Читать книгу A Family to Call Her Own - Irene Hannon - Страница 10

“Hi, Ben.”

The rotund man behind the counter turned, wiped his hands on his white apron and smiled at Rebecca as she climbed onto a stool.

“Hi, there. I was beginnin’ to think you were going to skip your coffee again this morning. Missed you yesterday.”

Rebecca crossed her arms on the counter and rolled her eyes. “I barely made it to the restaurant in time to get lunch going,” she admitted ruefully. “I just don’t function well on five hours of sleep. And I don’t feel a whole lot better today.”

Ben looked at her quizzically, his bushy white eyebrows rising. “Late night Thursday?”

“Uh-huh. My brother and his wife had their baby, and I drove up to be with them. I just didn’t expect it to take so long. But babies seem to have their own schedules when it comes to making an entrance,” she noted wryly.

Ben chuckled. “That’s a fact. Everything go okay?”

“Yes. It was a great day—except for driving home in the fog.”

“I heard it was bad,” he sympathized. Suddenly he peered at her chin and leaned closer. “Say, that’s a nasty bruise,” he observed, inspecting the bluish patch of skin on her jaw, clearly visible even under makeup. “What happened?”

Rebecca wrinkled her nose and gingerly touched the tender spot. “That, my friend, is a long story.”

She was saved from having to explain by the jingling bell on the door, announcing the arrival of another customer. Ben glanced toward the entrance, then poured her a cup of coffee. “This’ll wake you up. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Rebecca took a long, slow sip of the scalding liquid. Ben really did have a knack with coffee, she acknowledged. Of course, she could easily make her own at the restaurant a few doors away. But three years ago, when Ben had been one of the few people to oppose her request for a permit to open a restaurant, she’d gotten into the habit of stopping by every morning. It had taken a lot of talking on her part to convince him that she was no competition, that they would attract a different clientele. But she’d won him over in the end, and now they were the best of friends. Her early trips for coffee, once peace missions, were now simply an enjoyable way to start the day and catch up on town news.

Rebecca glanced affectionately toward the booth where Ben was conversing with another patron, gesturing emphatically over some point. With his bristly white hair framing a swatch of bald head—the fairway, he called it—he could almost pass for Santa Claus. In fact, he played that role every year at a variety of town holiday functions. And he had certainly been good to Rebecca.

By the time he ambled back to the counter, Rebecca’s cup was almost empty, and he reached for the pot to give her a refill. She started to protest, but he waved her objections aside. “I know you usually only indulge in one cup, but you’ll have a busy day today, bein’ Saturday and all. You’ll need it.” He reached into the toaster oven behind him and plopped a bagel on a plate, adding cream cheese and a pat of butter. “And have this, too. You need to keep up your energy. Running a restaurant is hard work. I know. Although how you manage to stay so skinny in this business is beyond me. Course, I went the other way.” He patted his generous stomach and grinned. “Too much sampling, I guess,” he said with a wink.

Rebecca smiled. “Thanks, Ben. What would I do without you?”

He waved her comment aside. “You’d get along just fine. You’ve got those two old busybodies dithering over you all day at the restaurant.”

“Now, Ben,” she admonished him gently. “You know I could never manage without Rose and Frances. They’re a godsend.”

With a snort he reached for a damp rag and began polishing the sparkling counter. Rebecca stifled a smile as she took a bite of the bagel. The friendly rivalry for her affections between the two camps—Ben in the diner, Rose and Frances in the restaurant—always amused her. But she was grateful to be blessed with such loyal friends.

“Well, all I can say is, you make the best coffee in town,” Rebecca declared to appease him. She knew he was mollified when he handed her the morning paper.

“Here. Take a gander,” he said gruffly. “Probably be the only time all day you sit down.”

“Thanks, Ben.” Rebecca took the peace offering and scanned the headlines, her attention caught by a story on area flooding. She didn’t even look up when the jangling bell announced a new arrival, at least not until Ben leaned down to give her an update.

“Mark’s here. Got a stranger with him, too.”

