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He had learned that lesson well.
First, he’d lost the job he’d really wanted after med school to a guy who claimed to have been his friend. Then he’d lost Alison.
Hell, he’d really never had her.
His pride smarted, but he reminded himself Alison was happy and that was all that mattered. He certainly wouldn’t have tried to hold on to someone who didn’t love him.
Was there something about him that was unlovable? He contemplated the way his mother had acted after she’d lost his baby brother, the way his father had so easily deserted him when his mother had thrown him out. Of course, his dad had been hurting as well, especially when his mom had admitted that she’d only used him to have another baby… Still, why hadn’t he been enough for them?
Maybe he’d been looking for a way to settle down in this quaint town and he’d hoped Alison was that key. But he didn’t really want to stay in Sugar Hill the rest of his life, did he?
He had other goals in mind. To land that job at the new women’s center. Thomas had an interview scheduled in a few weeks. Getting to know Bert on a personal level would give him the inside scoop on Hartwell’s theories and goals, and the interview would go smoother.
Perhaps Rebecca would introduce him to her father. He’d overheard Mimi and Hannah discussing plans for a surprise birthday party for their grandmother. Wiley and Bert would both attend. If he could swing an invitation, it would be the perfect opportunity to meet Bert. He’d considered asking Hannah to introduce him, but he wasn’t ready to tell her he intended to leave the practice yet. If he asked Rebecca, he could keep his intentions quiet for a while. No sense stirring up trouble at work unless he had the new job in the bag.
A red blush stained Rebecca’s cheeks as she plucked the bouquet from her head. Hopefully, she wouldn’t run from him the way she had at Brady’s sister’s Vivi’s wedding when she’d dropped those cream puffs on his head.
She’d acted as if he was the big bad wolf ready to gobble her up.
Though he wasn’t the big bad wolf, he was through being Mr. Nice Guy. From now on, he would pursue his goals with a vengeance. And landing that job topped his list.
He would do whatever was necessary in order to secure it.
Rebecca and her grandmother ambled up the wraparound porch, heads bowed, voices hushed. Thomas hunched his shoulders against the chilly December air and strode across the lawn to catch Rebecca before she left. Then he would set his plan in motion.
REBECCA SLIPPED INTO her Grammy Rose’s parlor, breathing in the essence of her grandmother in the polished antiques and silver-framed photos of family and friends. She had always loved this room, loved the needlepoint pillows and china cups, the smell of Grammy’s rose-scented sachets filling the air, the scrapbooks full of treasured gifts from each of her grandchildren.
Someday she wanted a room like this in her own home. Just like she wanted a house full of kids, and then grandchildren. She would keep rose-scented potpourri in the house and homemade doilies on the coffee table, and keep pictures of all her children and grandchildren framed on the wall.
“It’s time you take your hope chest home,” Grammy said.
Rebecca’s throat tightened at the sight of the ornately carved wooden chest. Alison and her sisters had talked as if their hope chests carried some kind of secret power. Like an omen for the future. Or maybe Grammy Rose did.
Did the hope chest mean a wedding might be in the future for her?
No, Rebecca couldn’t allow herself to believe in such fantasies.
“But, Grammy, I’m not getting married.”
“Nonsense. Of course you are.”
Rebecca stared wide-eyed at the chest. She itched to reach out and touch it, to open it and discover what treasures lay inside.
But she couldn’t admit those feelings aloud.
“No, I…I don’t want to get married,” she forced herself to say. “I…I like my life just the way it is.”
THOMAS OVERHEARD Rebecca talking to her grandmother and breathed a sigh of relief. Rebecca didn’t want marriage, so he didn’t have to worry about her getting the wrong idea if he cozied up to her.
Thank goodness.
He didn’t want to hurt her. But being friendly with her might help his chances of getting the new job. Then he could move on with his life and make a name for himself in the medical world. And he’d finally fulfill that promise he’d made to himself years ago.
Yes, Rebecca would be the key to him leaving Sugar Hill.
The voices behind the door grew hushed, and he strained to hear, then stepped back, ashamed at himself for eavesdropping. Suddenly the door swung open, and Grammy Rose’s pointed chin jutted up in surprise, her eyes sparkling.
“Hey there, young man.” She threaded a strand of gray hair back inside the pearl clip at her nape. “Dr. Emerson, isn’t it?”
Heat warmed Thomas’s neck. She didn’t know he’d been listening, did she? “Yes, ma’am.”
“Listen, son, could you do me a favor?”
