a miracle, but, despite his robust health afterwards, there had been something different about him. It was as if his sense of adventure, his passion and even his laughter had been buried with his old heart. Strangely, he hadn’t been able to feel the new one beating.

“How long has the feeling been back?” Kyle asked.

“Since Madeline.” Riley placed a hand over his chest. “I used to climb mountains just for the view from the top. That view is nothing compared to what I see when I look into her eyes. I can see the future, and that’s never happened to me before.”

Kyle held up one hand. He didn’t know how much more he could take on an empty stomach.

Riley laughed. And for a moment it took Kyle back to summer vacations and boyhood pranks they’d pulled together. He hadn’t heard Riley laugh quite like this in a long time. It did Kyle’s heart good.

“I’ll tell The Sources you’re happy and as healthy as the proverbial horse and I’ll tell them you can feel your beating heart. I’m glad, man. It’s good to see you. Real good. Now, I have a plane to catch to L.A.”

He was already out the door when Riley said, “You look good, too, Kyle. More rested than I expected.”

The brothers shared a long look, Kyle in the watery rays of late morning sunshine and Riley in the shadow of the doorway. If they were keeping score, this point would go to Riley, for, with his simple statement, he’d let Kyle know that Riley wasn’t the only one their mothers were worried about. Kyle hadn’t been himself lately, either. He was going through something. Running from something.

The Sources worked both ways.

“If I look rested,” Kyle said, “it’s because I slept like a baby last night.”

“During that storm?”

Kyle couldn’t explain it, but once he’d closed his eyes, he hadn’t heard a thing for nine solid hours. The inn had been empty and the power was back on by the time he’d wandered downstairs this morning. Now, standing in a patch of sunshine beneath his brother’s watchful gaze, he found himself thinking about the woman with the large, hazel eyes and sultry, cultured voice that made hello sound like an intimate secret.

“Can your plane ride wait until after lunch?” Riley asked.

“That depends. Are you cooking?”

Again, the brothers shared a grin.

Riley, who often burned toast, said, “I thought I’d call Madeline at work and see if she can join us at the restaurant downtown. I’d like you to meet her.”

“Let me know what time,” Kyle said as he climbed into his Jeep.

Meanwhile, he had a woman to see about a room.

Robins splashed in the puddles in the inn’s driveway as Summer pulled into her usual parking place. She lifted her cloth bags from her trunk and started toward the backdoor, the groceries in her arms growing heavier with every step she took. The sound of Kyle Merrick’s deep voice coming through the kitchen window sent the headache she’d awakened with straight to the roots of her teeth.

She’d spent the first half of the night tossing and turning, her body yearning to finish what meeting Kyle Merrick had started. Between short bursts of fitful sleep, she’d lain awake staring at the dark ceiling, anticipating the hate mail she would receive from the people she’d duped should her secret ever be revealed.

Her father, for one. Her former fiancé, for another.

Sometimes she imagined her mother and sister sitting on a cloud, smiling down at her and singing a song about sweet revenge. To this day, she knew she’d done the right thing. That didn’t mean she wanted to relive what was to have been her wedding day.

She heard Kyle’s voice again. This time it was followed by a flirtatious, though aging, twitter Summer would recognize anywhere. Harriet Ferris lived next door and was always happy to watch the front desk when Summer needed to run errands during the day. Harriet told raucous stories and loved nothing better than having a captive audience, especially if it was someone of the opposite sex.

Summer almost felt sorry for Kyle.

Almost.

What was he doing in the inn, anyway?

He’d gone. She’d freshened the rooms after breakfast and made the beds. Room Seven had been empty. She’d checked.

Kyle Merrick’s duffel bag was gone. And she’d been relieved. Okay, she’d felt a little unsettled, too, but that was beside the point.

For some reason he was back—she had no idea why—and was sitting at the table, no doubt sharing raucous tales with Summer’s next-door neighbor. He looked up at her as she walked in and almost smiled.

“I thought you’d left,” she said.

“Without paying for my stay last night? Your low opinion of me is humbling.”

