“If you don’t want to live with me, then it makes perfect sense for me to—”
“I do want to live with you, you idiot,” she broke in. “I was hoping you’d do something—anything—to convince me to stay.”
Nash was quiet for a few seconds. “Let me see if I have this straight. You were going to move out, although you didn’t want to. Is that right?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted you to ask me to stay.”
“Ah, I understand now. You do one thing, hoping I’ll respond by asking you to do the opposite.”
She shrugged, realizing how silly it sounded in the cold light of reason. “I...guess so.”
“Let this be a lesson to you, Savannah Davenport,” Nash said, taking her in his arms. “If you want something, all you need to do is ask for it. If you’d simply sought my opinion, you’d have learned an important fact.”
“Oh?”
“I’m willing to move heaven and earth to make sure we’re together for the rest of our natural lives.”
“You are?”
“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m in love with you.” A surprised look must have come over her because he added, “You honestly didn’t know?”
“I...prayed you were, but I didn’t dare hope you’d admit it. I’ve been in love with you for so long I can’t remember when I didn’t love you.”
He kissed her gently, his mouth coaxing and warm. “Promise you won’t ever stop loving me. I need you so badly. It wasn’t until you were in my life that I saw how jaded I’d become. Taking on so many divorce cases didn’t help my attitude any. I’ve made a decision that’s due to your influence on me. When I graduated from law school, I specialized in tax and tax laws. I’m going back to that.”
“Oh, Nash, I’m so pleased.”
He kissed her with a hunger that left her weak and clinging.
“I can ask for anything?” she murmured between kisses.
“Anything.”
“Throw away that stupid agreement.”
He smiled boyishly and pressed his forehead against hers. “I already have.... The first night, after we made love.”
“You might have told me!”
“I intended to when the time was right.”
“And when did you calculate that to be?” she asked, having difficulty maintaining her feigned outrage.
“Soon. Very soon.”
She smiled and closed her eyes. “But not soon enough.”
“I had high hopes for us from the first. I opened my mouth and stuck my foot in it at the beginning by suggesting that ludicrous marriage-of-convenience idea. Marriage, the second time around, is a lot more frightening because you’ve already made one mistake.”
“Our marriage isn’t a mistake,” she assured him. “I won’t let it be.”
“I felt that if I had control of the situation, I might be able to control my feelings for you, but after Susan’s wedding I knew that was going to be impossible.”
“Why didn’t you follow your own advice and ask how I felt?” she said, thinking of all the weeks they’d wasted.
“We haven’t been on the best of terms, have we?” he murmured.
Savannah was embarrassed now by what a shrew she’d been. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly in an effort to make up for those first weeks.
“You said I can ask for anything I want?” she said against his lips.
“Hmm...anything,” he agreed.
“I’d like a baby.”
Nash’s eyes flew open with undisguised eagerness. “How soon?”
“Well... I was thinking we could start on the project tonight.”
A slow, lazy smile came into place. “That’s a very good idea. Very good indeed.”
Three years later...
“I can’t believe the changes in Nash,” Susan commented to Savannah. She and Kurt had flown up from California to spend the Christmas holiday with them this year. The two women were working in the kitchen.
“He’s such a good father to Jacob,” Savannah said, blinking back tears. She cried so easily when she was pregnant, and she was entering her second trimester with this baby. If the ultrasound was accurate, they were going to have a little girl.
“Nash is doing so well and so are you. But don’t you miss working at the shop?”
“No, I’ve got a wonderful manager and you can imagine how busy a fourteen-month-old keeps me. I’ve thought about going back part-time and then decided not to, not yet at any rate. What about you? Will you continue teaching?” Savannah softly patted Susan’s slightly distended stomach.
“No, but I’ll probably work on a substitute basis to keep up my credentials so when our family’s complete, I can return without a lot of hassle.”
“That’s smart.”
“She’s my sister, isn’t she?” Nash said, walking into the kitchen, cradling his son in his arms. Jacob babbled happily, waving his rattle in every direction. He’d been a contented baby from the first. Their joy.
Kurt’s arms surrounded his wife and he flattened his hands over her stomach. “We’ve decided to have our two close together, the same way you and Savannah planned your family.”
Savannah and Nash exchanged smiles. “Planned?” she teased her husband.
“The operative word there is two,” Nash said, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Sweetheart, we’ve been over this a hundred times. I really would like four.”
“Four!” Nash cried. “The last time we talked you said three.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Four is a nice even number.”
“Four children is out of the question,” Nash said with a disgruntled look, then seemed to notice Kurt and Susan staring at him. “We’ll talk about this later, all right? But we will talk.”
“Of course we will,” Savannah promised, unable to hold back a smile.
“She’s going to do it,” Nash grumbled to his sister and brother-in-law. “Somehow, before I’ve figured out how she’s managed it, we’ll be a family of six.”
