Fourteen months ago Brianna hadn’t even been sure her little girl would live. Emma had been in the car with her dad when Larry had lost his temper at being cut off by another driver. In less time than it took to mutter an oath, he had been caught up in a full-blown incident of road rage. His car had been forced off the road into a culvert, where it had rolled over and over. Miraculously, he had walked away with barely a scratch, but just about every bone in Emma’s fragile four-year-old-body had been shattered.
For days, united by grief and fear, they had sat by Emma’s bedside, uncertain if she could possibly pull through, but God had spared her life. Then they had been faced with the long ordeal of healing and the very real threat that she would never walk again.
That had been more than Larry could bear. Consumed by guilt, he had walked away from the hospital one night and never looked back.
Until that moment, Brianna had thought she had a solid marriage. She had respected her husband, a man she had known most of her life, a man she had loved with every fiber of her being. She kept thinking he would come to his senses and come home, and for a long time she had been prepared to forgive him.
When the divorce papers had arrived in the mail a few weeks later, Brianna had been shocked. Filled with anger and pain at the betrayal, she had signed them with little regret. Or so she had told herself. Looking back, she could see now that Larry’s selfish act had left her with a heart filled with resentment and bitterness. She doubted she would ever trust another man. If a man as honorable as she had thought Larry to be could show such weakness in the face of adversity, how could she possibly risk her heart with anyone else?
Not that she had time for a personal life now, anyway. Her days began at dawn and stretched until midnight. As exhausting as they were, she was grateful to have her baby alive and a job that not only paid the exorbitant medical bills, but was totally challenging and fulfilling. For a time after the accident she had been terrified she might never find work in her chosen profession again.
During those first weeks of Emma’s recovery, Brianna had taken so much time off from work that she had lost her job. Stunned, she had been devastated as much by the loss of her insurance as by the blow to her career. How could Emma possibly recover if her mother couldn’t afford the best possible care? Brianna had needed to find a new job in a hurry. In a highly competitive field, that was easier said than done, and she was approaching the job search with more than the usual baggage that might daunt a prospective employer.
To her amazement, Bryce Delacourt had overlooked the firing and the demands of her daughter’s recovery when she’d applied for the top geologist’s position at his company. With astounding compassion, he had also seen to it that her insurance kicked in for Emma’s treatment, running roughshod over his carrier to make it happen. He would have her undying loyalty forever because of that.
They had made a deal, though, that no one at work would know about Emma. She didn’t want their pity, but more important she didn’t want special treatment because of her situation. She needed to have the people she worked with respect her as a professional. She was being brought in to supervise people who were older than she, people who had been there longer. She desperately needed to have credibility, to gain their trust. She knew all too well that no matter what their credentials, too often single moms weren’t taken seriously in the workforce. Because of that, Brianna threw herself into her work 150 percent and still found time for her daughter at the end of the day.
Running late tonight, she dashed inside the treatment facility with its brightly lit, sterile interior, and as always she was struck by the fact that there was no mistaking that this was just one step removed from a hospital. Only in the pediatric wing had an attempt been made to create an atmosphere that was both more cheerful and more like home. Here colorful murals had been painted on the corridor walls, the small area of the cafeteria reserved for children had been decorated in brilliant shades of blues, yellows and reds, and toys were strewn about as carelessly as they might be in a child’s bedroom at home.
“Hi, Gretchen,” Brianna whispered to the evening supervisor, waving as she passed the desk where the young woman was on the phone.
Gretchen glanced up, then covered the phone’s mouthpiece and called out to her. “Hey, Mrs. O’Ryan, wait a sec, okay?”
Brianna’s heart thudded dully as she waited for the nurse to finish her call. Had something happened today? Was Emma regressing? Her progress had come in fits and starts, in frustratingly slow little bursts, followed by weeks of status quo. All too often there were twice as many steps backward as forward. Brianna grinned ruefully at the mental pun. In Emma’s case, there had been no “steps” at all.
Gretchen, tall, blond and athletic, strode out from behind the desk, a smile forming. “Don’t look so worried,” she said, giving Brianna’s suddenly icy hand a warm squeeze. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Emma’s fine. I just wanted to be with you when you saw her.”
“Why?” Brianna asked, still not entirely reassured.
“You’ll see. She’s in the sunroom, watching TV.”
