CHAPTER ONE

      THE ringing phone blasted through the stillness of the empty coffee shop like a tornado siren. Trisha’s breath caught and froze in her chest. She instinctively knew this was the call she’d been waiting for.

      Her last chance.

      The polished aluminum and white-tiled surroundings evaporated from her consciousness as she vaulted over the mop bucket part-time employee, Amber Grace, had dragged out to clean up a spilled latte.

      Trisha grabbed the wall phone’s receiver, fumbling, almost dropping it before she managed a firm enough grasp to lift it to her ear. “Ed’s Gourmet Java Joint.” She swallowed, forcing the nervous quiver from her voice. “Trisha August, Day Manager, speaking.”

      She recognized the caller’s voice—the bank loan officer, telephoning with his verdict. Her heart pounded so furiously she could hardly hear over its deafening beat. This was her moment of truth—whether she would get her small business loan, or not.

      Caught between wrenching anxiety and frothy optimism, she listened, nodded, hardly able to squeeze in more than a brief “yes” or “no” as the loan officer talked in a tone that was mincingly polite but distant.

      Her heart sank. She’d heard that same thumbs-down speech so many times she couldn’t stand hearing it again. “But, I’m very responsible and I’m a hard worker. I’ll do anything for a loan!” she blurted, interrupting the lecture she knew was about to end in “Thank you for your interest in Kansas City Unified Bank.” “I’ll do anything you ask!” she cried. “Please, just give me a chance!”

      Without even the courtesy of a pause to pretend he gave her plea some thought, the loan officer delivered his “Thank you for your interest” line and hung up.

      Trisha stood there with the receiver clenched in a fist. Raw anger at the unfairness of the world overwhelmed her. She could do this! She could make a success of herself, if somebody would only give her a chance! Her throat aching with fury, she slammed the receiver on its hook. “You can’t borrow money if you don’t have money!” Frustration and resentment coloring her words, she twisted away from the phone. “How does anybody ever open a business?”

      “That’s a good question,” came a male voice. The comment had been spoken softly, the tone rich and deep and stirringly masculine.

      Startled that a customer had entered without her notice, Trisha’s gaze shot to the serving counter. A man stood there. A tall man, clad in a camel overcoat that Trisha guessed was made of the finest cashmere. His broad, expensively garbed shoulders twinkled with melting snow. Dark hair glittered, too. As fetching as all that sparkling and twinkling was in a fluorescent glare