Her mother was right. Alex Preston was the one man who could bring the light back into her eyes, and she’d never been more frightened in her life.

Three

Carol’s hand remained closed around the telephone receiver as she heaved in a giant breath. She’d just completed the most cowardly act of her life.

Regretting her actions, she punched out Alex’s phone number again, and listened to the recorded message a third time while tapping her foot. At the beep, she paused, then blurted out, “I hope you understand…I mean…oh…never mind.” With that, she replaced the receiver, pressed her hand over her brow, more certain than ever that she’d just made a world-class idiot of herself.

Half an hour later, Carol was sorting through the dirty clothes in the laundry room when Peter came barreling into the house.

He paused in the doorway, watching her neatly organize several loads. “Hey, Mom, where’s the TV guide?”

“By the television?” she suggested, more concerned about making sure his jeans’ pockets were empty before putting them in the washer.

“Funny, Mom, real funny. Why would anyone put it there?”

Carol paused, holding a pair of dirty jeans to her chest. “Because that’s where it belongs?” she said hopefully.

“Yeah, but when’s the last time anyone found it there?”

Not bothering to answer, she dumped his jeans in the washing machine. “Did you look on the coffee table?”

“It’s not there. It isn’t by the chair, either.”

“What are you so keen to watch, anyway? Shouldn’t you be doing your homework?”

“I don’t have any…well, I do, but it’s a snap.”

Carol threw another pair of jeans into the churning water. “If it’s so easy, do it now.”

“I can’t until Jim gets home.”

At the mention of Alex’s son, Carol hesitated. “I…see.”

“Besides, it’s time for wrestling, but I don’t know what channel it’s on.”

“Wrestling?” Carol cried. “When did you become interested in that?”

“Jim introduced me to it. I know it looks phony and stuff, but I get a kick out of those guys pounding on each other and the crazy things they say.”

Carol turned and leaned against the washer, crossing her arms. “Personally I’d rather you did your homework first, and if there’s any time left over you can watch television.”

“Of course you’d prefer that,” Peter said. “You’re a mom—you’re supposed to think that way. But I’m a kid, and I’d much rather watch Mr. Muscles take on Jack Beanstalk.”

Carol considered her son’s argument for less than two seconds. “Do your homework.”

Peter sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I was afraid you’d say that.” Reluctantly he headed toward his bedroom.

With the wash taken care of, Carol ventured into the backyard, surveying her neatly edged flower beds. Besides perennials, she grew Italian parsley, basil and thyme and a few other herbs in the ceramic pots that bordered her patio. One of these days she was going to dig up a section of her lawn and plant an honest-to-goodness garden.

“Mom…” Peter was shouting her name from inside the house.

She turned, prepared to answer her son, when she saw Alex walk out the back door toward her. Her heart did a somersault, then vaulted into her throat and stayed there for an uncomfortable moment.

“Hello, Alex,” she managed to say, suspecting that her face had the look of a cornered mouse. She would gladly have given six months’ mortgage payments to remove her messages from his voice mail. It wasn’t easy to stand there calmly and not run for the fence.

“Hello, Carol.” He walked toward her, his gaze holding hers.

He sounded so…relaxed, so calm, but his eyes were a different story. They were like the eyes of an eagle, sharp and intent. They’d zeroed in on her as though he was about to swoop down for the kill.

For her part, Carol was a wreck. Her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that her fingers ached. “What can I do for you?” she asked, embarrassed by the way her voice pitched and heaved with the simple question.

A brief smile flickered at the edges of Alex’s mouth. “You mean you don’t know?”

“No…well, I can guess, but I think it would be best if you just came out and said it.” She took a couple of steps toward him, feeling extraordinarily brave for having done so.

“Will you offer me a cup of coffee?” Alex asked instead.

The man was full of surprises. Just when she was convinced he was about to berate her for behaving like an utter fool, he casually suggested she make coffee. Perhaps he often confronted emotionally insecure women who left him nonsensical messages.

“Coffee? Of course…come in.” Pleased to have something to occupy her hands, Carol hurried into the kitchen. Once she’d added the grounds to the filter and filled the coffeemaker with water, she turned and leaned against the counter, hoping to look poised. She did an admirable job, if she did say so herself—at least for the first few minutes. After all, she’d spent the last thirteen years on her own. She wasn’t a dimwit, although she’d gone out of her way to give him that impression, and she hadn’t even been trying. That disconcerted her more than anything.

“No, I don’t understand,” Alex said. He opened her cupboard and took down two ceramic mugs.

