MILLS & BOON

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      “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”

      —Isaiah 49:16

      To Char—Just because

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      The last time Andrew Noble visited Chestnut Grove had been eight months ago, when he’d shown up to surprise his cousin, Rachel, on her birthday. This time, it was to fire her.

      He hoped the bouquet of peach roses tucked in the crook of his arm would soften the blow.

      Andrew bypassed the spacious reception area of the Noble Foundation and veered toward the stairs that led to the suite of offices on the top floor of the building. Rachel didn’t know he was in town and Andrew didn’t want anyone to warn her. For what he had to do, keeping the element of surprise might be in his favor. He hoped she’d be so happy to see him—and the bouquet of her favorite flowers—that she’d cheerfully hand over the Foundation’s checkbook.

      Right.

      Even though they had practically grown up together and were more like siblings than first cousins, the Noble Foundation was Rachel’s baby. Her parents, Beatrice and Charles, may have founded the organization, which raised money for worthwhile charities, but Rachel’s energy, drive and creativity had pushed its reputation and influence beyond the boundaries of Virginia. At the moment, her commitment wasn’t in question; her energy level was.

      It was the reason his mother, at the urging of his aunt Beatrice, had tracked him down at a friend’s beach house in Malibu the day before.

      Andrew wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or insulted that his name had been the one pulled out of the family hat.

      Rachel was expecting a baby at the end of the summer and according to Eli Cavanaugh, Rachel’s husband, she’d been feeling unusually fatigued over the past few weeks. Eli had finally gotten her to admit she’d experienced some bouts of dizziness, too. Even though pediatrics, not obstetrics, was Eli’s specialty, he’d shared his concern with Beatrice, who’d shared it with Andrew’s mother. They’d decided someone needed to step in and temporarily ease the reins of the Foundation out of Rachel’s capable hands.

      That someone was him. Apparently, the old adage “desperate times call for desperate measures” held some truth.

      Andrew exhaled in relief when he saw there was no one at the desk that guarded the entrance to Rachel’s corner office. The staff had a tendency to protect Rachel as if she were the Hope diamond.

      He pushed open the door, expecting to see his prototype-for-the-Type-A-personality cousin hard at work. What he saw instead made his blood run cold— Rachel sound asleep in the leather chair, her bare feet propped up on the desk. At nine o’clock in the morning.

      He coughed lightly.

      Rachel’s body jerked and she bolted upright, wide awake.

      “Andrew!”

      With a cry of delight, Rachel pushed herself out of the chair and waddled into his arms. “What are you doing here? The baby isn’t due for another few months. Or are you planning to pull another one of your famous disappearing acts on us again?”

      Andrew planted a kiss on her cheek, not missing the purple shadows under her eyes and the lines of fatigue bracketing her mouth. Guilt kicked in as he realized his aunt hadn’t exaggerated Rachel’s condition. He didn’t know anything about pregnant women, but even to his inexperienced eyes she looked completely worn out.

      He decided honesty was the best policy.

      “I’m here to take over the Noble Foundation. By force, if necessary, but I’m hoping these roses will do the trick.”

      Rachel accepted the bouquet, her expression wry. “You heard.”