Even before she glanced up at the mirror over the grill and saw his reflection, Rebecca knew with uncanny certainty that the stranger with Mark was the man in the fog. She swallowed her last sip of coffee with difficulty, her pulse suddenly accelerating as she peeked above the paper to surreptitiously survey his image. If she’d had any doubts about his identity, the bandage at his hairline immediately confirmed her intuition. And if she’d sensed a power and virility radiating from him Thursday night when he was half-unconscious, today it was at full strength. His attire—worn jeans that sat well on his slim hips, and a dark green cotton shirt that revealed a glimpse of dark brown hair at the open neckline—only enhanced his appeal.

Suddenly Rebecca felt shaky, and though she made an attempt to control her physical reaction to his presence, it proved futile. She didn’t have much time to try, anyway, because Mark immediately walked over to her, the stranger in his wake.

“Hi, Rebecca. Can we join you?”

Rebecca turned slightly at their approach and forced herself to smile at Mark, avoiding the stranger’s eyes as she struggled to find her voice. “Of course.”

Mark climbed onto a stool and gestured toward his companion. “Rebecca, this is a buddy of mine from way back, Zach Wright. He’s a reporter—for that paper, in fact,” Mark said, leaning over to tap on the section Rebecca was clutching. “He’s here to cover the flood. Zach, Rebecca Matthews.”

Rebecca could no longer avoid looking at the stranger, so she took a deep breath and turned to face him. The last time he’d gazed at her his eyes had been glazed, unfocused and dull with pain. Now they were clear and alert and warm. And disturbing. Her pulse went into overdrive.

Zach held out his hand, and short of being rude, she had no choice but to place hers in his firm grasp. “It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca.” He had a pleasant voice, deep and mellow, with just a touch of huskiness.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” She tried to think of something else to say, anything, but her mind suddenly went blank. All she could do was stare into his compelling brown eyes.

Zach was equally captivated by the hazel eyes locked on his. Rebecca Matthews was a beautiful woman, with classic high cheekbones accentuated by the French twist hairstyle of her russet-colored hair. Beautiful and, surprisingly, familiar. He somehow sensed that their paths had crossed before. He had a good memory for names and faces—a skill that was essential in his business—and it rarely failed him. But he came up empty on the woman across from him. Although how he could forget someone who looked like Rebecca Matthews was beyond him.

As the seconds lengthened, Zach realized that they were beginning to draw curious glances, and he reluctantly released her delicate hand with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry…I don’t mean to stare, but…have we met before?” he asked, his eyes probing, quizzical.

Rebecca debated her answer. Originally she’d planned to keep her role in the stranger’s rescue a secret because he was a stranger. But now that she knew he was a friend of Mark’s, remaining anonymous was less important. She’d known Mark for several years, and if this man was a friend of his, he was okay.

She smiled faintly, and a becoming flush tinted her cheeks. “Sort of. Although given the circumstances I’m not surprised you’re having a hard time placing me. Between the fog and the accident, I’m amazed you remember anything.”

Zach stared at her, the puzzlement in his eyes rapidly giving way to comprehension. “You mean…it was you on the road Thursday night? You were the one who stopped to help and drove me to the hospital?” he asked incredulously.

She nodded and glanced away, reaching for her coffee cup. “Yes.”

Mark stared at Rebecca, then at Zach. “Are you telling me that Rebecca is the angel of mercy you’ve been raving about?”

Rebecca’s startled gaze flew to Zach’s, and he felt his neck redden. But before he could speak, Mark leaned over to examine Rebecca’s chin.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “I just noticed the bruise! What happened? It looks like somebody slugged you.”

Rebecca’s gaze flickered to Zach, then skittered away. “It was an accident,” she said with a shrug, dismissing his question.

There was a moment of silence, and when Zach spoke his voice was troubled. “Why do I have a feeling I’m responsible for that?” he said slowly.

Rebecca turned to find him frowning as he studied the purple bruise shading the delicate line of her jaw. She shrugged again, flushing in embarrassment. “It was an accident,” she repeated. “You were hurt. You lost your balance, and I was in the way.”

He expelled a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “I think I owe you a very big thank-you—and a sincere apology,” he said quietly, his intense eyes holding hers captive.