He didn’t look humble. He looked like a man with sex on his mind, the kind of man who didn’t ask for commitment and certainly didn’t give it. Lord-a-mighty, the invitation in those green eyes was tempting.

“What makes you think I’ve formed an opinion about you?” she asked.

He smiled, and the connection between their gazes thrummed like a guitar string being strummed with one finger. Pulling her gaze from his wasn’t easy, but she turned her attention to the woman watching the exchange.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Harriet?”

Seventy-eight-year-old Harriet Ferris had been dying her hair red for fifty years. Before every birthday there was a discussion about letting it go gray, but she never would, just as she would never stop wearing false eyelashes and flirting with men of all ages.

“No, thank you, dear, I really should be getting back home. I’m expecting an email from my sister in Atlanta. She refuses to text. So old-school, you know?”

Although she stood up, she made no move toward the door until Summer leaned down and whispered in her ear.

A smile spread across Harriet’s ruby red lips. “What would I do without you? What would any of us do? This handsome man has brought you a gift.” Harriet looked from Summer to Kyle and back again. “I won’t spoil the surprise, but I dare say if you could bottle the electricity in this room right now, you could sell it to the power company for a tidy profit. If only I were twenty years younger.”

“You’re a cougar, Harriet,” Kyle said, rising, too.

With a playful wink and a grin that never aged, Harriet tottered out the back door.

Now that he and Summer were alone, Kyle handed her the gift bag. “For the next time your power goes out,” he said.

She opened the brown paper sack. Peering at the fuses inside, she shook her head and smiled.

He looked like he was about to smile, too, but his gaze caught on her mouth, and Summer knew Harriet was right about the electricity in this room.

“You wanted to settle up for last night’s stay?” she asked.

“You aren’t from Michigan are you?” he asked.

The question came from out of the blue and caught her by surprise. Years of practice kept her perfectly still, her expression carefully schooled to appear artful and serene.

“I can’t place the inflection,” he continued. “But it isn’t Midwestern.”

She pulled herself together. Carrying the milk, eggs and cheese to the refrigerator, she said, “I was born in Philadelphia and grew up in Baltimore. My grandparents had a summer house on Mackinaw Island. Until my grandfather died when I was fourteen, my sister and I spent every summer in northern Michigan. What about you? Where are you from?”

She was just making conversation, for she knew the pertinent facts about his past. She’d researched all three of the Merrick brothers after Madeline had announced her engagement to Kyle’s brother Riley a few days ago.

“I was born and raised in Bay City,” he said, his voice a lazy baritone that suggested he had all the time in the world. “I studied out east and have traveled just about everywhere else. What did you whisper to Harriet?”

She glanced at him as she closed the refrigerator. “I told her where she put her spare key this week. She keeps moving it and forgets where she hides it.”

“Is that why they call you the keeper of secrets?” he asked.

Summer stopped putting away groceries and looked at him. She prided herself on her ability to identify a person’s true nature at first sight. She wasn’t the only one in this room doing that right now. Kyle was looking at her as if she were a puzzle he had every intention of solving. That felt far more dangerous than the heat in his gaze or the fact that she was wondering if he might kiss her.

She wasn’t about to be the first to look away, as if she had something to hide. Which she did, but he didn’t know that. And he wouldn’t.

Okay. It was time to get both their minds on something else. “Are you flirting with me?” she asked, even though she knew he was.

She could tell her ploy had worked by the change in his stance, the slight tilt of his head, the even slighter narrowing of his gaze. Oh yes, his mind was on something far more fundamental than her past, for nothing was more fundamental than flirting with the opposite sex.

For months, Kyle had felt as if a spring had been coiled too tight inside him. This woman was slowly unwinding him. She’d taken a chance when she’d opened her door last night. Maybe she kept mace under the counter. If she had a stun gun, she hadn’t needed it. He’d felt hypnotized at first sight.

Summer Matthews had hazel eyes and curves in all the right places. She was a pretty woman, and he knew his way around pretty women. He didn’t understand them, God no, but he knew when a woman wanted what he wanted.