“Understand what?” Carol decided playing dumb might help. It had worked with Bambi, and who was to say it wouldn’t with her? However, she had the distinct notion that if she suggested they try out a hot tub, Alex would be more than willing.

“I want to know why you won’t have dinner with me.”

Carol was completely out of her element. She dealt with pregnancy and birth, soon-to-be mothers and terrified fathers, and she did so without a pause. But faced with one handsome single father, she was a worthless mass of frazzled nerves. Fearing her knees might give out on her, she walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “I didn’t exactly say I wouldn’t go out with you.”

“Then what did you say?”

She lowered her gaze, unable to meet his. “That…something came up.”

“I see.” He twisted the chair around and straddled it. The coffeemaker gurgled behind her. Normally she didn’t even notice it, but now it seemed as loud as the roar of a jet plane.

“Then we’ll reschedule. Tuesday evening at six?”

“I…I have a class…I teach a birthing class to expectant parents on Tuesday evenings.” Now that was brilliant! Who else would attend those classes? But it was an honest excuse. “That’s where I’d been when my car broke down in the parking lot of the restaurant where I met you…last Tuesday…remember?”

“The night I helped you,” Alex reminded her. “As I recall, you claimed you wanted to repay me. Fact is, you insisted on it. You said I’d missed my dinner because of you and that you’d like to make it up to me. At first it was going to be a home-cooked meal, but that was quickly reduced to meeting at a restaurant in separate cars, and now you’re canceling altogether.”

“I…did appreciate your help.”

“Is there something about me that bothers you? Do I have bad breath?”

“Of course not.”

“Dandruff?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” she cried. She couldn’t very well explain that their one meeting had jolted to life a part of her that had lain dormant for years. To say Alex Preston unsettled her was an understatement. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him from the moment he’d dropped her off at the house. Every thought that entered her mind was linked to those few minutes they’d spent alone in his car. She was an adult, a professional, but he made her forget everything—except him. In thinking about it, Carol supposed it was because she’d married so young and been widowed shortly afterward. It was as though she didn’t know how to behave with a man, but that wasn’t entirely true, either. For the past several years, she’d dated numerous times. Nothing serious of course, but friendly outings with “safe” men. One second with Alex, and she’d known instantly that an evening with him could send her secure, tranquil world into a tailspin.

“Wednesday then?”

Carol looked warily across the kitchen, wanting to weep with frustration. She might as well be a good sport about it and give in. Alex wasn’t going to let her off the hook without a fuss.

“All right,” she said, and for emphasis, nodded. “I’ll see you Wednesday evening.”

“Fine.” Alex stood and twisted the chair back around. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He sent her one of his smiles and was gone before the coffee finished brewing.

Once she was alone, Carol placed her hands over her face, feeling the sudden urge to cry. Closing her eyes, however, was a mistake, because the minute she did, her mother’s whispered words, reminding her of how good lovemaking could be, saturated her thoughts. That subject was the last thing Carol wanted to think about, especially when the man she wanted to be making love with was the one who had so recently left her kitchen.

Abruptly she stood and poured herself a cup of coffee. It didn’t help to realize that her fingers were shaking. What was so terrific about men and sex, anyway? Nothing that she could remember. She’d been initiated in the backseat of a car at eighteen with the boy she was crazy in love with. Or the boy she thought she was in love with. More likely it had been hormones on the rampage for both of them.

After she’d learned she was pregnant, Carol was never convinced Bruce had truly wanted to marry her. Faced with her hotheaded father and older brother, he’d clearly regarded marriage as the more favorable option.

In the last of her three years with Bruce, he’d been drunk more than he was sober—abusive more than he was considerate. Lovemaking had become a nightmare for her. Feeling violated and vaguely sick to her stomach, she would curl up afterward and lie awake the rest of the night. Then Bruce had died, and mingled with the grief and horror had been an almost giddy sense of relief.

“I don’t want a man in my life,” she said forcefully.

Peter was strolling down the hallway to his room and stuck his head around the doorway. “Did you say something?”

“Ah…” Carol wanted to swallow her tongue. “Nothing important.”

“You look nice,” Peter told Carol on Wednesday when she finished with her makeup.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him. Her attitude toward this evening out with Alex had improved now that she’d had time to sort through her confused emotions. Jim’s father was a nice guy, and to be honest, Carol didn’t know what had made her react the way she did on Sunday. She was a mature adult, and there was nothing to fear. It wasn’t as though she was going to fall into bed with the man simply because she was attracted to him. They’d have the dinner she owed him and that would be the end of it.