Rebecca dismissed his thanks with a shrug. “I’m glad I could help. And this is nothing,” she assured him, gesturing vaguely toward her jaw. “So how are you?” she inquired, feeling increasingly self-conscious under Zach’s speculative gaze.

“Doing better. Thanks.”

“Twelve stitches and a concussion,” Mark elaborated. “Go ahead, Zach. Sit down,” he suggested, indicating the stool next to Rebecca.

Zach hesitated, sensing that for some reason his presence was disruptive to the woman beside him, but she smiled politely.

“Please do,” she seconded. “I have to leave, anyway.” She drained her cup in one long gulp and slid to the ground. “I hope you recover quickly,” she said, forcing herself to meet his magnetic eyes.

“Thanks.” He grinned disarmingly, once more extending his hand, and again she was left with no choice but to take it. As he enfolded her slender fingers in his firm grip, her heart began to bang painfully against her chest, so strongly she was almost afraid he would be able to feel it through the vibrating tips of her fingers. His eyes held hers—curious, questioning, warm…and interested. Which did nothing to slow her metabolism.

“Thanks again for Thursday night.” His voice was still shaded by that appealing, husky timbre. “I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. I’m just sorry about that.” His gaze flickered down to her jaw, and he started to reach up as if to touch the bruise. Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped, but suddenly he dropped his hand, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans instead. Rebecca’s pulse kicked back in, then raced on.

“Anyway, I just want you to know that I don’t usually go around hitting women,” he assured her, his voice even more husky than before.

She cleared her throat, hoping her own voice wouldn’t desert her. “I’m sure you don’t. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Carefully she withdrew her hand, and with an effort she tore her gaze from his to look at Mark. “See you later.”

“You bet.”

“Ben, thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime.”

And then she fled.

Zach planted his hands on his hips and watched her leave, a slight frown marring his brow. Clearly she’d wanted to escape from his presence as quickly as possible. But why? It wasn’t that she was unfriendly. She just seemed…well, skittish. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone quite like Rebecca Matthews. She was poised and polished, yet she seemed somehow…untouched. Vulnerable. Fragile. Without hard edges or pretense. She radiated an almost innate goodness, an old-fashioned air of shy sweetness. Those weren’t qualities he’d run into often, and he was intrigued—and captivated.

He turned thoughtfully and straddled the stool next to Mark, who was watching him with amused interest.

“Forget it, pal,” Mark warned with a grin.

“Forget what?” Zach asked coolly, reaching for the mug of coffee Ben placed on the counter.

Mark chuckled. “I’ve seen that look before. Had it once myself. Just don’t get your hopes up. Rebecca’s great—but she has no interest in romance.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?”

“Of course! Do you think a single woman who looks like her could come to a small town like this and not be pursued by every eligible man in the county? But she wasn’t interested. Period. In anyone. So I didn’t take it personally. We all had to settle for being just friends.”

“Hmm.”

“‘Hmm’ what?”

“‘Hmm’ as in, that’s interesting but I’m not in the market, anyway.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Right,” Zach repeated firmly. “As my boss told me, I need some time to decompress.”

Mark grinned. “I can think of worse ways.”

Zach chuckled. “Speaking of which, when do I get to meet your elusive fiancée?”

Mark smiled. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sounds great.”

“Listen, do you mind if I run next door for a minute while you finish your coffee? Then I’ll give you the ten-cent tour.”

“No problem.”

Mark slid off the stool. “Ben will keep you company while I’m gone, right Ben?”

“Sure.” A moment later the door jangled to indicate Mark’s departure, and Ben ambled over to remove his cup, wiping the counter as he spoke. “Nice girl, Rebecca,” he said conversationally.

“Seems to be,” Zach agreed.

“Make a good wife for somebody,” Ben commented nonchalantly.

“From what Mark says, the lady’s not interested in romance,” Zach replied, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee.

Ben snorted. “Well, if you ask me, she just hasn’t met the right man yet.”

Zach had a knack for discreetly ferreting out large amounts of information without people realizing just how much they were divulging. It came in handy in his job—and in situations like this.

