KATE LITTLE

      claims to have lots of experience with romance—“the fictional kind, that is,” she is quick to clarify. She has been both an author and an editor of romance fiction for over fifteen years. She believes that a good romance will make the reader experience all the tension, thrills and agony of falling madly, deeply and wildly in love. She enjoys watching the characters in her books go crazy for each other, but hates to see the blissful couple disappear when it’s time for them to live happily ever after. In addition to writing romance novels, Kate also writes fiction and nonfiction for young adults. She lives on Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      One

      “Your recommendations are impressive, Ms. Calloway. In fact, they were positively glowing. One of your former employers even called you a miracle worker,” Matthew Berringer said.

      “I love my work and I’m good at it,” Rebecca said in her usual straightforward fashion. “But I’d hardly call myself a miracle worker.”

      “You wouldn’t, eh? That’s too bad, because I’m not sure that anything short of a miracle will restore my brother Grant, to his former life. To any sort of productive life at all.”

      She saw instantly that her reply had dampened Matthew Berringer’s enthusiasm, and Rebecca wondered if she should have been more…diplomatic. She could have soft-soaped her answer a bit. She’d been warned that her pungent honesty was sometimes a shortcoming. Rebecca bit her lower lip. She needed this job. But she wouldn’t be hired on false impressions and she would never make any false promises.

      She knew how demanding, physically and emotionally, a home assignment like this one might be. From what she’d heard about the patient, she wasn’t sure she’d succeed in rehabilitating him, much less getting him up and about his business by the summer’s end, which was Matthew Berringer’s explicit request. She wasn’t sure anyone could. From what she’d seen in the medical records, the problem wasn’t so much Grant Berringer’s physical condition as his attitude.

      Miracle worker, indeed. All the Berringers’ money and then some couldn’t buy a miracle. And Rebecca knew she couldn’t live up to such high-flown accolades…and didn’t want to break her heart trying.

      “Mr. Berringer, your concern for your brother is very touching. He’s fortunate to have someone so involved in his recovery—”

      “Your kind words seem to be leading up to something, Ms. Calloway.” Matthew Berringer interrupted her. “Perhaps you should just say it?”

      Rebecca was taken aback, then found his frankness refreshing. There was something more she wanted to say.

      “You can’t will your brother to get well again, to resume a productive life, if he doesn’t want to. You can hire a hundred therapists. Even some that will promise you miracles. But no one can snap their fingers and give your brother the will to fight his way back. He has to want it. He has to want it very badly.”

      He stared at her, looking angry at her words, she thought. Or at least greatly irritated. Then, without replying, he looked at her résumé and letters of reference again, as if reviewing the pages for final questions.

      She’d blown it totally, Rebecca realized. She wasn’t going to get this job. She could always tell when the interviewer started studying her résumé in the middle of everything. She predicted he would soon lift his head, bestow a dismissing smile and send her off with some polite comment that would let her know she was low on the list.

      Rebecca glanced at her surroundings. She’d been so intent on answering Matthew Berringer’s questions, she hadn’t taken much notice of the room. Sunny and spacious, it appeared to be a library or study. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the furnishings were large, comfortably worn pieces upholstered in leather and tapestry fabrics. There were many framed photos. Some looked quite old. Most looked like family groups.

      Area rugs in traditional designs covered the polished wooden floor, and an impressive carved oak desk stood in front of glass doors that led to a covered terrace. The doors stood ajar, allowing the spring air to fill the room.

      When the interview began, she’d expected Matthew Berringer to take a seat behind the big desk. Instead, he’d sat on a couch across from her and offered her coffee from a silver service. The gesture, though small, had helped put her at ease.

      She took a moment to raise her china cup and take a sip. The coffee was cold, but at least it gave her something to do.

      In the tense silence, Rebecca could hear the ocean, just steps away from the terrace of the beachfront property. The steady rhythm of the waves was soothing and helped her relax.

      It was a pity she wasn’t going to work here. The Berringer mansion—merely Grant Berringer’s summer home—was so beautiful, the kind of grand old place