Summer was interested. She just wasn’t acting on it. The question was, why? She wasn’t wearing a ring, and she was no prude. Nobody with a voice that sultry and a mind that bright was shy and unsure of herself.

She was refreshing and intriguing. Deep inside him, that taut spring unwound a little more.

“If I were flirting with you,” he said huskily, “you’d know it.”

Her gaze went to his mouth, but instead of continuing the flirtation, she named the amount for last night’s stay. His interest climbed another notch, and so did his regard for her.

He liked a woman who could keep her wits about her.

He wished he had enough time to turn those astute eyes starry, to run his hands along her graceful shoulders and feel her arms slowly wind around his neck as her lips parted for his kiss. Unfortunately he was out of time to do more than say, “I’m meeting my brother and future sister-in-law for lunch. After that I have a plane to catch, but I wanted to pay for my room before I leave town.”

Pocketing the cash he gave her, she said, “It’s not every day a girl meets an honest man.”

And then she did something, and there was no turning back. She smiled as if she meant it.

Kyle couldn’t help reaching for her any more than he could help drawing his next breath. He covered her mouth with his, before either of them thought to resist.

After that first brush of lips and air, the kiss deepened, breaths mingling, pulse rates climbing. It was a possessive joining, a mating of mouths and heat and hunger. It didn’t matter that it was broad daylight, that he had to leave in a few minutes or that he barely knew her. He kissed her because he had to. It was primal, and it was powerful, and, when her mouth opened slightly, he wanted more. He wanted everything.

He’d imagined her body going pliant—he had a damned fine imagination—but it was nothing compared to the reality in his arms. Her hands came around his back, then glided up to his shoulders. She moved against him, and he held her tighter, melding them together from knees to chest.

Somewhere in the back of Summer’s mind, warning bells were clanging. She was crazy to be doing this, to be starting something with a man in his field, this man in particular. Doing so was risking discovery. And yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. She couldn’t stop. She had to experience Kyle’s kiss. She needed to know she could feel this way.

Last night when she should have been sleeping, her eyes had been wide open. Now, they closed dreamily, so that she had to rely on her other senses. Her other senses were floating on a serenade of sound, heat and passion.

His mouth was firm and wet, his breathing deep, his scent clean and brisk like mint and leather. The combination made her heart speed up and her thoughts slow like a lazy river on a sultry summer day. His arms and back were muscular, his legs solid and long. It had been a long time since she’d been kissed like this, since she’d reacted like this. Had she ever been kissed quite like this?

Her back arched, her body seeking closer contact even though they couldn’t get any closer through their clothes. Until this moment, they’d been strangers. His kiss changed that, and it was spinning out of control. Control was the last thing she wanted, for passion this strong didn’t come along every day.

She felt like a balloon held gently between a pair of firm lips, waiting to see if another puff of air would fill her, transforming her, or if those lips would withdraw, sending her careening backwards. The air was Kyle Merrick. Therein lay the risk.

She reminded herself that he was leaving town today, and if she ever saw him again, it would be on rare occasions and only because he was going to be Madeline’s brother-in-law. Such meetings would be entirely controllable. It made this feel less dangerous, less likely to be something she would regret. And so, for a few moments, she let herself feel, let herself react, let herself go. And go and go.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself. And it felt good.

She felt free.

The kiss didn’t end on a need for air. It ended with the sudden jarring and incessant ringing of both their phones.

Hers stopped before she could think clearly enough to answer. It went to voice mail, only to start up again. Whoever was calling was insistent. Kyle’s caller was just as determined.

They drew apart, their eyes glazed, mouths wet, breathing ragged. She let her arms fall to her sides. Dazedly, he raked his fingers through his dark hair.

Moving more languidly than usual, as if her hands were having trouble picking up signals from her brain, she finally reached for her cell phone and answered. Normally Summer began speaking the moment she put the phone to her ear. Today, Madeline did that from the other end.

“What?” Summer asked. “Honey, slow down.” Although vaguely aware of the low drone of Kyle’s voice, too, Summer listened intently to what Madeline was saying. “Of course I’ll come. I’ll be right there,” she said.