By the time he left the diner he knew quite a bit about Rebecca Matthews. She’d moved to St. Genevieve three years before to open her restaurant, “Rebecca’s,” which was becoming quite popular with both locals and St. Louisans, who often came to the quaint town for weekend getaways. She’d even been written up a few times in area papers—his own included, if Ben’s information was accurate. A graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, she’d worked in a couple of prestigious restaurants before striking out on her own. She came from the small town of Jersey, in southern Missouri, where her father still lived. Her brother, Brad—a minister—and his wife, Sam, made their home in St. Louis. She’d been returning from there Thursday night after the birth of their daughter. As far as Zach could tell from Ben’s ramblings, Rebecca never dated. And she was apparently doted over by two maiden sisters who worked at her restaurant.

As Mark and Zach started off on their tour a few minutes later, Mark pointed out Rebecca’s restaurant. It was a modest building in the historic district, identified only by a discreet awning that displayed the name.

“Rebecca really is a wonderful chef,” Mark told him. “The food’s great. You’ll have to try it while you’re here.”

“Uh-huh,” Zach replied noncommittally. As a matter of fact, he intended to become a regular customer. And not because of the food.

“Rose, have you seen the tube of whipped cream with the star tip?” Rebecca called, her voice muffled as she stuck her head into the restaurant’s huge refrigerator.

Rose glanced at the work counter, where the tube lay in clear sight right next to the torte Rebecca was decorating. It was exactly where she’d laid it moments before. Rose glanced at Frances across the counter, and her sister shrugged, mystified. Rebecca was extremely organized, and they’d never seen her flustered. Until this morning.

“It’s right here, dear,” Rose said, pointing to the tube as Rebecca turned.

“Oh. Well. I guess my brain just isn’t in gear this morning. I haven’t quite caught up on my sleep since Thursday night,” she explained lamely, warm color suffusing her face.

“Frances and I will just finish up in the dining room and leave you in peace to work your magic on that cake,” Rose replied, motioning for her sister to follow.

“All right.” Rebecca distractedly wiped her hands on her apron and glanced around the kitchen. “Now where did I put that spatula?” she mumbled.

Rose ushered Frances out of the kitchen, and the two older women looked at each other quizzically. With their white hair pulled neatly back into identical soft, motherly buns, the sisters could almost pass for twins, although Rose was the older by two years and stood three inches taller than Frances.

“What do you make of it?” Frances whispered, her voice tinged with concern.

Rose shook her head, frowning. “I don’t know,” she said slowly, clearly puzzled.

“She almost put cinnamon in the quiche this morning, too,” Frances informed her sister worriedly.

Rose considered that for a moment, and then her face grew thoughtful. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Frances prompted.

“Unless it’s a man,” Rose replied reverently.

“A man?” Frances repeated, her eyes widening.

“Yes,” Rose declared, nodding vigorously, becoming more certain by the moment. “I’d bet my prize-winning recipe for pickle relish that there’s a man behind this!”

“You mean our Rebecca’s got herself a man?” Frances said incredulously.

“How else would you explain what’s been happening this morning? Have you ever seen her so disorganized or absentminded?”

Frances shook her head. “No.”

“Then there you have it! There’s a man behind this, all right,” Rose asserted.

“But who?” Frances asked, bewildered.

Rose sighed, her brow knitted in concentration. “I don’t know. But maybe that old buzzard, Ben, does. She had coffee there this morning.”

“He won’t tell us anything,” Frances lamented, shaking her head regretfully.

“He will if you drop by with a piece of that torte this afternoon,” Rose declared conspiratorially. “He has a sweet spot for you, anyway.”

Frances smoothed back her hair and sniffed, pretending indifference. “Well, I suppose I could try.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Rose agreed.

“So what did you find out?” Rose asked eagerly when Frances returned from her mission later in the day, empty plate in hand.

Frances looked around carefully to make sure they were alone, then leaned close. “There was a stranger in there this morning with Mark,” she reported in a hushed voice. “Name of Zach. His car went off the road in the fog, and Rebecca drove him to the hospital. He’s a reporter from St. Louis, here to cover the flood. Ben says there was enough electricity flying between the two of them to run his toaster without even plugging it in. Said this Zach seemed like a real nice gentleman.”

Rose gave a satisfied nod. “Good job, Frances.”

