Dangerous Lover

Two

I am either very lucky or very crazy, Caroline thought, shivering in her coat. Just thirty seconds exposed to the swirling freezing hell out there, and it felt as if she’d spent the winter camping in the Antarctic. She was chilled to her bones.

Lucky or crazy? Which was it?

Lucky was a strong contender because she needed the $500 desperately, and it had fallen into her lap from the sky on a day when she could never have hoped to find a new boarder. Paying off Toby’s medical bills had required taking out a huge loan against Greenbriars, and the money from her boarders was essential. She couldn’t possibly make the mid-January payment without the $500 in rent.

She’d been heartsick four days ago when old Mr. and Mrs. Kipping had come down to breakfast to announce that we’re so sorry honey, but we’re moving out. They were supposed to stay until May, until renovation work on their home was completed. But Mr. Kipping had lost several chapters of his biography of Alexander Hamilton to a short circuit somewhere in the house and, the crowning blow, Mrs. Kipping had contracted bronchitis because of the frequent breakdowns of the boiler.

There was no money at all to pay an electrician to test the wiring to find the source of the short circuit, and Caroline could probably fly to the moon more easily than she could afford a new boiler.

She’d still be paying off debts when she was eighty. If she lived that long. So far, her family’s batting average in terms of extended life expectancy wasn’t too encouraging.

Mrs. Kipping had been in tears at the thought of leaving, and it had taken all of Caroline’s self-control not to break into tears herself. The Kippings were a lovely couple and had been with her for almost a year. They’d been delightful company and had provided enormous comfort to her during Toby’s last days. Caroline didn’t know how she could have faced coming home to an empty house from the hospital. And after Toby’s funeral…she shivered.

In the beginning, the Kippings often remarked that they could never remodel their home into anything as beautiful as Greenbriars. That was before the lost files, the constant cold showers and waking up to ice in the bathroom sink. Caroline knew that Mr. and Mrs. Kipping were very fond of her and loved her cooking and that it was only Mrs. Kipping’s bout of bronchitis that forced their decision. Anna Kipping was fragile and Marcus, her husband, was afraid of losing her.

Still, he’d had tears in his eyes at leaving, too.

Finding a new boarder on Christmas Eve in this terrible weather was like a wonderful miracle.

Not to mention the biggie—not being alone on Christmas Day. The day she’d lost her parents to a hideous car accident. The day Toby was so injured he never walked again. It had taken him six pain-filled years to die.

So that was the lucky theory.

Then, of course, there was the crazy theory, which was probably the correct one. She was probably crazy to accept a man who looked as dangerous as Jack Prescott into her home and, as if that wasn’t enough, handing him the keys to her car half an hour after meeting him.

Marcus and Anna Kipping had been the safest people on the face of the earth—two darlings in their late sixties whose worst vices were Double Chocolate Fudge ice cream and an unholy passion for Gilbert & Sullivan. Marcus could recite the lyrics to H.M.S. Pinafore at the drop of a hat.

Jack Prescott, on the other hand, looked anything but safe. She’d felt her heart speed up as they talked, ridiculous as that sounded. Yes, he looked rather scary. He was rough-looking, tall, with the kind of muscles you can’t buy in a gym and an air of rocklike toughness.

He was also attractive as hell, which was something she’d never encountered in her boarders. Frightening, but sexy. So there might be a third theory to add to the lucky or crazy explanations—sudden hormonal overload.

When she’d briefly touched his arm, a shiver had run down her spine. She’d felt the steely muscle through his shirt and jacket, the hardest man she’d ever touched. And a flash of heat had run through her at the idea that he was probably as hard as that…all over.

Not that he’d done anything to make her uncomfortable, other than being so frighteningly large and…and dangerous-looking.

The exact opposite of Marcus Kipping, with his predilection for cardigans encasing sloped shoulders and thin arms. Jack Prescott’s massive musculature was visible through a shirt and a jacket. He was the most thoroughly male man she’d ever met and sexy as hell.

And Caroline, who never lied to herself, realized that in the end, it was the reason she’d said yes. God help her, that flash of heat had been the reason she’d said yes. It had been so long since she’d felt it.