“I’ll do what I can.” Surely, she wasn’t inventing an illness for him to treat, like a few of the women patients who swarmed his office. He’d never seen anything like life in Sugar Hill.
“Good. My granddaughter Rebecca needs help carrying her hope chest to the car.” She gestured toward the room behind her. “She’s right there in the parlor.”
Thomas frowned. Didn’t women receive hope chests when they were engaged? Odd. He’d just heard Rebecca say she wasn’t interested in marriage.
REBECCA SLID A FINGER around the lock of the chest and released it, her heart pounding when the top sprang open. She should wait until she arrived home to look inside the hope chest. But curiosity replaced common sense, and she lifted the lid.
Dark-red velvet lined the chest and a piece of antique lace was folded over the top of the contents. Her fingers traced the fabrics, reveling in the richness of texture as she slowly moved the lace aside. A white bride’s book lay nestled there, its top embossed with silver wedding bells.
Footsteps suddenly sounded against the hardwood floor, the loose board at the parlor door squeaking. She slammed the lid closed, then swung around to find Thomas Emerson standing in the doorway.
“Your grandmother asked me to help you take something to the car.”
His deep voice spun a dizzying web around her senses. She opened her mouth to speak but barely managed to sputter a no.
He inched inside the room anyway, his masculine presence nearly overpowering the room.
“Thanks, but I…I can get it.” Rebecca fidgeted atop the small wooden stool, wishing she could shrink the hope chest and keep it out of sight. He might think she was hinting at something.
Like the fact that she wanted a husband and family of her own.
His green eyes radiated warmth as he gazed down at her. No wonder all the ladies in town threw themselves at him. “Come on, Rebecca. I don’t mind.” He moved around her, planting his big hands on his hips as he studied the box. “Will it fit in your car?”
She nodded, her palms sweaty as she stood. Oh, heck. She couldn’t very well deny him or she’d look like an idiot. “In…the back.”
He lifted the chest in one fluid motion, then gestured toward the doorway. Rebecca grabbed her purse and trotted forward, willing herself not to fall on her face or break her neck before she reached the car.
On the porch she hugged her grandmother and said a hasty goodbye, faintly aware most of the other guests had left. Hannah and Mimi were huddled inside the cluster of their father and mother. Her heart squeezed with envy. Sometimes she felt closer to her uncle Wiley than her own father. She searched for her sister to say goodbye, but Suzanne had apparently left to hit some of the after-Christmas sales with the twins.
Seconds later she managed to find her trusted clunker station wagon at the foot of the long, winding drive, where she’d parked between two trees. Thomas’s silver Porsche convertible was parked across the drive, her father’s Suburban several yards away by some pines. She watched as Thomas slid the hope chest into the back, her breath catching at the sight of his dark hair falling over his eyes.
“There you go.” He raked the lock of hair back in a gesture so manly that she had to swallow.
“Thanks.” She wanted to say more but her tongue caught on her teeth.
A smile curved his mouth, the wind tousling the lock of hair into disarray again, making him even more sexy. “Are you in a hurry? We could grab some coffee and talk.”
Talk?
No, talk was impossible. Her tongue was superglued to her teeth now.
She shook her head. “I…have—” she paused and cleared her throat “—have to hurry home.”
He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied her as she darted past him and into the car. “Are you sure? Rebecca…”
She ignored the fact that he followed her to the driver’s side and waved him off. “Thanks again.” Rebecca’s hands shook as she shoved the keys into the ignition, her mind tumbling with questions. Had Thomas really asked her out?
And if so, why?
It didn’t matter. She was a flirting failure and a disaster at the sex talk most women seemed so comfortable with these days. A real dinosaur at relationships.
She pressed the clutch, turned the key and sighed as the engine roared to life. Putting it into reverse, she rolled backward. Then she glanced in her rearview window and saw Thomas jump aside.
Dear God, she’d almost hit him.
He threw up a hand and waved anyway, and she panicked and pressed the gas again. But she’d forgotten to shift into drive and the car shot backward again. Gravel spun out sideways, the ground flew by under her, then her car lurched to a stop, metal crunching and glass shattering. Her neck jerked back, then sideways, then snapped forward. Her forehead and chest slammed against the steering wheel. The horn blared. She squeezed the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. Breathing in slowly, she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder to survey the damage. Her heart clamored to a stop. The top of the hope chest had fallen over, the contents spilling out. She peeked beyond, cringing.
She had just smashed into Thomas’s brand-new convertible. It looked like a broken pretzel.
Chapter Two
The sound of metal crunching and glass breaking rang in Thomas’s ears as he ran toward Rebecca’s car. But his heart pounded with worry. What if Rebecca was hurt?