“You’ll love it, Nash, I promise.” The oven timer rang and Savannah glanced at the clock. “Oh, dear, I’ve got to get busy. Mr. Serle and Mr. Stackhouse will be here any minute.”
“This is something else she didn’t tell me before we were married,” Nash said, his eyes shining with love. “She charms the most unexpected people....”
“They love Jacob,” Savannah reminded him.
“True,” Nash said wryly. “I’ve never seen two old men more taken with a toddler.”
“And I’ve never seen a man more taken with his wife,” Susan added. “I could almost be jealous, but there’s no need.” She turned to her husband and put her arms around his neck. “Still, it doesn’t do any harm to keep him on his toes.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Savannah agreed. And they all laughed.
* * * * *
MY HERO
For Virginia Myers, my mentor—
thanks for your friendship and encouragement!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
One
The man was the source of all her problems, Bailey York decided. He just didn’t cut it. The first time around he was too cold, too distant. Only a woman “who loved too much” could possibly fall for him.
The second time, the guy was a regular Milquetoast. A wimp. He didn’t seem to have a single thought of his own. This man definitely needed
to be whipped into shape, but Bailey wasn’t sure she knew how to do it.
So she did the logical thing. She consulted a fellow romance writer. Jo Ann Davis and Bailey rode the subway together every day, and Jo Ann had far more experience in this. Three years of dealing with men like Michael.
“Well?” Bailey asked anxiously when they met on a gray, drizzly January morning before boarding San Francisco’s Bay Area Rapid Transit system, or BART for short.
Jo Ann shook her head, her look as sympathetic as her words. “You’re right—Michael’s a wimp.”
“But I’ve worked so hard.” Bailey couldn’t help feeling discouraged. She’d spent months on this, squeezing in every available moment. She’d sacrificed lunches, given up nighttime television and whole weekends. Even Christmas had seemed a mere distraction. Needless to say, her social life had come to a complete standstill.
“No one told me writing a romance novel would be so difficult,” Bailey muttered, as the subway train finally shot into the station. It screeched to a halt and the doors slid open, disgorging a crowd of harried-looking passengers.
“What should I do next?” Bailey asked as she and Jo Ann made their way into one of the cars. She’d never been a quitter, and already she could feel her resolve stiffening.
“Go back to the beginning and start over again,” Jo Ann advised.
“Again,” Bailey groaned, casting her eyes about for a vacant seat and darting forward, Jo Ann close behind, when she located one. When they were settled, Jo Ann handed Bailey her battle-weary manuscript.
She thumbed through the top pages, glancing over the notes Jo Ann had made in the margins. Her first thought had been to throw the whole project in the garbage and put herself out of her misery, but she hated to admit defeat. She’d always been a determined person; once she set her mind to something, it took more than a little thing like characterization to put her off.
It was ironic, Bailey mused, that a woman who was such a failure at love was so interested in writing about it. Perhaps that was the reason she felt so strongly about selling her romance novel. True love had scurried past her twice, stepping on her toes both times. She’d learned her lesson the hard way. Men were wonderful to read about and to look at from afar, but when it came to involving herself in a serious relationship, Bailey simply wasn’t interested. Not anymore.
“The plot is basically sound,” Jo Ann assured her. “All you really need to do is rework Michael.”
The poor man had been reworked so many times it was a wonder Janice, her heroine, even recognized him. And if Bailey wasn’t in love with Michael, she couldn’t very well expect Janice to be swept off her feet.
“The best advice I can give you is to re-read your favorite romances and look really carefully at how the author portrays her hero,” Jo Ann went on.
Bailey heaved an expressive sigh. She shouldn’t be complaining—not yet, anyway. After all, she’d only been at this a few months, unlike Jo Ann who’d been writing and submitting manuscripts for more than three years. Personally, Bailey didn’t think it would take her that long to sell a book. For one thing, she had more time to write than her friend. Jo Ann was married, the mother of two school-age children, plus she worked full-time. Another reason Bailey felt assured of success was that she had a romantic heart. Nearly everyone in their writers’ group had said so. Not that it had done her any good when it came to finding a man of her own, but in the romance-writing business, a sensitive nature was clearly an asset.
Bailey prayed that all her creative whimsy, all her romantic perceptions, would be brilliantly conveyed on the pages of Forever Yours. They were, too—except for Michael, who seemed bent on giving her problems.
Men had always been an enigma to her, Bailey mused, so it was unreasonable to expect that to be any different now.
“Something else that might help you...” Jo Ann began thoughtfully.
“Yes?”
“Writers’ Input recently published a book on characterization. I read a review of it, and as I recall, the author claims the best way to learn is to observe. It sounded rather abstract at the time, but I’ve had a chance to think about it, and you know? It makes sense.”
“In other words,” Bailey mused aloud, “what I really need is a model.” She frowned. “I sometimes think I wouldn’t recognize a hero if one hit me over the head.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a dull object smacked the side of her head.