If she had the sense God gave a duck, she should have said no to him. No to him as a boarder and certainly no to handing over the car keys to a perfect stranger. Who knew who he was? Maybe he was a serial killer or…or a war veteran suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder and who would one day soon crack and climb a tower and start sniping at passersby. Maybe one day they’d find her lifeless body in a pool of blood, or he’d make off with what very little family silver remained.

No one took in a boarder without references. Mr. and Mrs. Kipping had been recommended by the head of her bank and had known her parents.

Who knew Jack Prescott?

But his deep voice had been so calm, that big body so still. And the look of grief that had crossed his face when he spoke of his father’s death…that had been real, and deep. Caroline recognized true grief—she was the world’s greatest expert.

He looked scruffy and tired, as if he’d been traveling for a long time. His jacket was way too light for the gelid temperature outside, and his clothes were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them. His boots were old and worn. Those old boots had been the last straw.

They were the boots of a man down on his luck.

Caroline knew all about being down on your luck.

There was something else about the man, too, besides his sexiness and steadiness. Something almost…familiar. Which only reinforced the crazy theory, because she’d never set eyes on him before in her life. She’d never even set eyes on anyone like him before.

None of the men she knew had hands that large and that strong, or shoulders that broad. None of the men she knew moved with an athletic grace and tensely coiled energy, like a blaze that was temporarily banked but could flare into life at any moment.

Not in the military anymore, he’d said, but he still had a military bearing—square-shouldered, ramrod-straight back, great economy of movement. And saying ma’am all the time. It was sweet, but not exactly the favored mode of address of men talking to women in the twenty-first century. Obviously, living with a colonel for a father had rubbed off on him.

The man she knew best was Sanders McCullin, and he was as far from Jack Prescott as it was possible to be. Sanders was tall, though not as tall as Jack, blond, classically handsome and impossibly elegant.

If Caroline had only half the money Sanders spent each month on clothes, her financial worries would be over. Of course her financial problems could be over tomorrow, Sanders made that clear enough, particularly now that poor Toby was gone. If she married Sanders and became Mrs. McCullin, life would go back to what it had been before her parents died. Safe, secure, comfortably wealthy.

On bad days, like this one, with the Kippings gone, the possibility of coming home to a freezing house that would stay freezing until Monday afternoon because the Jerk was the only person on earth who could coax her boiler back to temporary life, and he didn’t make house calls on holidays, a Christmas Eve with no sales at all, the prospect of being alone on Christmas Day, of all the days in the year—well, on days like this, the thought of marrying Sanders made a lot of sense.

Except, of course, for the minor fact that her skin crawled at the thought of kissing him, let alone sleeping with him, which just went to show that she was crazy. Half the women in town wanted to sleep with Sanders, and the other half already had, putting Caroline, as always, in the minority.

And now, in a bid to shore up the crazy theory, she’d just given a man she didn’t know her car keys. The only things she knew about Jack Prescott were that he was a stranger in town and had very little money. Knowing that, what did she do?

Hand him the keys, politely, because he’d asked.

How smart was that?

If he stole her car, how could she get home? She’d be stranded until the weather cleared, with only the weeks-old yogurt, Diet Coke and wizened apple in her small fridge for food. There was no way a taxi would come out in this weather and—

A sharp rap on the window made her jump. A second later, Jack Prescott was back in the room, covered in snow. His long black hair was dusted with white. Even his black eyelashes had turned white. He gave no sign of being cold, however. He gave no sign of even being uncomfortable. He looked exactly as he had before—tough and self-contained.

“I’ve got the car parked right outside.” He was so close Caroline had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “It’s hell out there, so we’ll have to hurry. Are you warm enough in that coat?”

That was rich, coming from someone wearing a denim jacket. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” She shifted her heavy briefcase from one hand to another, surprised when he simply took it from her. He was already carrying his own duffel bag and a suitcase. “That’s okay,” she protested. “I can carry that.”

He didn’t even answer. “Do you need to engage the security system before we go out?”

Security system. Right. Uh-huh. As if she had $3,000 to spare for a security system to stave off wild-eyed thieves just slavering to rob her complete collection of Jane Austens and all her Nora Robertses.