Brianna followed her down the hall, her mind whirling. It wasn’t something bad. Gretchen wouldn’t torture her if it was—she’d say so straight out. She was the most direct person Brianna had dealt with at the facility, always telling Brianna the unvarnished truth, even when the doctors danced around it, even when it was painful to hear. And because Gretchen was on in the evenings when treatments were over and the facility was settling into a quieter rhythm, she had more time to spend with anxious parents like Brianna.
In the sunroom, which was mostly glass, she spotted Emma at once with her halo of strawberry-blond curls, watching reruns of a favorite sitcom. For a moment, just the sight of her daughter was enough to clog Brianna’s throat with tears. She was so blessed to still have her baby. Everything else in her life was just window dressing.
“Emma,” Gretchen called out. “Your mom’s here.”
The wheelchair slowly rotated as Emma struggled with the mechanized controls she had finally mastered only a few days earlier. A frown of concentration knit her brow. She didn’t look up until she’d stopped in front of Brianna. Then that shy little smile stole across her face.
“Hi, Mama.”
Brianna leaned down and kissed her, resisting the desire to linger, to cling. Even at five, even under the circumstances, Emma craved her independence.
“Hey, baby. What’s up? Gretchen has been hinting you have a surprise for me.”
Emma nodded, clearly bursting with excitement. “Watch.”
Ever so slowly, with an effort that was almost painful to see, she slid to the edge of the seat, then placed her feet gingerly on the floor. Her knees wobbled uncertainly for a heartbeat, then stiffened. Finally she released her hold on the wheelchair and stood. All alone. Not quite upright, but completely, amazingly, on her own. Tears filled Brianna’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“Oh, baby, that’s
wonderful.
”
“I’m gonna walk, Mama. I am,” Emma said with fierce determination.
Overcome with emotion, Brianna knelt and gathered her in a fierce hug that for once Emma didn’t resist. For the longest time words wouldn’t come.
Then she leaned back, dabbed at her eyes and beamed at Emma. She stroked her baby’s cheek.
“Sweetie, I am so proud of you. You are going to be walking in no time at all. I never doubted it for a minute,” she said, even though she had. Late at night and all alone, she had worried and wondered if Emma would ever run and play like other kids again, if she would have the friends and the adventures she deserved.
This sweet, poignant moment was the reason she worked herself to exhaustion. It made all the sacrifices, the loneliness and the single-minded focus of her life worthwhile. Emma
was
going to walk again.
Everyone said they were a perfect match. His parents adored Gloria Ann. Her parents welcomed him into their lives as if he were a son. Only Dylan had expressed doubts, but because they were nebulous, instinctive doubts, rather than fact-based, Jeb had ignored him.
Too late he’d discovered that Dylan had been right. Gloria Ann was more fascinated with the Delacourt fortune than she was with him specifically. She had actually made a play for his younger brother, Michael, the one who was most clearly destined to become president of Delacourt. Turned down flat, she had attempted to smooth things over with Jeb, but his eyes were open by then. He’d walked away, filled with hurt and disillusionment.
After that, he’d made a conscious decision to keep his relationships casual and his intentions direct. There would be no promises of happily-ever-after, not on his part anyway. He couldn’t see himself getting past his now ingrained suspicions. Of course, Dylan and Trish had felt exactly the same way before they’d met their current matches. Given the family track record, it probably would be wise never to say never, but he knew himself well enough to say it with conviction.
In the meantime, there was Brianna. The very beautiful, very brilliant Brianna. There was no question of falling for her. He already had very valid reasons for distrusting her. Getting close to her would be a little like going into a foreign country without all the necessary inoculations very much up-to-date. That didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the journey.
After a restless night during which he considered, then again dismissed, his father’s warning to steer clear of the geologist, Jeb concluded that the simplest way to discover just what kind of person Brianna was would be to ask her out, get to know her outside the office, see what her lifestyle was like and if there was any chance she might be spending income that outdistanced her Delacourt Oil salary.
He knew she was single. Divorced, according to the rumor mill, though no one seemed to know much about the circumstances. He also knew she’d turned down dates with half a dozen of their colleagues. Her social life—if she had one—was a mystery. He considered such discretion to be admirable, as well as wise. He also considered it a challenge.
And that was what brought him to the fourth floor at Delacourt Oil just after seven in the morning. Although he knew very little about Brianna’s habits, he did know that she was an early riser. A morning person himself, on several occasions he’d spotted her car already in the parking lot when he arrived. Obviously neither of them had the sort of exciting nightlife that others probably thought they did.
