To Rita Gallagher,

       mentor, companion and best friend. Thank you for being in my life.

      ASHLEY SUMMERS

      is an incurable romantic who lives in Texas, in a house that overflows with family and friends. Her busy life revolves around the man she married thirty years ago, her three children and her handsome grandson, Eric. Formerly the owner and operator of a landscaping firm, she also enjoys biking, aerobics, reading and traveling.

      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

      One

      Regina Flynn stepped into the elegant, two-story foyer with a wariness bordering on the absurd. As an employee of Lamar’s Home Maintenance and Security Agency, she had a perfect right to enter this uninhabited home. Yet the sound of her heels on the black-and-white marble floor was shockingly loud, and her heart beat so fast she felt dizzy.

      Regina stopped just inside the door, her little blue pot of African violets clutched to her chest like a talisman. Even the August heat did not warm her inner chill. Closing the door, she leaned against its hard surface with a gusty sigh.

      “I’ve done it,” she whispered. “I’ve stolen a house.”

      A sharp shake of head immediately rejected this preposterous notion; the assistant to Lamar’s regional manager did not steal houses! Her position with the agency placed her in charge of the North Houston area, and this handsome estate, owned by a man named Clint Whitfield, was merely part of her portfolio of managed properties.

      “All you’ve done is assign him a house sitter, Regina,” she corrected herself crisply. “You do have that authority, you know. The house sitter just happens to be you.”

      Annoyed with herself—and an overly active conscience she could never quite master—Regina felt for the light switch. In the growing dusk, the boxes holding her belongings looked pitifully few; when a chandelier flooded the area with light, they appeared even more misplaced.

      Sadness tightened her throat. Everything she owned fit easily into six cardboard boxes. Not much of a legacy for twenty-nine years of living, she thought dispiritedly.

      Catching sight of herself in an ornate wall mirror, Regina pushed at the red-gold curls swirling around her face in riotous disarray. “Flynn, you’re a mess,” she snapped at her green-eyed image. Her voice seemed to rebound off the walls.

      Edging around boxes, she walked down the hall. White-shrouded furniture haunted darkened rooms. Chilled air blew through concealed vents, a necessity in Houston’s humid climate despite the absence of people. Air-conditioning, not ghosts, caused her goose bumps, she chided her quick shiver.

      She paused in the sculptural arch of another doorway. Beyond lay the great room, a huge, airy space that encompassed the kitchen, breakfast nook and dining room wing, the family room, and glass-roofed conservatory forming the rear wall. She felt a little foolish bringing this modest violet into such opulence. With exaggerated care she centered it on the kitchen windowsill. Almost magically it meshed with its setting.

      “As if to the manor born,” she quipped, patting a velvety leaf. “You’re just what this house needed.”

      Flipping another light switch, she caught her breath at the beauty its mellow glow revealed. Clint Whitfield had built something really special, she thought softly.

      So why had he left it vacant for so long?

      As usual, her thorny question went unanswered. She didn’t know Clint Whitfield; she’d been in another department when he contracted with the agency. Later, a promotion had put her in charge of his file, and she’d been inside his gracious, white-columned abode several times on routine inspections of the lawn-and-maid services included in his contract.

      As months stretched into years, she strongly disagreed with his decision to leave it empty while he was out of the country. But she kept her opinions to herself and did not overstep her authority.

      Until the fire.

      Regina tensed as painful memories deluged her heart. She no longer had a home. In June, a fire had destroyed her frame dwelling and all its contents. The only silver lining was that her adored young sister had been spared the ordeal; Katie, fifteen, was away at her special school.

      Still, it had been a heart-wrenching experience. Although mentally handicapped, Katie’s emotions were unimpaired, and when told of the loss of her childhood home, she’d cried like the devastated child she was. Regina cried with her. Then, resolute, she began putting her life back together.

      Despite her good salary, she found it tough;