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"Emilie Ferrier?"

"Yes?"

He wiped the rain from his face with the side of his hand and looked around the crowded bar. He'd been in worse places. But not sober.

"I'm here from the garage."

It hadn't been hard to pick her out of the noisy, colorful group of bikers and truck drivers. He'd only had to see her strained face as she sat in the closest corner to the door. She was the one wearing more than a tank top who didn't look like she was having a good time.

"Thank you," she responded, standing up slowly and holding her brown coat closed with both hands. "I'm so glad you could come."

Her smile couldn't have been more genuine and welcoming if she'd been standing at her own front door.

"No problem," he answered quietly, understanding why she was looking at him as if he were in charge of the last lifeboat on the Titanic. "If you're ready-"

"Oh, yes!" She snatched up her purse and followed him slowly to the door.

He held the pockmarked door for her, noticing that she was limping. The tow truck was parked close to the door, the neon lights from the dirty bar flashing on its broad wet side. The rain was still coming down in cold sheets, pounding the pavement between the open door and the truck.

He waited, watching her in her expensive coat that already looked wet. Wondering when she would demand that he bring the truck to the door for her so she wouldn't have to get wet again.

The words were already forming on his lips to explain that there hadn't been enough room to get any closer when she smiled up at him, ducked her head and started walking towards the truck.

He watched her for a minute longer, surprised by her action. Surprised, too, by the sturdy, ugly shoes on her feet. He'd expected her to be wearing something strappy and high heeled, bitching and whining about the weather and his lack of attention to her comfort.

He knew who she was. Everyone in the town of Ferrier's Mountain knew the Ferrier family. She was a long way from the mountain, just outside of Charlotte. She'd called home for help when her car had broken down on the highway. And her voice had been very clear when he'd asked her name.

He pulled his cap down low and followed her out into the weather, adjusting his strides to her smaller, halting ones, his hands in his pockets.

The wind whipped frigidly through the parking lot and the rain beat down on his companion's bare head. Her hair had been pinned up but by the time they reached the truck, it was falling down, soaked against her head and shoulders.

It was difficult for her to step up into the truck. She clenched the door handle and pushed herself up until her knuckles turned white with the stress.

"Can I help?" he asked finally, wondering curiously what was wrong with her.

The wind blew a strand of dark wet hair across her pale face, her eyes a vivid, unusual shade of green. Suffering was gently etched in the lines around her mouth and eyes.

Maybe that was part of what made her so arresting, he decided, looking down at her as she struggled but refused to acknowledge defeat. She was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Yes," she whispered, taking his arm.

The admission cost her. Pride warred with pain in her eyes for a brief moment. Then she looked away, obviously embarrassed by the need for help.

She was a Ferrier, after all, he determined disdainfully, lifting her bodily into the truck. Imagine having some lowly mechanic with dirty hands touch you. Not a pleasant experience.

He closed the door behind her then ran to his side of the cab, climbing in and turning on the heat.

"Where's your car?" he asked, not looking at her.

"About a mile from here," she replied breathlessly, glancing at her watch. "I'm already late for a very important appointment in Charlotte. I don't suppose you could-"

"Sure." He nodded, pulling the truck out of the parking lot between the motorcycles and the tractor-trailers. "I can take you where you're going first. We can pick up the car on the way back."

"Thanks."

He didn't reply, keeping his eyes and his mind on the dangerous road as they exited to the highway.

"It was awful, wasn't it?" she continued on with a delicate shudder. "When I saw the lights, I was wet and freezing and I thought I didn't care what it was as long as it had a phone. Once I got in there, I wasn't so sure."

"It wasn't a nice place," he agreed blandly.

She smiled and shivered in her wet clothes. "I'm sorry to get your truck so wet. That's my car over there." She pointed to the dark Mercedes parked along the edge of the highway.

"Did it run out of gas?" he asked mildly, his tone a trifle patronizing.

"Of course not," she replied, looking at him carefully. "Where's Mr. Hanson today?"

"Mr. Hanson died last year right after I bought the shop and the tow truck from him. Retirement didn't agree with him."

"Oh."

He dared a glance at her, seeing her wet, bedraggled coat hunched around her as she sat in the corner close to the door. She looked like she was about fifteen but he knew better. When Hanson had sold him the shop, he'd emphasized the fact that Emilie Ferrier had been letting him take care of her cars since her father had died ten years before. It was a great honor - and a lucrative account.

"So, you haven't changed the name from Hanson's," she said after a few minutes.

"No," he answered shortly. "Where are we going in Charlotte?"