Suddenly the front door of the restaurant opened, and both women straightened up guiltily. A young man carrying a large vase covered with green florist tissue entered the shop and made his way toward them.

“I have a delivery for Rebecca Matthews,” he informed the sisters, consulting the card attached to the tissue.

“I’ll get her,” Rose offered eagerly, bustling toward the kitchen. She opened the door and stuck her head inside.

“Rebecca, there’s a delivery here for you.”

Rebecca looked up from the soup she was stirring on the stove and frowned. “All our delivery people know to come around back.”

“It’s not that kind of delivery,” Rose replied, her eyes dancing.

Rebecca’s frown deepened. “What do you—” But Rose was already gone. Rebecca sighed. She was having a hard enough time concentrating today without all these interruptions, she thought irritably as she pushed through the swinging door.

She stopped abruptly when she saw the young man standing there with what was obviously a vase of flowers, Rose and Frances flanking him on each side like bodyguards.

“Rebecca Matthews?” the boy asked.

“Yes.”

“These are for you.” He walked over and handed the vase to her. Then, jingling his keys and humming under his breath, he headed back out the front door while Rebecca stared, dumbfounded, at the flowers in her arms.

“Well, aren’t you going to open them?” Frances prompted her. “Don’t you want to know who they’re from?”

Rebecca already knew who they were from. There was no other possibility. Carefully, her heart hammering in her chest, she set the vase down on a convenient table and tore off the green paper to reveal a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses artfully arranged with fern and baby’s breath.

“Oh, my!” Frances breathed in awe, reaching out to delicately touch a petal, as if trying to assure herself the roses were real. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Here’s the card, dear,” Rose informed Rebecca, extracting it from the flowers and holding it out encouragingly.

Rebecca took it gingerly, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. She tore open the envelope carefully and slid the card out, taking a deep breath before scanning the message.

“Please accept these with my thanks and apology. It was a memorable encounter. Zach.”

For some reason Rebecca suspected that the “encounter” he was referring to had occurred this morning, not Thursday night, and that thought sent a tingle down her spine.

“Well?” Rose prompted.

Rebecca looked up blankly. She’d totally forgotten her audience. “It’s just from someone I did a favor for,” she explained vaguely, her voice a bit breathless.

“It must have been some favor,” Frances commented.

“Yellow roses. Now that’s interesting,” Rose mused.

Rebecca looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“The language of flowers, dear,” Rose replied matter-of-factly. “Yellow roses mean ‘I’ll never forget you.”’

Rebecca’s face flamed and she lowered her head, tucking the note into her apron pocket. “I doubt whether anyone knows that these days,” she remarked, striving for an offhanded tone. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Rose replied, her eyes twinkling. “And then again, maybe not.”

“Well, I don’t have time to speculate about flower messages,” Rebecca declared briskly. “There’s too much to do.” She picked up the vase and, without a backward look, headed for the kitchen.

The two sisters watched until the door swung shut behind her. Then Frances turned to Rose.

“Do you think they’re from him?” she asked eagerly.

“Absolutely. Who else would be sending Rebecca flowers?”

“So our Rebecca really does have a beau,” Frances breathed in awe.

“Looks that way,” Rose affirmed. “Now let’s just hope she gives him a chance.”

“Rebecca, some friends of yours are here,” Frances announced as she came bustling into the kitchen to pick up the salad course. “That nice couple from St. Louis.”

“Nick and Laura?” Rebecca said in surprise, turning from the stove where she was stirring the sauce for chicken Madeira. Normally she checked the reservations, but she simply hadn’t had time today.

“Mmm-hmm,” Frances confirmed.

“Tell them I’ll stop by and say hello at dessert, would you?” Rebecca asked over her shoulder.

“Of course.”

Rebecca smiled as she added some lemon juice to the sauce. She didn’t get to see her childhood friend often enough. Laura’s business as a landscape architect was booming, and her free time was pretty much devoted to Nick, “the man of her dreams,” as she called him. And Rebecca couldn’t blame her. Nick Sinclair would make any woman’s heart beat faster. Rebecca didn’t know much about Laura’s first marriage, but apparently there had been serious problems of some sort. Serious enough that Brad, who was not only Laura’s friend but her minister, had once told Rebecca that he doubted whether Laura would ever remarry. But then along came Nick, who somehow convinced Laura to take a second chance on love.

