www.millsandboon.co.uk

      In memory of my mother, Romaine Arcuri Cacciola,

      who gave me my love of music. I miss you.

       Prologue

       July Fifteenth Year High School Reunion

      Her heart racing, Mikala Conti watched as Dawson Barrett crossed the cafeteria floor and extended his hand.

      “Would you like to dance?”

      She hadn’t seen him for fifteen years. The blue-and-yellow streamers decorating the ceiling and the spinning silver mirror ball faded away as she remembered catching glimpses of him in this cafeteria so many years ago. Memories sifted around her, like the reflective silver light. One stood out—prom night—and the way Dawson had rescued her from a terrible situation.

      “It’s been a long time,” she said, shaking off the flash from the past as she took his hand and rose to her feet.

      He guided her a short distance away to a free spot on the tiled floor and took her into his arms.

      Mikala felt breathless—sort of light-headed—and she knew she had to get a grip. She wasn’t like this. She was never giddy or impulsive or even daring. But as Dawson’s hand skimmed across her back under her long, wavy black hair, as it came to rest on the silky fabric of her sedate yet dressy black dress, she couldn’t seem to control any of her body’s reactions.

      He seemed to enjoy the moment, too. When she gazed up into his eyes she remembered the boy he’d been and realized what an absolutely sexy man he’d become. They danced together as if they had done it more than once before. His green eyes didn’t reflect all the years between then and now. They reflected a bond they’d once had.

      But then he said—

      “I didn’t come tonight just for old times’ sake. I needed to talk to you. I know you’re a music therapist. My son needs your help. Will you consider taking him on as a patient?”

      Remembering again the night of her prom, Mikala knew she’d do anything she could to help Dawson.

      For old times’ sake.

       Chapter One

       January

      Mikala checked the music-note-shaped wall clock, her heart pounding faster with each passing minute. Her studio, a two-room cabinlike structure in the backyard of the Purple Pansy Bed-and-Breakfast, was her second home. Growing up, she’d wrapped herself in music—listening to it, playing it, getting lost in the emotion of it—whenever life got complicated.

      Now Dawson Barrett wanted her to use music to help his son.

      Last summer they’d reconnected at their high school reunion. Then before Christmas Dawson had called and confirmed he’d be moving back to Miners Bluff and putting Luke under her care.

      The cabin’s chiming doorbell melodically announced Dawson’s arrival. He’d said he’d be here at one-thirty, and it was one-thirty on the dot. She’d dressed with more care than usual, wearing a deep purple cowl-neck sweater over gray slacks. Smoothing her hands down over her hips, she took a deep breath and pushed her long, black hair over one shoulder.

      When she opened the door, the January wind swept in. Right away she noticed the deep lines around Dawson’s eyes, a furrow in his brow and fatigue on his face. His sandy brown hair was windswept and his leather jacket was zipped tight against the cold.

      Their dance last summer was vivid in her mind—the way he’d held her, the way her heart had fluttered madly. Also still vivid were memories that went farther back—prom night, how he’d given her the ability to dream.

      But then he’d left without a word. And all these years she’d wondered about him and the life he’d found, even though she’d heard rumors that he’d been widowed, was a wealthy CEO and a success in the field of construction.

      “Come in!” She motioned to the office area of her studio, thinking Dawson looked as if he needed to get warm.

      “I cut it a little close.” He gave her one of those smiles that had always affected something deep inside of her. “You said on the phone you had an appointment to meet with the principal at the elementary school at three-thirty.”

      “I do, and none too soon.”

      She felt an urgency about Dawson now that hadn’t been in his voice when they’d spoken before. “Did something happen?”

      “Luke tried to run away.”

      “Oh, Dawson. Let’s sit.”

      Besides her mahogany desk, there was a cranberry-colored corduroy love seat and two camel leather club chairs. They gravitated to the love seat as Dawson unzipped his jacket and shrugged out of it. She couldn’t help but notice the breadth of his shoulders in his navy sweater, the way his jeans hugged his slim hips and long legs.

      This was Dawson, she told herself sternly. He was a friend who needed her help.

      Memories from