"The big bank building that looks like the space shuttle," she told him. "I can never remember which bank that is."

He nodded. "I know which one you mean."

He felt her looking at him, studying his profile. He was uncomfortably aware of her and wished she'd sit back and be quiet and look at the scenery.

Despite the limp and the wet hair, she was a very attractive woman. When he'd lifted her into the truck, her waist had been no bigger than his two hands around it even through the heavy coat. She smelled like fresh air and clean rain and something expensive that teased his senses.

"So, you've been working on my cars for a year?"

"That's right," he stated flatly. "I hope everything's been satisfactory?"

"Until today," she allowed. "Not that I think that was your fault. I hit something coming down the road. I think it was a tree branch. From the storm, I suppose. The wheel jerked out of my hands and I couldn't control the car. Once I got to the side, it wouldn't move at all."

"Probably some damage to the axle," he conjectured noncommittally. "Too bad. That's a good car."

"I hope it won't be difficult to repair," she worried.

He looked at her as he stopped for a red light. "I'll have to look at it."

She stared at him openly for a few seconds. Even when he returned that interested gaze, she continued to study his features as if she were memorizing them. Then she looked away.

He felt her eyes on him again, though, as soon as he started down the road.

Was this some game with her? he wondered, keeping his eyes steadfastly glued to the windshield even when they stopped for lights. If so, it was annoying and uncomfortable and she needed to be taught a lesson in good manners. Staring at men, especially male strangers, would be included in that lesson. She was asking for trouble.

Traffic was slow. Bad enough on most days, the rain and slightly icy conditions made driving worse. They reached the bank building and he took a ticket from the parking attendant.

"If you're not gonna be a long time, you can park that rig over there," the attendant told him.

They both looked at the woman beside him.

"I don't know," she answered quietly. "It might be an hour."

"You'll have to park then," the attendant told him. "The ground floor has higher clearances. If you can find a place to park."

"Thanks," he said, pulling the truck into the beginning of the parking labyrinth.

"You could let me off here," she said, indicating a door that was marked leading to the elevators that serviced the building. "I'll try not to take too long."

"Yeah."

"Oh," she began, her hand resting on the door handle. "If you had changed the name of the garage when you bought it, what would you have called it?"

His gaze slid across her features insolently, his hands lingering on the steering wheel. " 'Ferrier Auto Repair'. To match the rest of the town."

She looked down at the seat between them then back up into his face. "Why not your own name?"

"Not as interesting," he replied, leaning his head back against the seat and pulling his cap down over his eyes. "Take your time, Miz Ferrier. I can wait all day."

Emilie stared at him a little longer, wondering to herself if she'd ever encountered such an ill-natured man. Did he hate everyone? Or was it something personal that he didn't like about her?

Not that it mattered, she reminded herself excitedly. She was there and her lawyer was waiting upstairs. Hopefully with good news. The opinion of the man beside her didn't matter.

She opened the door and swung her legs down out of the truck. A sharp pain shot up through her right leg when it made contact with the concrete but she bit her lip and forced herself to march to the red doors that said 'elevator'.

The doors parted. The elevator was empty. She got inside and pushed the button to go up, glancing at the man in the truck to see if he'd watched her labored progress. His black cap was still pulled down over his eyes.

The doors closed and Emilie rested back gratefully against the cold wall. Her leg had been throbbing all day. The mile long walk hadn't helped but it was all a matter of perspective. There were good days and there were bad. If good news waited for her at the end of this particular journey, it would have all been worthwhile.

She got off at the fifteenth floor and was greeted by a paralegal who filled her in on the details of what had happened so far. The woman asked if she'd like coffee and took her coat, trying not to grimace when she saw the water dripping to the floor from it. Emilie declined the hot drink.

Emilie did what she could with her hair and dried her face, staring at herself in the dreadful bathroom fluorescent lights. Her hands trembled slightly as she touched her cheek.

No matter how many times she promised herself that she wouldn't get her hopes up, somehow they always sailed into the conference room, kite-like behind her.

Another woman, this time a legal assistant, waited for her outside the ladies' room. She asked if Emilie would like coffee and when she shook her head, showed her the way to the conference room that Emilie felt sure she could have found blindfolded.

"Ms. Ferrier, sir," she said peeking around the door then opening it widely and allowed Emilie to enter.

"Emilie." Alain gestured to the end of the table. "We're just getting started."

She sat alone at the long table. The highly polished surface reflected her face and the delicate pink of her blouse as though it were a mirror. The blinds had been pulled over the large windows that overlooked the city but she wished they had been left open even if the day was stormy. It made the room seem less confining.