He wrenched open the door, his pulse hammering at the sight of her trembling body. Her head was thrown forward, her hands clenching the steering wheel, her face shadowed by strands of hair that had fallen forward. Worse, her body was so still it seemed lifeless.
Had she hit her head?
“Rebecca?” He hesitated, knowing he couldn’t move her; she might be seriously injured. But he had to know if she was conscious. He pressed two fingers to her neck to feel for a pulse. She trembled beneath his touch, a shiver rippling through her.
A low cry tore from her throat as she turned tear-stained eyes to him. “I’m so-o-o sorry.”
Relief surged through him. A red lump protruded on her forehead, and her glasses hung askew, but, thank God, she was okay.
“Are you hurt?” He waited, his heart pounding when she simply stared at him with glazed eyes.
“Rebecca, please answer me. Where are you hurt?” He quickly surveyed her with his eyes to check for blood or protruding bones, but didn’t spot any major injuries. She hadn’t been wearing her seat belt though. Not a good sign. “Rebecca—”
“I’m such an idiot.”
He eased her back to rest against the seat, gently removed her glasses, then, with a finger below her eyes, checked her pupils. “Did you hit your head hard?”
She shook her head, her wide-eyed gaze full of shock.
“You weren’t wearing your seat belt?”
She glanced down in a daze. “Was…going to.”
“Your ribs? Did you hit the steering wheel?”
She nodded dumbly, her expression lost. “I…your car.”
“Forget about the damn car, just tell me if you’re hurting somewhere.” He reached for the front of her billowy bridesmaid dress to check for injuries to her chest, but she pushed his hands away in horror. “Rebecca, I’m just trying to examine you.”
“I’m fine.” She sniffled, her body shaking. “But I ruined your…your Porsche. I meant to go forward, but I forgot to shift gears and then the car shot back so fast—”
“I said to forget the car. Now if you won’t let me check you here, I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No.” She grabbed his hands and clung to him. “I’m okay, but I feel so stupid…” A wail escaped her, long and quavery.
His heart squeezed at the misery in her voice, so he cupped her face in his hands. “Stop worrying. I have insurance.”
That luscious lower lip of hers trembled again, the color draining from her face. He couldn’t stand it, he pulled her against the crook of his neck and rocked her, murmuring soft words of comfort. She felt fragile and small and more womanly than he’d expected. Protective instincts kicked in, warring with a sudden realization that her minty breath was tickling his neck, and the subtle scent of her feminine perfume was awakening sensations better left dormant.
“What was that noise?” Shouts erupted behind them and he could hear footsteps beating a path down the graveled drive. He pulled away, standing by the car and turning to face Rebecca’s relatives. Hannah, Jake, and Wiley Hartwell jogged down the path, Wiley heaving as he pushed his way to the front.
“Everyone okay?” Wiley yelled.
“I think so.” Thomas frowned at Wiley’s taxed breathing. The last thing he needed was the man to have a heart attack and send Rebecca into full shock.
“Rebecca, baby, are you all right?” Wiley leaned his hands on his pudgy knees, peering into the car. Jake and Hannah approached, Mimi, Seth, and Grammy Rose behind them, their faces full of concern.
“Mercy me,” Grammy Rose murmured.
“Becca, are you all right?” Hannah and Mimi both asked at once.
“Yes.” Rebecca wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, slipped her wire-rimmed spectacles back on her nose and grabbed the door to pull herself out. Thomas slid a hand in to help her. She was still shaking but managed to get out of the car, not meeting his gaze.
He silently surveyed her again and was thankful not to see any blood.
“But I ruined Thomas’s car.”
The entire family pivoted, each gaping at the mangled metal with various stunned looks. She had collided with the driver’s side, smashing the front door like a piece of cardboard. The windshield and windows had imploded with the impact, and glass pellets covered the beige leather. Her own station wagon had suffered as well. The bumper was warped, the tailpipe bent at an odd angle. But the clunker had already seen its better days; the faded green paint was chipped and peeling off in strips.
“It is kind of dented,” Mimi said in a low voice.
“The passenger side is still intact,” Hannah added cheerfully.
As if to mock her, the hub cap from the right-front tire fell off, rolled toward her and settled into a spin at her feet.
“Mercy me,” Grammy Rose whispered.
“You can still open the door,” Jake offered, obviously trying to be optimistic.
But when he yanked on the door handle to prove his point, the wretched metal came off in his hands with a crunch. The left tire let out a whooshing sound, then popped and the tire deflated right in front of their eyes.