“No. I—uh, I just lock the door.” She held up the Yale key. “It’s got a dead bolt, though.”

He just looked at her, dark eyes fathomless, then nodded as he took the key. “Okay. I’ll lock up. If you’ve got gloves, put them on. I left the engine running, so the car is warm. Let’s make it quick.”

He seemed to have just…assumed command. The Army and that colonel father had really imprinted him.

Still, the idea of having someone else in the car with her in this weather was such a relief. Bad weather terrified her, and this weather was off the charts. Her Fiat was temperamental and ornery and used to the temperate climate of Italy. It intensely disliked being taken out in the cold. Breaking down in the middle of a snowstorm was just the kind of thing her car enjoyed doing.

At least she’d have her new boarder with her if the worst happened. Jack Prescott looked strong enough to get the car to Greenbriars by looping his belt around the front fender and pulling, if it broke down on the way.

He had his hand on the door handle, watching her. “Okay?” he asked quietly. Caroline nodded, and he opened the door for her. “Let’s go.”

It was exactly like being punched in the face and stomach by a giant, frozen fist. A step outside the door, and Caroline couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of her face. The snow was falling thickly, wildly, in great sweeping sheets, punctuated by needles of sleet blown sideways. She couldn’t hear anything above the howling of the wind, and the cold penetrated so absolutely, she froze on the spot. Her muscles simply wouldn’t obey her.

Something hard across her back propelled her forward. Her feet scrambled to keep up, slipping a little on the ice coating the sidewalk. She couldn’t even see the car, though she knew the road was only a few feet away.

A savage gust of wind whipped sleet into her eyes, and she lost her footing. She stumbled and would have fallen if Jack hadn’t caught her. He simply picked her up one-armed, opened the door of the car, settled her into the driver’s seat and closed the door. A few seconds later, the passenger door opened, and he slid in.

Caroline tried to catch her breath, pulling in the heated air of the car to warm her lungs.

Thank God it was warm in the car. Those few seconds outside had been enough to frighten her to death. She could hardly move except to shiver for long moments. Even through her gloves, her hands were so frozen she could barely feel the wheel.

Caroline clutched the steering wheel, shaken. “My God,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” She looked across at the big man quietly watching her. He seemed to fill more than half her small car. “Thank you for getting me here. I don’t know if I could have managed on my own. They would have found my dead, frozen body outside the shop door.”

“No problem.” He ratcheted the car seat as far back as it would go to accommodate his long legs and buckled up. “But we’d better get going. It’s not getting any better.”

No kidding. “Okay.”

It occurred to Caroline that the instant she’d crossed the threshold, all thoughts had fled her brain—the cold had simply wiped her mind clear. She hadn’t even checked to see that Jack locked up—hadn’t even thought about it. He had—she remembered now hearing the snick of the lock turning behind her, but if she’d been on her own, she’d have simply slammed the door shut—or not. And the shop would have been open all weekend.

And thank God Jack had gone to get the car. She might easily have missed it, wandering up and down the sidewalk, blinded by the snow until she ended up a dead frozen lump in the street.

Her little Fiat was humming under her feet, rocking slightly from the wind. Caroline stared ahead in dismay through the snow-covered window, groping for the stick shift and switching on the windshield wipers. It took a full minute to shift the snow on the windshield. The snow was so heavy she couldn’t see past the hood. There was a lamppost next to the car, she knew, but she couldn’t see it.

What a nightmare.

Jack was looking at her quietly. “Do you want me to drive?” It was as if he could read her mind.

Oh God, yes! The words were there, waiting to tumble out. Caroline bit her lips to keep them back. She wanted desperately to relinquish the wheel. Bad-weather driving scared her. Bad weather led to accidents. Her parents had died in a blizzard just like this one, when their car slid into an intersection, straight into an oncoming truck…don’t think of that.

“Caroline?” he said again. “I don’t mind driving in the snow.”

She was tempted. Oh God, was she tempted. Just dump this terrible trip into those large, capable-looking hands. He’d do a better job of it than she, Caroline was sure.

But this was her car, and it was her responsibility to take her new boarder home. Life had taught her the hard way to face up to her problems herself, without help.