Across from her, the two lawyers argued softly in the quiet room.

Her lawyer, Alain Jackson of Jackson, Parsons and Levitt, sharp, expensive, and well dressed, leaned towards his counterpart, Jonathon Stewart from Stewart and McPhail, as though he could impress his considerable will on the other man.

"Where's the problem, Jon? Your client doesn't want the little girl. My client does. At least let them meet and see what happens."

Mr. Stewart stood up abruptly, adjusting his cheap brown suit and touching a barely white handkerchief to his brow. "I would like to help you. I would like to help your client. And I'm sure Ms. Ferrier would make an excellent mother." He looked her way with an apologetic eye. "But my client is adamant. There has to be two parents for this adoption to take place."

Emilie nodded slowly, acknowledging the man's regret with her eyes.

Alain fixed the shorter man with a shark's gaze. "There'd be more than the usual adoption fee in it for you, Jon. What's the harm in them meeting?"

Mr. Stewart drew himself up to his full height and tried to stare down the other man. "My client will not be moved on this. I am sorry, Ms. Ferrier. And I do wish you well with another adoption. Good day."

Mr. Stewart walked quickly from the room. The door closed softly behind him.

Alain sighed heavily. He adjusted his silk tie, took a quick glance at his own reflection in the mirrorlike surface of the table then turned to his client.

"I'm sorry, too. Emilie. I thought that this was the one for you."

Emilie closed her eyes for a brief instant, then smiled as she forced herself to take a deep breath.

She had been trying to adopt a child for three years. The outcome wasn't unexpected. Still she felt that familiar let down as the excitement washed away from her in the gray tide of reality.

"You did your best, Alain. I appreciate it."

She pushed her chair back across the pale blue carpet and reached for her sodden coat.

"Let me help you with that," Alain offered quickly.

Emilie stood up, slowly, painfully, and accepted his help. He held the long wool coat while she slid her arms into the sleeves then settled it across her slender shoulders.

"Stay in town tonight," he said quietly from the general direction of her right ear. His hands lingered on her arms. "Let me take you out for dinner. There's a great musical at the performing arts center."

"I have to get back," she declined gracefully. "Elspeth isn't herself during the full moon."

Alain, whose father had represented her family before he was born, snorted disdainfully. "Your aunt needs help, Emilie."

She turned slightly and stared at him, green eyes flashing in quick anger. "Help?"

He smiled and moved his hands from her coat. "Help," he explained, swallowing the words he'd been about to say as quickly as bad wine. "Someone who could watch over her so that you could have a life too, Emilie. You want a baby, darlin', but you've never even had a life of your own. Always takin' care of everyone. Maybe you should just live a little."

He searched the perfect oval of Emilie's face for some sign that his words had reached her but there was no emotion that stirred on the surface or in the depths of her strange green eyes.

Ferrier eyes, he recalled. Her father had looked at him with those same eyes.

"I've lived as much as I've wanted to live, Alain," she assured him, picking up her scarf and gloves. "Elspeth isn't a burden for me. I love her. Call me when you hear anything else, please."

"You know I will," he answered easily. "You won't reconsider about spending the night?"

Emilie looked up into his handsome face, knowing that the invitation was for more than a dinner and a show. She'd known Alain Jackson most of her life. She'd seen his teasing, boyish good looks slide into the carefully manicured, tanned and sculpted man before her.

"I have to go home, Alain," she repeated in a gentle voice. "Thank you anyway."

She touched his hand then removed her fingers quickly before he could return the caress.

He didn't fool himself. It was only a gesture of friendship. He'd known Emilie too long to think it was anything more.

Not that he didn't wish it. He had always found Emilie attractive, had always thought there might be fire behind those emerald green eyes.

He watched her walk from the conference room slowly, the limp pronounced in her right leg as it always was on cold rainy days. His father had told him that it was a curse from God on the wealthy, proud Emile Ferrier that his only child had been stricken by polio.

Yet, what Emilie lacked in physical prowess, she made up in beauty. Her skin was like velvet and her face was like an angel.

A cool, distant angel, he considered. At least she had always been so to him. Blessed with the abiding legacy of the Ferrier fortune, she went her own way. She smiled at him but her eyes were far away. He knew she wasn't really looking at him.

Emilie wrapped her scarf around her neck and pulled on her gloves as she rode the elevator down to the parking deck. She wasn't disappointed anymore, she told herself. She'd gone through it too many times.