Rebecca was happy for her. She remembered that even as children, Laura, who was several years older than Rebecca, had always taken it upon herself to watch out for her younger friend and make sure she was included in the games and activities. Rebecca never forgot her kindness, and she was truly happy that Laura had found her own Prince Charming. And she also had Laura to thank for getting Sam and her brother together. If Sam hadn’t been Laura’s maid of honor, Sam and Brad might never have found each other. The Lord really did work in mysterious—and wondrous—ways, Rebecca reflected with a smile.

An hour later, as Rebecca put the finishing touches on the chocolate mousse with zabaglione, she was glad once again that she limited dinner service to a single seating on Friday and Saturday nights. Until she could afford to hire another chef, one seating was all she could manage. And when she had a full house—as she did more and more often lately—she was a zombie by Saturday night. But it was satisfying to know that her efforts were paying dividends, and not a day went by that she didn’t give thanks for her success.

Rebecca stepped back and surveyed the forty servings of dessert, nodding in approval. They were picture-perfect. She shrugged out of her apron, and as Rose and Frances entered the kitchen with two of the high school students who helped out on weekends, she picked up two servings of dessert and stepped into the dining room. Her gaze immediately went to Nick and Laura’s “special” table, the same one they’d sat at on their first visit, in the early stage of their relationship. They always asked for it when they made reservations.

As she joined them, Nick rose and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “But I’m not staying long. I don’t like to intrude on my guests’ dinner.”

“Oh, Rebecca, we want to visit a little,” Laura assured her. “We hardly ever get to see you anymore.”

“Life is busy. What can I say?” she replied with a grin. “And I’m not complaining. In this business, busy is good.”

“Mmm, I can see why you’re busy, with desserts like these,” Laura complimented her, closing her eyes as she savored the rich, creamy confection.

“I’ll second that,” Nick added appreciatively.

“It’s a good thing we don’t come here too often, though, or my figure would certainly suffer. Not that it will matter soon, anyway,” Laura said, smiling tenderly at Nick, who took her hand in a gentle clasp, his eyes warm and caressing as he gazed at her.

Rebecca glanced from one to the other as suspicion turned to certainty. “Does that mean what I think it does?” she asked with a smile.

Laura looked back at Rebecca, her eyes shining. “Yes,” she replied softly. “Our first little one is on the way.”

Rebecca reached over and took Laura’s free hand. “I’m so happy for you,” she told her sincerely, her gaze encompassing them both. “When’s the big day?”

“October 4, according to the doctor. It seems like such a long way off, but I know the time will fly. And I can’t wait to decorate the nursery!”

Rebecca felt her throat constrict at the glow of happiness on Laura’s face, and she blinked rapidly. She was thrilled for Laura, of course. Just as she had been for Sam. But once again, being in the presence of such a committed, loving couple only served to remind her of her own solitary life. She forced herself to smile, and with one final squeeze of Laura’s hand, she stood up. She needed to escape to the kitchen, take a moment to compose herself.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone to celebrate. You obviously have lots of exciting things to discuss.”

Nick stood up, as well, and took Rebecca’s hand. “It was wonderful seeing you again,” he said warmly. “And the food, as always, was superb.”

“Thank you, Nick.”

“Keep in touch, okay, Rebecca?” Laura requested.

“Of course. And if nothing else, I’m sure I’ll get regular updates from Brad and Sam. Good luck, Laura. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

“Thanks, Becka,” Laura replied warmly, reverting to her friend’s childhood nickname.

Rebecca turned away and walked unseeingly toward the kitchen, struggling to hold her tears at bay, berating herself for indulging in such blatant self-pity. She had so much to be thankful for. It was wrong to feel sorry for herself. Just because she’d never found someone who had the key to unlock her heart didn’t mean…

“Hello, Rebecca.”

Rebecca stopped abruptly and glanced toward the voice that had haunted her dreams for the past week. Zach Wright was sitting alone at a secluded corner table. She swallowed and brushed her hand across her eyes before moving toward him, trying to compose herself and discreetly erase evidence of her teary state. Which was difficult to do when her respiration had suddenly gone berserk and her eyes still felt misty.