“No, that’s okay.” Bringing the seat forward, she put the car in first and pressed on the accelerator. The wheels spun, then bit. So far, so good. “I’m fine,” she lied, and eased slowly out into the street. Into what she hoped was the street.

Good thing she knew the way home blindfolded, because that’s the way she was driving. Great white sheets of snow came hurling out of the sky, sometimes driven horizontal by the howling wind, driving the flakes into wild circular flurries. Sometimes it looked as if it were snowing up.

Caroline punched the radio on, an old habit when driving in bad weather. She spent most of her time alone in the car, and the radio made her feel connected to the rest of the human race.

“—biggest blizzard since 1957, our weather service is telling us, even worse than the one in 2001 and I, for one, don’t have any trouble believing it.”

Caroline smiled as she heard Roger Stott’s beautifully modulated baritone on the air. He could make even horrific weather sound sexy. She’d dated him for a couple of weeks on the basis of his voice alone, before the problems with Toby drove him away.

Just one more man in a long line of potential suitors who couldn’t face what she had to deal with.

“And now for some international news. UN peacekeeping forces in Sierra Leone have reported that a group of U.S. mercenaries massacred a village of women and children and made off with a fortune in blood diamonds. The head of the group is in a UN prison awaiting extradition. UN spokeswoman Elfriede Breitweiser said that the men worked for a U.S. security contracting company based in North Carolina called—”

The radio clicked off. Caroline looked over in surprise at her passenger. His dark eyes met hers. “Weather’s too severe for bad news.”

And how. Caroline was battling the wind buffeting her small car, trying desperately to hold the car to the road without sliding. She clutched the steering wheel with white knuckles, bending forward to peer through the windshield. She could barely see the edge of the road and was driving more by instinct and memory than by sight.

This was awful. She was crawling along at ten miles an hour. At this speed, they wouldn’t get home for an hour. Caroline pressed her foot down on the accelerator.

It happened all at once.

Too late, Caroline felt the deadly absence of grip in the road. An instant later, a sharp sound shot above the noise of the howling wind. Instantly the car careened wildly as Caroline lost control, spinning dangerously to the left. Panicked, she braked hard, and the car spun horribly, completely out of control.

A dark shape suddenly loomed, two glowing lights visible high up off the ground like the eyes of a giant predator. A desperate squeal of brakes and a blast of horn as deep and as loud as a foghorn…

It took Caroline a full second to realize that she was about to ram head-on into a massive truck. “Oh my God!” she screamed, as they slid on the black ice, right into the path of the dark, massive oncoming shape.

“Let go of the wheel and brace yourself,” a deep, calm voice said. Two strong brown hands gripped the wheel, turning the car into the slide, and Jack’s left leg reached over hers as he gently tapped the brakes in a slow, regular cadence, shifting down the gears.

The slide slowed, became controlled, not that awful, sickening spinning horror. The car made a complete 360-degree turn. Jack kept it moving left until they came to a stop an inch from a lamppost on the left shoulder of the road. A second later, the massive truck barreled by, horn blaring angrily. The small car rocked with the wind displacement.

It happened so quickly. One second she was battling the wind and snow and the next they were in free fall. The adrenaline shock of a near accident raced burning through her system. If Jack hadn’t taken the wheel, they’d have died in a crush of steel, in a mangle of broken bones and blood.

They’d been a second from dying.

She had her hands to her mouth, covering a scream that wanted to break out. The tickle of bitter bile trickled up her throat, and she swallowed, hoping she wouldn’t vomit.

Caroline was shaking so hard she felt she would fall apart, the vision of the front of the truck bearing down on them still fresh in her eyes. She was gulping in air frantically, throat tight with panic.

Her seat belt was unlatched, massive arms pulled her to a broad chest.

Oh God, strength and safety.

She dived into him, huddling, trembling, arms tightly wound around his neck, breathing in panicked spurts, until the worst of the shaking died down.

A big hand held the back of her head, almost covering it. Caroline’s face was buried in his neck, the stubble along his jawbone scratching her forehead. Her nose was right against the pulse in his neck, beating steadily and slowly, like a metronome, in contrast to her own trip-hammering one.