Summer was aware that Kyle had pocketed his phone and was watching her. “That was Riley,” he said. “I was planning to meet him and Madeline for lunch. He had to cancel.”

She glanced at him as she dropped her phone into her bag and fished inside for her keys. “I know. My call was from Madeline.”

He watched her, waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, he said, “Riley said it’s possible she’s losing the baby.”

Summer studied his eyes. Only a few people knew Madeline was pregnant. “Riley told you about the baby?”

This time Kyle nodded. “When I saw him this morning, he was happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

“Madeline, too,” she said quietly.

Summer wanted to shake her fist at fate and demand that this work out for Madeline. She’d already lost so much. Now she’d found Riley, and she was happy. Happy. Was it too much to ask that she could stay that way?

“Dammit all to hell,” Kyle said.

Summer wasn’t a crier, but tears welled because, for a few moments, she understood. They both felt frustrated and helpless over Madeline’s possible medical emergency. Maybe what they said was true. Maybe there was strength in numbers, because she suddenly felt empowered. It went straight to her head. From there, it meandered to places she didn’t normally think about in the light of day.

Dresses were her usual work attire. The sleeveless, gray dress she wore today had a fitted waistband and a softly gathered skirt. It wasn’t formfitting, yet she was very aware of the places along her body where the lightweight fabric skimmed.

She felt Kyle’s gaze move slowly over her, settling momentarily at the little indentation at the base of her neck. It was all she could do to keep from placing her hand where he was looking, for she could feel the soft fluttering of her pulse at her throat. She’d learned to school her expressions, but that little vein had a mind of its own.

Last night, she’d blamed this attraction on the storm. Everybody knew people did crazy things during atmospheric disturbances. Kyle’s kiss a few minutes ago had created its own atmospheric disturbance.

But right now, Madeline needed her.

So Summer reeled in her thoughts, tamped down her passion and said, “I don’t like to be rude, but I have to go.” A handshake seemed a little formal after that kiss, so she settled on a smile. “It was nice meeting you. I mean that. Have a good flight.”

Even though it was handled politely, Kyle knew when he was being asked to leave. Since he had no legitimate reason to hang around—he did have a plane to catch after all—he walked out with Summer.

She headed for a blue sedan, and he started toward the lilac hedge in full bloom near where he’d left his Jeep. Pea gravel crunched beneath his shoes. He wasn’t sure what made him turn around and look at her. Perhaps it was the same thing that caused her to glance over her shoulder at him at the same time. Whatever the reason, it felt elemental and as fundamental as the pull of a man to a woman and a woman to a man.

Just then, a gust of wind caught in her hair and dress. And it struck him that he’d seen her before.

He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. He scanned his memory, trying to identify the reason she seemed familiar.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, obviously in a hurry to be on her way.

Deciding this wasn’t the time or place to play twenty questions, he simply said, “No. You have to go. Good luck. Tell Riley I’ll be in touch.”

She drove away, and he finally got in his Jeep. Instead of starting the engine, he sat behind the steering wheel, thinking. The sensible thing to do would be to turn the key and head for the airport to catch his two o’clock flight to L.A.

Leaving the engine idling, he slipped his laptop from its case and turned it on. He typed Summer’s name at the top of his favorite search engine. There were thousands of matches, among them a semi-famous opera singer, a retired drummer from a sixties rock band, and a teacher in Cleveland. There was even a racehorse by that name. Kyle tried another search engine and found an article archived from a local newspaper that listed Summer as the innkeeper of The Orchard Inn.

Minutes later he turned his computer off. Now what?

He wondered what was happening in the Emergency Room. He’d spent days on end at the hospital two years ago when Riley had been so close to death. Riley hadn’t asked Kyle to come this time, which was fine with him. Female troubles made all men squeamish. Besides, this was intimate. It was something that was between Riley and Madeline and Madeline’s closest friend. That brought Kyle back to Summer.

He was pretty sure he’d never met her. He would have remembered an actual encounter. As he sat strumming his fingers on the armrest, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.

What?

She hadn’t looked familiar until a few moments ago. Did she remind him of someone else? Was that it?