Zach watched Rebecca approach, his discerning eyes missing nothing as they raked over her face. She was upset. Almost in tears, in fact, although she was struggling mightily to conceal that fact. He’d watched her interacting with the couple at the table across the room, and she’d been smiling and happy then. Their parting had been warm and amicable, as well. But something had prompted this sudden change of mood. He rose as she approached, and indicated the extra chair.

“Could you join me for coffee?”

Rebecca ran her damp palms down the front of her simple, tailored black skirt, trying to still the erratic beating of her heart. Now she was doubly sorry she hadn’t taken the time to check the names on the reservation list. It would have been nice to have some warning of Zach’s presence. She knew he’d come in for lunch several times since arriving a week ago, but she’d gone out of her way to avoid him, much to the dismay of Rose and Frances. The simple fact was he made her nervous.

Rebecca knew, instinctively, that Zach was way out of her league in the arena of man/woman relationships. Smooth, fast, a man of strong passions—those were the words that came to mind when she thought of him. And she simply wasn’t equipped to deal with someone like that. Especially not now, when her emotions were so near the surface. She’d just have to find an excuse of some sort to decline his offer.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice sounding shaky even to her ears. “But there’s so much to do in the kitchen that—”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Rose declared briskly, pausing to refill Zach’s coffee cup as she bustled by. “Everything is under control. You sit down and have some coffee with this nice young man. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

Rebecca looked at Rose in dismay, then turned to find Zach watching her expectantly.

“I won’t take up much of your time,” he promised with an engaging smile.

Rebecca sighed. She might as well give in. Rose had invalidated her best excuse to decline his invitation, and nothing else came to mind. “All right. For a few minutes.”

Rose waved to Frances, who hurried over to place a cup of coffee in front of Rebecca. “Now isn’t this cozy?” she asked with a satisfied smile.

Rebecca gave the hovering sisters a withering look, but they seemed oblivious.

“If you need anything else, you just let us know,” Rose told Zach.

Zach watched them depart, then turned to Rebecca. “They seem very nice,” he remarked, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Oh, they are. Just a little too motherly at times,” Rebecca replied wryly. “For two women who have been single all their life, they take an inordinate interest in my—” She started to say “love life,” but caught herself, a flush creeping across her cheeks as she gazed at Zach. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what she was going to say, but at least he didn’t pursue it.

“Well, I like them,” he declared. “But I do feel a little guilty. I didn’t mean to railroad you into having coffee with me. I hoped you might want to, but I have a feeling I may have caught you at a bad time.” He paused and stirred his coffee, frowning slightly. “I hope you won’t think I’m being too personal, but you seemed…upset…when I stopped you. I thought maybe you had some bad news from that couple over there.” He nodded toward Nick and Laura.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Rebecca assured him. “Just the opposite, in fact.” She gazed back at her friends, who seemed oblivious to their surroundings as they sat close together, talking and laughing softly. “I just found out they’re expecting their first child, and I’m very happy for them.”

“I see.” Zach thought there was more to it than that, but he wasn’t going to push. Rebecca struck him as a very private person who might easily back off if she felt he was encroaching on her turf.

When her gaze returned to his she found him studying her speculatively, and she dropped her eyes self-consciously, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with one finger. “I’d like to thank you for the flowers,” she said softly. “They were beautiful. But it wasn’t necessary.”

“I wanted to do it. You took a risk, stopping to help a stranger, and I appreciate that. Besides, I still feel badly about the bruised jaw. Sending flowers was the least I could do.”

Frances was walking by at just that moment, and she stopped in her tracks. “So those beautiful roses were from you!” she exclaimed. “Rebecca just loved them! She even kept one to dry.”

“Frances!” Rebecca rebuked the older woman, blushing furiously.

“Oh, my, I guess I shouldn’t have said anything, should I?” Frances murmured contritely. “You’re always supposed to keep the gentleman guessing, aren’t you? Well, I’ll just leave before I put my foot in my mouth again.”