There was the minty scent of snow, a pleasant musky odor that must have been him and, oddly, the smell of leather. His long black hair had come loose in the wind and flowed around her face, surprisingly soft.

There was nothing soft about the body she was held against, though. It was like embracing steel. He’d pulled her tightly against himself as if he could absorb her wild trembling.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. She could feel the vibrations of his deep voice. “Nothing happened, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay, not by a long shot.

This was exactly how her parents had died—a bad snowstorm, black ice, a truck plowing into their car. A mangle of flesh and steel so horrendous it had taken the highway patrol six hours with the Jaws of Life to get their bodies out. There had barely been enough of her father to bury.

Caroline had woken up more nights than she could count in a sweat, imagining her parents’ last seconds of life. The terror as they saw the truck looming suddenly out of the snow, the heart-sickening realization that it was too late. Her father had been impaled on the steering wheel, his legs sheared off at the thighs. Her mother had lived for two weeks, in a coma.

And Toby, poor Toby. Sweet, gentle Toby. Condemned to live the next six years of his life in a wheelchair, in constant pain, only to die before he reached his twentieth birthday.

She saw that in her dreams, lived it, night after night after night. And in her nightmares was the constant presence of Death, coming to take her, too, as it had taken the rest of her family. She couldn’t hope to cheat him forever.

This had the dark, metallic taste of her nightmares, only it was real. Caroline dug deep for control, found it, eased away from him.

“What was that?” Her voice was high-pitched and breathless. She looked up into Jack’s face, dark and intent. The only sign of stress was white lines of tension pinching his nostrils. He was being brave, so should she. She drew in a shuddering breath and tried to keep her voice level. “What happened to the car?”

“Tire blew,” he answered grimly. “Front left.”

Oh God, no. Her tires were old and bald. Caroline had been putting off buying new tires, hoping to hang on for at least another month, knowing it was foolish and knowing she had no choice.

She’d nearly killed them because she couldn’t afford new tires. And now one of them was flat.

It was just too much. Changing a tire in this weather. How on earth did you change a tire in a blizzard?

“Do you have a spare and a jack?” he asked.

“Yes.” The spare was as old as the other tires, but she did have one, and a jack. Considering the condition of everything else in her life, it was probably rusted and would snap in two in the cold.

It was so tempting just to put her forehead down on the steering wheel and weep out her rage and frustration, but as emotionally satisfying as it would be, it wouldn’t get them home.

A vicious blast of wind rocked the car, and Caroline clutched Jack’s jacket for balance. Dear God, they couldn’t stay here while she dithered—they’d freeze to death. Caroline turned in her seat and put her hand on the door handle, hoping her hands would stop shaking soon.

“What do you think you’re doing?” That deep voice was harsh. Caroline looked over her shoulder in surprise. His brow was furrowed, and he was frowning at her, the skin stretched tautly over his high cheekbones.

“Ah…” What did he think? They couldn’t stay here a moment longer than necessary. “Getting out to change the tire. We need to get home soon before the weather gets even worse. In a little while we won’t be able to drive in the streets.”

Night had fallen. The glow from the streetlights couldn’t penetrate the snow, and it was almost completely dark in the car. All she could see of him was the whites of his eyes and his white teeth. He touched her arm, briefly.

“Pop the trunk and stay in here. Don’t open your door, not even for a second.”

There wasn’t time to protest. The passenger-side door opened briefly, and he slipped out. In that one second that the door was open, a gust of wind blew a snow flurry into the car, sucking out the heat. Caroline opened the trunk and heard metal clanging in the back.

A second later, he was at her front left fender, jacking the car up, working almost blind. Every once in a while, the fierce wind would part the curtain of snow, and she could see him, large and dark and intent, kneeling by the fender. She switched on the overhead light, hoping it could help in some small degree, though she doubted it. It probably comforted her more than helped him.

Sooner than she could have imagined possible, he was knocking at her window.

He bent to put his mouth close to the glass. “Do you want me to drive?” he shouted, his deep voice carrying above the howl of the wind.

Oh, God, yes! Yes, yes yes!

The hell with politically correct. The hell with duty. The thought of driving in this weather over black ice with her bald tires made her break out in a sweat. It was another accident just waiting to happen.