As he walked toward her office, Jeb wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Brianna’s lights on and her head bent over a huge geological map spread across her desk. Her computer was booted up, and all sorts of mysterious calculations were on the screen.
Since she was totally absorbed, he took a moment simply to stand there and appreciate the auburn highlights in her no-muss, no-fuss short hair. If her hairstyle was almost boyish, the graceful curve of her neck was contrastingly feminine. She was wearing an outfit with simple lines, in natural fabrics—linen and silk. Her short-sleeved blouse was the same deep teal shade as her eyes. Her only jewelry was a simple gold cross. From the look of it, he guessed it was an antique. A family heirloom, perhaps? At any rate, she wasn’t adorned with expensive diamonds, which might be telltale bounty from any ill-gotten gains.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked eventually, trying to tame hormones that seemed inclined to run amok at the mere sight of her.
Her head shot up, and startled blue-green eyes stared at him guiltily…or so he thought. Was she trying to pinpoint a new site she could pass on to the competition? When she made no attempt to hide the map, he told himself he was being ridiculous. Any investigator worth the title should think more rationally and behave more objectively than he was at this moment. So far, he had suspicions and coincidence and not much else, yet he’d already all but tried and convicted her.
“You,” she said, as if he were a particularly annoying interruption, despite the fact that they probably hadn’t exchanged more than a few dozen words since she’d been hired.
“Now is that any way to greet a man who’s come bearing coffee and pastry?”
“No thanks,” she said, pointedly going back to her study of the map.
Ignoring the blatant dismissal, Jeb crossed the room and perched on the corner of her desk, close enough to be impossible for her to ignore. He opened the bag he’d brought, removed two cups of coffee and two warm cheese Danishes. He wafted one, then another under her nose. Though she didn’t look up, there was no mistaking her subtle sniff of the aroma.
“Tempting, aren’t they?”
She heaved a resigned sigh, then sat back. “You’re not going to go away, are you?” Despite the exasperation in her tone, there was a faint hint of a smile on her lips.
He beamed at her. “Nope.” He held out the coffee. She accepted it with exaggerated reluctance, took a quick sip, then another slow, appreciative swallow.
“You didn’t get this here,” she said. “Not even the executive dining room makes coffee like this.”
“Nope. I made a stop at a bakery.”
She regarded him warily. “Why?”
“No special reason.”
“Of course not,” she said with blatant skepticism. “This is something you make a habit of doing for everyone around here. Sort of an executive welcoming committee, a way to let the troops know that management cares. Today just happens to be my turn.”
“Exactly.”
Her unflinching gaze met his. “Bull, Mr. Delacourt.”
Startled by the direct hit, he laughed. This was going to be more fun than he’d anticipated. “You don’t mince words, do you, Mrs. O’Ryan?”
“Not enough time in the day as it is. Why waste it searching for polite phrases when the direct approach is quicker?”
“A woman after my own heart,” Jeb concluded. “Okay, then. I’ll be direct, too. I have a charity ball to attend on Friday. It’s for a good cause. The food and wine promise to be excellent. How about going with me?”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
Vaguely insulted by the quick, unequivocal—if not unexpected—refusal, Jeb pulled out his trump card. “Max Coleman will be there,” he said innocently, watching closely for a reaction. Other than a slight narrowing of her lips, there was nothing to give away the fact that the name meant anything at all to her. He pressed harder. “Might be interesting to see how he reacts to knowing just how well you’re doing at Delacourt Oil, don’t you think?”
“Max Coleman is slime,” she said at once. “I don’t care what he thinks.”
“Sure you do, sweetheart. It wouldn’t be human not to want a little revenge against a man who fired you.” He let his gaze travel slowly over her, waited until he saw the color rise in her cheeks before adding, “You look very human to me.” He winked. “Pick you up at six-thirty.”
He headed for the door, anticipating all the way that she might contradict him, might refuse even more emphatically, though he knew he’d found her Achilles’ heel.
Instead, she said softly, “Formal?”
He turned back, feigning confusion. “What was that?”
She frowned at him. “I asked if it was formal?”
“Definitely black tie,” he said. “Wear something sexy. You’ll bring him to his knees.”
Amusement seemed to flit across her face at that. “And you, Mr. Delacourt? Will it bring you to your knees?”
“Could be. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” To his sincere regret, in the past couple of minutes he’d discovered it was definitely possible. That alone should have been warning enough to induce him to abandon his investigation before it went wildly awry. Instead, it merely increased his anticipation.