His mind circled around a few possibilities then discarded them. No, she didn’t look like anyone he knew. He would have noticed that earlier.

But she was familiar. Although he didn’t know where or when, he’d seen her before.

Kyle Merrick never forgot a face.

Chapter Three

The founding fathers of Orchard Hill were an unlikely trio of entrepreneurs from upstate New York. One was said to have been a charming shyster who convinced his business associates back home that wealth awaited them “in the green hills of a promised land.”

According to local historians, among the first arrivals were a prominent banker and his wife, who took one look at the crudely built clapboard houses in the village and the surrounding mosquito-infested ramshackle farms and fainted dead away. The second founding father was a botanist who, through much trial and error, developed three species of apples still widely grown in the local orchards today. The third was considered to be a simpleton by his aristocratic parents. This so-called dunce proved to be a man of great wisdom and ambition who eventually established The Orchard Hill Academy, now the University of Orchard Hill.

Historical tidbits were strange things for Summer to be thinking about as she waited at the traffic light at the corner of Jefferson and Elm, but it took her mind off worrying about Madeline or wondering if she’d really glimpsed a momentary recognition in Kyle Merrick’s gaze as she was leaving the inn. She gripped the steering wheel and told herself not to jump to conclusions.

He couldn’t have recognized her.

It was possible he’d seen her photograph in the newspapers six years ago. But she’d been younger then, and blond, and had been wearing a frothy veil and a wedding gown made of acres of silk.

He hadn’t recognized her.

How could he? She barely recognized the girl she’d been then.

More than likely, what she’d thought was a fleeting recognition in Kyle’s green eyes had simply been a conscious effort to coax the blood back into his brain after that kiss. She pried the fingers of her right hand from the steering wheel and gently touched her lips. He wasn’t the only one still recovering.

Enough. They’d enjoyed a brief flirtation. Not mild, mind you, but brief. That was all it was. She had nothing to worry about. He was most likely on his way to the airport this very minute to pursue more pressing stories than a rehash of old news, even if that old news was Baltimore’s most notorious runaway bride.

She and Kyle had said their good-byes. Or at least she had. She tried to remember how he’d replied.

“Good luck,” he’d said as they’d parted ways. And everybody knew good luck was as good as goodbye.

She jumped when a horn blasted. People in Orchard Hill didn’t generally honk their horn, which meant she’d probably been sitting at the green light longer than she should. Smiling apologetically in her rearview mirror at the poor driver behind her, she quickly took her foot off the brake and continued on toward the hospital across town.

Roughly seven square miles, Orchard Hill was a city of nearly twenty-five thousand residents. The streets curved and intersected in undulating juxtaposition to the bends in the river. A state highway bisected the city from east to west, but even that was riddled with stoplights. She’d learned to drive in congested city traffic. She’d learned patience here.

She had to wait a few minutes while a crew wearing hard hats moved a newly fallen tree limb out of the intersection. A few blocks farther down the street a delivery man threw his flashing lights on and left his truck idling in the middle of Division Street. Hosanna chimed from the bell tower as it did every day at half past eleven.

It really was just an ordinary May morning in Orchard Hill. The normalcy of it was like a cool drink of lemonade, refreshing and calming at the same time.

While she waited at another red light she found herself staring at the ten foot tall statue on her left. Nobody could agree where the bronzed figure came from, or how long it had stood on the courthouse lawn.

Summer remembered vividly the first time she’d seen it more than six years ago. She’d been lost and nearly out of gas that day when she’d coasted to a stop at the curb. So exhausted that the lines and words on the road map in her hand swam before her eyes, she’d found herself gazing out the window at a whimsical figure at the head of a town square.

Most cities reserved a place of such importance for cannons and monuments and statues of decorated war heroes on mighty steeds, but that day she was drawn from her car by a larger-than-life replica of a fellow with holes in his shoes, bowed legs, patched trousers, and a dented kettle on his head. Johnny Appleseed was her first acquaintance in Orchard Hill.

She’d stood beside the statue and taken a deep breath of air scented with ripe apples and autumn leaves. Above the golden treetops in the distance she saw a smoke stack from a small factory, a water tower and several church spires. Somewhere, a marching band was practicing, and there were dog walkers on the sidewalks of what appeared to be a busy downtown.