Caroline met his eyes through the glass and nodded.

“Scoot over and buckle up.” His hands were cupped around his mouth, but even so, his words barely carried.

He wasn’t going to make her get out and circle the car. Bless him. Caroline managed to make it over to the passenger seat without breaking her hip on the stick shift. Jack waited until she was in the seat and pulling the seat belt over her chest before opening the door.

He could barely fit his legs in the footwell and had to ratchet the seat back to its fullest extent, bringing it even with hers. He started the engine, letting it warm up.

Caroline turned to him, a large dark shadow in the dark. “That was quick. It would have taken me an hour in this weather, if I’d even be able to manage it at all.”

He looked over at her. One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile, just a quick flash of white teeth. “I’ve changed a lot of tires under enemy fire. You learn to be fast.”

“I’ll just bet you do. Listen—” Caroline breathed deeply. She owed him an apology. “I want to thank you for changing the tire. That was my responsibility and—oh, goodness, you’re hurt!” Something dark and liquid gleamed on his right hand. “Heavens, first you change my tire for me, then my car bites the hand that feeds it. I’m so sorry.” She fumbled in the glove compartment and came out with tissues, which she held against his hand. The tissue turned immediately dark red. He’d gashed his hand badly. She changed tissues. “Hold that against your hand for about five minutes until the bleeding stops. You might need stitches, that’s a nasty cut. We can stop at the emergency room of the hospital on the way.”

“No.” The deep voice was gentle as he covered her hand with his. She’d taken her gloves off to drive and felt a jolt as his large, rough hand covered hers. His hand was hot, radiating heat not only to her hand but to the rest of her body.

It was electric, the feel of his skin against hers. In the darkness, his hot hand seemed to anchor her. His grip on her hand was light, but the effect of it was enormous. Heat zinged through her, a sharp contrast to the cold, to the panic she’d felt.

She’d been frozen with panic, and his touch sent strength and heat through her system.

He squeezed lightly, then lifted his hand away. “I heal fast, don’t worry about it. We need to get going now, or we won’t get home at all.”

“But your hand—”

“Is fine.” He switched off the overhead light, put the car in gear and stepped on the accelerator. In a moment, they had crossed back over to the right side of the road. “Don’t worry about my hand. Just direct me to your house. We need to get there as quickly as possible. Where do I turn?”

He did heal quickly. The deep gash had almost stopped bleeding.

Caroline peered out the window uncertainly, though visibility was nearly zero. It was impossible to tell where the intersections were. The only way to find out would be by crashing into a car.

“Keep on straight down this road for three-quarters of a mile, then turn right. I’ll try to navigate for you.”

“Okay,” he said calmly. He was driving much faster than she had dared to. She would have said something—fast driving scared her—but he was clearly in total command of the car, and the more quickly they got home, the happier she’d be.

She peered out the window, trying to discern landmarks. It was haphazard at best. At times, a ferocious gust of wind lifted the snow curtain for just a second. She saw the benches outside the railing along Grayson Park, then the big Christmas tree at the corner of Center Street and Fife, then—“Here,” she said suddenly, relieved. “Turn right here.”

He took the corner so smoothly, they might have been driving on a balmy summer evening. Caroline counted off lampposts and started to relax. Another five minutes, ten tops, and they’d be home. “The first left, the second right and it’s the fourth driveway on the right.”

The car pulled to a stop right in front of the garage. Caroline closed her eyes and breathed deeply for the first time since she’d gotten into the car.

Home. She was home.

Well, not quite yet. She stared ahead at the rusted garage door with near hatred.

Time for another apology. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely, digging in her purse for the keys, hands still shaking. “The remote doesn’t work. The door has to be opened manually. I’ll do it.”

“No.” He reached over and took the keys from her hand. “Don’t get out. I’ll take care of it.”

Her boiler was temperamental, but the garage door was utterly reliable. You could count on it not working. It took her muscle and time and many a chipped nail to turn the key in the rusty lock and lift the door.

“Are you sure? I can—”

Again, that touch from his big hand. Heat and reassurance, the punch of sensual awareness, gone when he lifted his hand. After his touch, the cold and the aftermath of panic rushed back in. “I’m sure.”

