success.
He picked up the pace and ran until he thought he would collapse. Until
the images of Rebecca lying naked beneath that skylight faded and
reality returned. Images of Rebecca crashing his car and nearly killing
him with her driving replaced the fantasies.
If he allowed himself to care about her, she might break his heart. Or
he’d hurt her and feel like a heel when he moved to Atlanta.
His phone jangled, and he turned off the treadmill, swiped a towel
across his sweating face and reached for it, half hoping to hear
Rebecca’s voice on the other end of the line.
Instead Rachel Lackey’s frantic husband bellowed with worry. “Rachel’s
in labor, Doc. And I think-” his voice broke “-I think something’s wrong.”
Rebecca was certain she wouldn’t need new underwear, but she could
hardly turn down an outing with her cousins and sister without seeming
like a real bore, so she agreed to join them and hung up. She touched
her finger to her neck, where her skin felt hot from Thomas’s lips. It
couldn’t hurt to spruce up herself and her wardrobe. Maybe then she
could summon up the confidence to ask Thomas about her plan.
Except after that near-kiss, maybe she’d forget about in vitro and
consider approaching the baby plan the old-fashioned way. Would she ever
have the nerve to ask Thomas? Would he be interested even if she did?
Her gaze landed on the hope chest. She traced a
finger over the intricate carvings on the silver handle of the comb and
mirror set, then raised the mirror and looked into the antique glass.
What had Thomas thought when he’d looked at her earlier? Did he see a
dowdy-looking spinster or the lonely girl who ached inside for love? For
a man’s touch?
As she placed the mirror in the hope chest, she dragged the handmade
afghan over her, then picked up the book of erotic poetry and stretched
out on her bed. Several passages later the images the words evoked
sprang to life. Bodies entwined. Lovers’ lips meeting and parting.
Tasting. Exploring. Taunting. Seeking.
She picked up her sketchbook, knowing she had to express herself the
only way she knew how. Though she had always blushed and been nervous
when she’d had to sketch nudes in her drawing classes, here in the
privacy of her bedroom, the lines and angles of the man’s body flew from
her fingertips. The mouth, the eyes, the subtle hint of a smile, of
desire. Broad shoulders, muscles defined, a wide chest narrowing to lean
muscular hips. Thick dark hair sprinkled over hard muscular thighs and
calves. She hesitated. Told herself not to continue. To tear up the
sketch and throw it away, just as she should throw away these silly
fantasies.
But her hand disobeyed, and the artist in her continued to sketch, to
fill in the details of his physique. Strong. Defined. Bold.
And when she finished, she stared at the face of the man she’d sketched
and couldn’t believe her eyes. It might have been the best freehand
drawing she’d ever done.
Only, no one would ever see it. Especially her subject.
Thomas.
She chuckled sardonically. When she’d been drawing, she hadn’t thought
once about her baby plan….
It was early morning before Thomas allowed himself to leave the
hospital. Even then he hated to abandon the Lackeys. The delivery had
not gone well, although they had stabilized the baby enough to transfer
it to the neonatal unit in Atlanta. He and the pediatrician in town,
Josh Redgrave, had both picked up on heart problems. The infant needed
surgery right away along with more extensive tests they weren’t equipped
to conduct at Sugar Hill General.
The Lackeys’ reaction had been difficult to handle, the situation
frightening for everyone, and Rachel’s husband had needed someone to
blame. He’d taken his distress out on his wife and Thomas.
He’d bluntly accused Thomas of not giving her proper
He picked up the pace and ran until he thought he would collapse. Until
the images of Rebecca lying naked beneath that skylight faded and
reality returned. Images of Rebecca crashing his car and nearly killing
him with her driving replaced the fantasies.
If he allowed himself to care about her, she might break his heart. Or
he’d hurt her and feel like a heel when he moved to Atlanta.
His phone jangled, and he turned off the treadmill, swiped a towel
across his sweating face and reached for it, half hoping to hear
Rebecca’s voice on the other end of the line.
Instead Rachel Lackey’s frantic husband bellowed with worry. “Rachel’s
in labor, Doc. And I think-” his voice broke “-I think something’s wrong.”
Rebecca was certain she wouldn’t need new underwear, but she could
hardly turn down an outing with her cousins and sister without seeming
like a real bore, so she agreed to join them and hung up. She touched
her finger to her neck, where her skin felt hot from Thomas’s lips. It
couldn’t hurt to spruce up herself and her wardrobe. Maybe then she
could summon up the confidence to ask Thomas about her plan.
Except after that near-kiss, maybe she’d forget about in vitro and
consider approaching the baby plan the old-fashioned way. Would she ever
have the nerve to ask Thomas? Would he be interested even if she did?
Her gaze landed on the hope chest. She traced a
finger over the intricate carvings on the silver handle of the comb and
mirror set, then raised the mirror and looked into the antique glass.
What had Thomas thought when he’d looked at her earlier? Did he see a
dowdy-looking spinster or the lonely girl who ached inside for love? For
a man’s touch?
As she placed the mirror in the hope chest, she dragged the handmade
afghan over her, then picked up the book of erotic poetry and stretched
out on her bed. Several passages later the images the words evoked
sprang to life. Bodies entwined. Lovers’ lips meeting and parting.
Tasting. Exploring. Taunting. Seeking.
She picked up her sketchbook, knowing she had to express herself the
only way she knew how. Though she had always blushed and been nervous
when she’d had to sketch nudes in her drawing classes, here in the
privacy of her bedroom, the lines and angles of the man’s body flew from
her fingertips. The mouth, the eyes, the subtle hint of a smile, of
desire. Broad shoulders, muscles defined, a wide chest narrowing to lean
muscular hips. Thick dark hair sprinkled over hard muscular thighs and
calves. She hesitated. Told herself not to continue. To tear up the
sketch and throw it away, just as she should throw away these silly
fantasies.
But her hand disobeyed, and the artist in her continued to sketch, to
fill in the details of his physique. Strong. Defined. Bold.
And when she finished, she stared at the face of the man she’d sketched
and couldn’t believe her eyes. It might have been the best freehand
drawing she’d ever done.
Only, no one would ever see it. Especially her subject.
Thomas.
She chuckled sardonically. When she’d been drawing, she hadn’t thought
once about her baby plan….
It was early morning before Thomas allowed himself to leave the
hospital. Even then he hated to abandon the Lackeys. The delivery had
not gone well, although they had stabilized the baby enough to transfer
it to the neonatal unit in Atlanta. He and the pediatrician in town,
Josh Redgrave, had both picked up on heart problems. The infant needed
surgery right away along with more extensive tests they weren’t equipped
to conduct at Sugar Hill General.
The Lackeys’ reaction had been difficult to handle, the situation
frightening for everyone, and Rachel’s husband had needed someone to
blame. He’d taken his distress out on his wife and Thomas.
He’d bluntly accused Thomas of not giving her proper
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