Bailey let out a sharp cry and rubbed the tender spot, twisting around to glare at the villain who was strolling casually past. She wasn’t hurt so much as surprised.
“Hey, watch it!” she cried.
“I beg your pardon,” a man said crisply, continuing down the crowded aisle. He carried a briefcase in one hand, with his umbrella tucked under his arm. As far as Bailey could determine, the umbrella handle had been the culprit. She scowled after him. The least he could’ve done was inquire if she’d been hurt.
“You’re coming to the meeting tonight, aren’t you?” Jo Ann asked. The subway came to a stop, which lowered the noise level enough for them to continue their conversation without raising their voices. “Libby McDonald’s going to be there.” Libby had published several popular romances and was in the San Francisco area visiting relatives. Their romance writers’ group was honored that she’d agreed to speak.
Bailey nodded eagerly. Meeting Jo Ann couldn’t have come at a better time. They’d found each other on the subway when Bailey noticed they were both reading the same romance, and began a conversation. She soon learned that they shared several interests; they began to meet regularly and struck up a friendship.
A week or so after their first meeting, Bailey sheepishly admitted how much she wanted to write a romance novel herself, not telling Jo Ann she’d already finished and submitted a manuscript. It was then that Jo Ann revealed that she’d written two complete manuscripts and was working on her third historical romance.
In the months since they’d met, Jo Ann’s friendship had been invaluable to Bailey. Her mentor had introduced her to the local writers’ group, and Bailey had discovered others all striving toward the same ultimate goal—publishing their stories. Since joining the group, Bailey had come to realize she’d made several mistakes, all typical of a novice writer, and had started the rewriting project. But unfortunately that hadn’t gone well, at least not according to Jo Ann.
Bailey leafed through her manuscript, studying the notes her friend had made. What Jo Ann said made a lot of sense. “A romance hero is larger than life,” Jo Ann had written in bold red ink along one margin. “Unfortunately, Michael isn’t.”
In the past few months, Bailey had been learning about classic romance heroes. They were supposed to be proud, passionate and impetuous. Strong, forceful men who were capable of tenderness. Men of excellent taste and impeccable style. That these qualities were too good to be true was something Bailey knew for a fact. A hero was supposed to have a burning need to find the one woman who would make his life complete. That sounded just fine on paper, but Bailey knew darn well what men were really like.
She heaved an exasperated sigh and shook her head. “You’d think I’d know all this by now.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You haven’t been at this as long as I have. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I have all the answers, either,” Jo Ann warned. “You’ll notice I haven’t sold yet.”
“But you will.” Bailey was convinced of that. Jo Ann’s historical romance was beautifully written. Twice her friend had been a finalist in a national writing competition, and everyone, including Bailey, strongly believed it was only a matter of time before a publishing company bought Fire Dream.
“I agree with everything you’re saying,” Bailey added. “I just don’t know if I can do it. I put my heart and soul into this book. I can’t do any better.”
“Of course you can,” Jo Ann
insisted.
Bailey knew she’d feel differently in a few hours, when she’d had a chance to muster her resolve; by tonight she’d be revising her manuscript with renewed enthusiasm. But for now, she needed to sit back and recover her confidence. She was lucky, though, because she had Jo Ann, who’d taken the time to read Forever Yours and give much-needed suggestions.
Yet Bailey couldn’t help thinking that if she had a model for Michael, her job would be much easier. Jo Ann used her husband, Dan. Half their writers’ group was in love with him, and no one had even met the man.
Reading Jo Ann’s words at the end of the first chapter, Bailey found herself agreeing once more. “Michael should be determined, cool and detached. A man of substance.”
Her friend made it sound so easy. Again Bailey reflected on how disadvantaged she was. In all her life, she hadn’t dated a single hero, only those who thought they were but then quickly proved otherwise.
Bailey was mulling over her dilemma when she noticed him. He was tall and impeccably dressed in a gray pin-striped suit. She wasn’t an expert on men’s clothing, but she knew quality when she saw it.
The stranger carried himself with an air of cool detachment. That was good. Excellent, in fact. Exactly what Jo Ann had written in the margin of Forever Yours.
Now that she was studying him, she realized he looked vaguely familiar, but she didn’t know why. Then she got it. This was “a man of substance.” The very person she was looking for...
Here she was, bemoaning her sorry fate, when lo and behold a handsome stranger strolled into her life. Not just any stranger. This man was Michael incarnate. The embodiment of everything she’d come to expect of a romantic hero. Only this version was living and breathing, and standing a few feet away.
For several minutes, Bailey couldn’t keep her eyes off him. The subway cars were crowded to capacity in the early-morning rush, and while other people looked bored and uncomfortable, her hero couldn’t have been more relaxed. He stood several spaces ahead of her, holding the overhead rail and reading the morning edition of the paper. His raincoat was folded over his arm and, unlike some of the passengers, he seemed undisturbed by the train’s movement as it sped along.