Zach chuckled as he watched her hurry off. “I see what you mean about the sisters,” he acknowledged.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about that,” Rebecca apologized, her face flaming. “Just because a man sends me flowers and then asks me to have coffee, they’re jumping to all sorts of conclusions. Most of which are wrong.”

Zach took a sip of his coffee, carefully set the cup down and leveled a direct look at her. “Are they?”

Rebecca stared at him. “What…what do you mean?” she asked, her voice quavering.

Before she could anticipate his intent he leaned forward and laid his hand over hers. “Exactly what you think I mean,” he said evenly.

Rebecca swallowed with difficulty. She’d never met a man quite this…frank…about his interest. It was just as she suspected. He was fast moving…and smooth. “Look, Zach, I…I don’t date, if that’s what you’re after.”

“That’s exactly what I’m after,” he confirmed. “Why don’t you date?”

For a lot of reasons, she thought silently. None of which she wanted to go into, especially with a man she hardly knew. “I just don’t.”

“Well, I’m not the kind of guy who gives up easily. Do you mind if I keep trying to convince you to make an exception in my case?”

Rebecca glanced down at the strong, tanned hand, flecked with dark brown hair, that covered hers. She’d like to get to know him better, actually. There was something about him that she found appealing. But despite the promise she’d made to herself on Valentine’s Day—to allow the possibility of romance into her life—she wasn’t yet ready to deal with someone of Zach’s determination and almost tangible virility. It frightened her. Besides, getting involved with a man who was just passing through wasn’t at all wise. She could be too easily hurt.

“You’ll be wasting your time,” she told him with a soft sigh, keeping her eyes downcast.

Zach squeezed her hand, then leaned back and picked up his cup. “Well, I must admit that this isn’t exactly great for my ego. You avoid me whenever I come in for lunch, and you won’t go out with me. Don’t you like me, Rebecca?”

“You seem nice,” she hedged.

“‘Seem.’ An interesting choice of words,” he mused. “Do I detect a note of caution in that comment?”

She shrugged. “You know what they say. A woman can’t be too careful these days.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true.” He paused and took a sip of his coffee. He sensed there was more behind Rebecca’s wariness than mere caution, and he was determined to get the whole story before he gave up on her. “Well, we could bring along a chaperone. How about Rose or Frances?”

Rebecca smiled despite herself. “Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?”

“Hey, if it makes you more comfortable, I’m game.”

For a minute she was actually tempted. But the fact remained that soon he would be returning to his life in St. Louis, and while St. Genevieve wasn’t that far away in distance, she suspected that once enmeshed in his life in the city, it would seem like another planet to Zach. He would forget the small town—and the woman named Rebecca who had simply provided a pleasant diversion while he was stuck there.

Regretfully she shook her head. “I don’t think so, Zach.”

He looked at her, letting a few moments of silence pass before he spoke. “I’d still like to keep trying.”

“Why?” she asked curiously. The man certainly didn’t discourage easily, she’d give him that.

“Because I find you attractive. Appealing. Interesting. And very intriguing. And I’d like to get to know you better. So…do you mind if I keep at this for a while?”

Rebecca couldn’t help but be flattered—and a little overwhelmed—by his compliments and his determination. “Does it matter if I do?” she asked faintly.

He looked surprised. “Of course. I’m not into harassing women. If you want me out of your life, I’ll be gone. But I think there’s a spark between us. I sure feel it, and I suspect you do, too, whether you’re willing to admit it or not,” he said frankly. “I’d like to see where it leads. And I’d like to keep trying to convince you to do the same.”

This was her chance. She could just tell him to get lost, and he would. He’d said as much. And she suspected he would honor his promise. She opened her mouth to decline his pursuit, but to her surprise different words came out instead. “I just hope you’re not disappointed.”

Zach smiled, and though his posture had seemed relaxed throughout their conversation, she could feel an almost palpable easing of tension. “I’ll consider that a green light. And as for being disappointed—well, let’s just say I’m not worried.”

“Maybe you should consider it a yellow light,” Rebecca countered, “as in ‘proceed with caution.”’

“Okay, a yellow light then,” he said, laughing.

Rebecca looked into his warm and insightful eyes, and felt her heart stop, then rush on. Zach said he wasn’t worried. And she believed him. She just wished she could say the same about herself.