It had been too early for streetlights, but lamps had glowed in the windows of some of the shops lining the street. Fixing her gaze straight ahead, she’d walked away from her unlocked car, leaving her ATM and credit cards in plain view on the seat inside. A thief wouldn’t get far with any of them, for all her cards had been cancelled.

Nobody duped Winston Emerson Matthews the Third without consequences, not even his daughter. Especially not his daughter.

She’d entered the first restaurant she came to and sat at a small table. A blond waitress a few years younger than Summer had appeared with a menu and a smile. Nearly overtaken with the enormity and finality of her recent actions, Summer stared into the girl’s friendly blue eyes and blurted, “Ten days ago I left a rich and powerful man at the altar. My father has disinherited me and all I have left in my purse is ten dollars and some change.”

After a moment of quiet deliberation, the waitress had replied, “I’d recommend Roxy’s Superman Special.” In a whisper, she added, “It’s a savory chicken potpie. Roxy makes it from scratch. Her crusts alone could win awards.”

Something had passed between their gazes. Summer’s eyes filled up, and all she could do was nod.

“I’ll be right back.” The angelic waitress had soon returned, a plate in each hand. She sat down across from Summer and shook out her napkin. “I’m Madeline Sullivan,” she said, handing Summer a fork and napkin and picking up another set for herself. “Welcome to Orchard Hill.”

Before the meal was finished, Summer’s second acquaintance in Orchard Hill had become the best friend she’d ever known. Madeline had taken Summer home with her, as if normal people took in disinherited young women with secret pasts every day.

She was the only person in Orchard Hill Summer had confided in, the only person who knew her given name.

Madeline had been working her way through college then. Today she was a nurse, and right now she lay in a hospital, possibly losing a baby she desperately wanted.

“I’m coming, Madeline,” Summer whispered into the celestial sovereignty reserved for promises and prayers.

Buchanan Street curved one last time before the three-story brick hospital came into view. She followed the arrows and parked near the lighted E.R. sign around back. Grabbing her shoulder bag, she locked her car then ran through the automatic doors and down a short corridor. She rounded a corner.

And came face-to-face with two Merrick brothers, not one.

Years of practice with schooling her features very nearly deserted her as she looked from Riley to Kyle. She wanted to ask Kyle what he was doing here. Why wasn’t he checking his bag at the airport?

And how had he beaten her here?

Instead she focused on a pair of brown eyes, not green, and said, “Riley, how is she?”

Riley Merrick was as tall as his brother and had a similar build. There was a depth in his eyes that put Summer at ease every time she saw him.

“You know Madeline,” he said, his voice a deep baritone. “She keeps telling me not to worry about her, that everything’s going to be okay.”

That sounded like Madeline.

“What happened?” Summer asked.

“She passed out at work. Hit her head when she fell. The bleeding seems to have stopped.”

“She was bleeding?” Summer asked.

“Too heavy to be considered spotting.”

Oh. That kind of bleeding. “And the pregnancy?” Summer whispered.

“We’re waiting for the results of blood work. A few minutes ago Madeline told me she doesn’t feel she’s lost the baby.”

That sounded like Madeline, too.

Apparently Riley realized that Kyle was still standing beside him. He glanced at him, and said, “Summer, this is my brother Kyle.”

“Hello, Kyle,” she said.

“We meet again,” he said at the same time, only slightly louder.

“You two know each other?” Riley asked, looking sideways at his brother.

“Remember when I told you I slept like a baby last night? It was at her place.”

“At my inn. In Room Seven. Alone. At least I assume he was alone.” Summer shot Kyle a stern look before turning back to Riley. “Where is Madeline now?”

Double doors clanked open and a man wearing scrubs pushed a gurney through the doorway. A television droned on the far wall in the waiting area. A little girl was crying, and a teenaged boy was holding his wrist. Other bored-looking people dozed or fidgeted, waiting for their turn to see a doctor.

“She’s in Room Four,” Riley answered quietly. “Talya’s performing an examination.”