Lit by the headlights, she watched him bend and lift the door as if it were brand-new, freshly oiled and weightless. A second later, they were safely in the garage.

Home. For real, now.

Caroline got out of the car and had to order her knees to stiffen. Her legs were shaking. All of her was shaking still from the near accident, a deep, almost uncontrollable tremor. The keys were rattling in her hand. She had to clench her fist closed to stop the noise.

“Thank you,” she said again to the big man, over the roof of the car. She met his eyes, dark and inscrutable. “I owe you—”

He held up a huge hand and shook his head. “Please don’t. Let’s just get inside.” He picked up his bags and her briefcase. “Lead the way. I’ll follow you.”

Caroline opened the door to the house, fingers crossed, tense, expecting the worst.

Thank God, the worst hadn’t happened. Yet.

The air was not quite freezing, there was a low hum from somewhere under her feet and she could relax a little. The boiler hadn’t gone off today. She kept it on a minimum setting so the pipes wouldn’t freeze, which they did regularly when the boiler went on the blink. But today the gods of heating were smiling down at her, as well they should, considering the number they’d pulled on her last week.

The temperature was uncomfortably cool, but as long as the boiler was working, it was okay. She’d turn the thermostat up, and in half an hour the whole house would be warm.

Her heating bills were atrocious, but heating was not something she was prepared to skimp on. Not, certainly, with a new boarder. And definitely not in the middle of a blizzard.

She led Jack through the mudroom into the big, two-story atrium. Entering was always a delight. Designed by a disciple of Frank Lloyd Wright, every room of Greenbriars was light, spacious, perfectly proportioned. The atrium was simply spectacular. An old friend of the family had once said that Greenbriars was like a beautiful woman, and the atrium was her face. When her parents had been alive, there had been two Winslow Homers, a Ming vase, a Murano chandelier and an immense antique Baluchi carpet in the atrium.

All long gone.

The only thing left was the airiness and grace of the room itself, with its black-and-white-marble flooring, arches leading to the library, the living room and her study and the big, graceful, winding maple staircase leading to the bedrooms on the second floor.

Through all the tough years gone by, through Toby’s long, painful decline and death, through all the sadness and hardship, entering Greenbriars never failed to lift her spirits.

Greenbriars was alive to her, and was in many ways the last family member left to her. She’d fought ferociously to keep it, even when everyone—the family lawyer who’d had to tell her that there was no money in the bank, Jenna, her best friend, who thought she was nuts to stick by Greenbriars, Sanders, who quickly grew annoyed that she had to pinch pennies and eventually dumped her—everyone said to sell.

Caroline would have sold Greenbriars only to save Toby’s life, but he died before it became necessary. And now—well, now Greenbriars was her only connection with her family and her only solace. She was tied by unbreakable links of love to the place. To sell it would be to deny the people she’d loved so much. Selling was unthinkable.

As long as she had a breath in her body, Greenbriars would be hers. Cost what it might.

She watched Jack Prescott as he took in his surroundings. People reacted in different ways to the mansion. Some people’s jaws dropped. Some were blasé. Some didn’t even understand how beautiful it was and saw only a big house that needed painting and repair work and new furniture.

It was a litmus test.

His reaction was perfect. He stood in silence for a minute, dark eyes taking in the architectural details, then he turned to her. “What a beautiful place. Thank you for accepting me as a boarder.”

Yes, perfect. Caroline smiled up at him. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. The double room is on the third floor, under the eaves. I’ll show you the way.”

He shook his head. “Don’t go up two flights of stairs for my sake. Tell me how to get there, and I’ll be fine.”

Oh, God. What a relief. The worst of the trembling was over, but her legs were still shaking.

“Go up the main staircase, turn right and you’ll find another staircase at the end of the hallway that will take you up to your room. It has an en suite bathroom that’s yours alone. The sheets are clean, and you’ll find clean towels in the big white cabinet in the bathroom. You should have enough hot water for a shower. Dinner’s at seven thirty.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his head. “I’ll be down at seven thirty,” he said, then turned and took the stairs two at a time, moving fast. Caroline watched his broad back until he disappeared, hoping she’d done the right thing, knowing that she’d had no choice.