Talya Ireland, pronounced like Tanya, only with an l, was a midwife and Madeline’s new employer. She’d stayed at the inn when she first came to town several months ago. If Madeline was with her, she was in good hands.

Summer lowered herself into a nearby vinyl chair. Before she’d even finished smoothing her skirt, Riley said, “Madeline asked me to send you in the minute you arrived.”

She was on her feet again and halfway to the door when she thought of something. “Riley?” she said.

Both Merrick brothers were watching her.

“If Madeline feels she’s going to be okay,” Summer said, “I believe her.”

Relief eased the strain on Riley’s face. Kyle’s expression was more difficult to decipher. He stood looking at her, his shoulders straight, the collar of his shirt open, cuffs rolled to his forearms. He was one of those men who played hard and cleaned up well, and he sent her stomach into a wild swirl. He was ruggedly attractive from the waves in his coffee-colored hair to the toes of his Italian-made shoes.

She forced her eyes away but felt his gaze until she disappeared on the other side of the heavy metal doors. The vinyl flooring beneath her feet muffled the sound of her footsteps. From behind curtain one came the mechanical blip of a heart monitor. Behind curtain two, a child cried forlornly. Hushed voices and a few groans that didn’t sound like pain were coming from behind curtain three.

Summer stuck her head inside room four. The hospital bed took up the majority of the narrow cubby; monitors and IV racks competed for space with an efficient-looking midwife.

“Hey,” Summer said, drawing Madeline’s gaze.

From her pillow, Madeline gave Summer a weak smile. “Hey yourself.”

Summer looked at the third woman in the room. In her late thirties, Talya Ireland had exotic gray eyes and five shades of brown hair beauty salons would love to replicate. If there was an ounce of Irish blood in her as her name suggested, it wasn’t readily apparent.

While Talya studied the blood pressure printout and fussed with a switch on the IV, Summer sidled closer to the bed and studied Madeline. The two of them were identical in size, yet today Madeline seemed slight and pale and smaller somehow.

“How are you feeling?” Summer asked.

On a shuddering breath, Madeline said, “Oh, Summer. All these sounds and smells and people scurrying around. I used to work here, but this morning all I could think about was the day Aaron died.”

Summer took Madeline’s hand. Madeline and Aaron Andrews had been childhood sweethearts and inseparable until nearly two years ago when a motorcycle accident cut his life tragically short. Madeline had been with him when he’d taken his last breath in a hospital room similar to this one. It was only natural that the horrors would come back at a time like this.

With a sniffle, Madeline pointed to the thin wall between her room and the room next door, from which came another creak and a muffled moan. “Are they doing what I think they’re doing?” she asked.

Nobody could make Summer smile like Madeline.

“Are you blushing?” Madeline asked.

Smoothing the sheet at her patient’s waist, Talya said, “Summer is such a lady.”

“Take that back.” But Summer knew she was smiling again. Friends made life so rich.

“We’re talking about you,” she said to Madeline. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m scared and shaken but better, I think.”

Sinking to the edge of the bed, Summer sighed. “You’re really okay?”

Madeline nodded. “Talya wants me to stay off my feet for a few days.”

“At least a few days,” came a stern voice from the other side of the bed.

“And the baby?” Summer asked quietly.

“I’m not far enough along to have an ultrasound, but Talya is guardedly optimistic that my pregnancy is still viable and will continue to be so for a good long time.”

Talya said, “Sometimes spontaneous bleeding occurs early in a pregnancy. It isn’t normal, but it isn’t altogether uncommon, either. It’s possible her placenta has attached a little low in her uterus. If that’s the case, I’ve seen it spontaneously move up a little to a safer holding place. Right now all we can do is wait and see.”

A nurse who used to work with Madeline bustled into the room. “Here’s your lab results,” she said, handing the report to the midwife. “Hi, Madeline.”

Talya read the report. “Your beta levels are elevated. That’s a good sign.”

The moment she grinned, Summer jumped to her feet. “I’ll get Riley.”

“I’ll go,” Talya said. “I like to deliver good news.”