She was too old. Or too young. Her skin was the wrong color. Or she wasn't the right religion. The child had to be adopted by two parents. Or the child could only be adopted by a man.

Tears welled in her eyes. She looked up at the white elevator ceiling, willing them away, and refusing to let even one slide down her cheek.

She'd known since she was sixteen that the same polio virus that had crippled her had left her sterile. She'd cried the day the doctor had told her that she would never have children. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't cry as long as there was hope that she could adopt. Somewhere in the world was a child that needed her. That was God's plan for her. That was why she had been left barren and crippled but alive on the earth.

But she'd cried so many times since that promise. Every time the adoption that had seemed so promising, went wrong. Late in her bed at night when the long hours until morning seemed interminable.

The elevator doors parted at the parking deck and two men in dark suits stepped aside to let her out of the conveyance. Self consciously, she walked between them, every footstep painfully aware that her uneven stride made her ungainly.

How many boys in school had been attracted by her family name and her pretty face, only to turn away in revulsion when she got up to walk with them?

At least, she recalled, adult men weren't as cruel as their younger counterparts. In school, they had openly teased her, nicknames catching on that made her shun her classmates. As adults, they merely turned away and whispered quietly that it was a pity.

Except for Alain Jackson, of course. She smiled. He had always made his regard for her, and her family's money, well known to her.

But she was getting cynical in her old age.

Alain had been married twice, twice divorced. Each time that he was free, he tried again to establish a relationship with her. He simply didn't feel that she was the only woman in the world.

And if she was waiting for that to happen, she told herself, looking for the bright red tow truck, she might as well consign herself to being alone forever. She'd made that mistake once. She would never be that innocent again.

She found the big tow truck, not parked in a space but between two spaces and part of an exit ramp. Determined not to need his help again, Emilie ground her teeth against the pain from her leg, jerked open the door and climbed up into the cab.

It was more of an effort than she'd thought but she finally half pulled, half pushed herself on the seat. She looked up, breathlessly, into the man's face as he calmly watched her.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," she assured him, straightening herself against the door. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long."

"No problem," he replied, a smile on his lean face. He'd spent the last hour and a half kicking his own ass for letting Emilie Ferrier see anything but the most polite, easy going, well-mannered garage owner in the world.

What was he thinking? The Ferrier account was important to his business. His personal opinion didn't matter. He didn't know what it was about her that irritated him but he did know he wasn't going to let it bother him again. At least not while she was with him.

The heavy layers of concrete that made up the circular parking deck had sheltered the sound of the heavy sheets of rain that were swamping the city streets. The temperature had fallen again and as he pulled out of the shelter, a car slid sideways into traffic, striking two other cars stopped at the light.

Emilie held her breath and the door handle as her escort did a quick circle around the accident then stopped abruptly at the light, the tires screeching a little on the wet pavement.

He looked at her and smiled then pulled back out into traffic when the light changed.

"You must have been a stunt driver before you owned your garage," she remarked, terrified, as he swerved from one lane to another.

Charlotte was a city of demon drivers. If they could make it to the interstate ramp, she would feel safer driving at seventy miles an hour than she would on the crowded city streets. Especially since her driver seemed intent on coming as close as he could to the other cars around them.

"Just intent on getting you home, ma'am," he intoned, narrowly missing another car that slid off to the side of the road in front of them.

"In one piece, I hope," she added.

"In one piece," he agreed with a quick glance and another smile.

She looked at him as they joined the other traffic on the interstate. He was tall and lean. Not an ounce of surplus body weight hung on his frame. Yet, she'd felt the strength of his hands and arms as he'd tossed her effortlessly into the truck.

His face was dark and angular with the shadow of black beard haunting his chin and cheeks. Quick and assessing, his black eyes roamed her face but it wasn't an easy perusal. His mouth didn't seem to find pleasure in the motion when he did smile at her.

"Did you take a friendly pill while I was gone?" she asked, baiting him, not really sure why she'd do such a thing.

The smile faded and she was sure if he'd turned away from the road that his eyes would have become watchful.

"I apologize if I seemed rude before," he began slowly, the words coming haltingly from his throat.

"That's all right. I'm tough enough to take it."

A truck passed them, spraying up slush across the windows, and for an instant, the windshield was covered by the dirty gray water.

Emilie grabbed at her armrest, terrified by the blind feeling of helplessness. When she glanced at her companion as the wipers cleared the window, she saw that he was laughing.

"Not so tough in the clinches, huh?"

She glared at him. "I liked your artificial politeness better."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied shortly, forgetting his earlier pledge to himself. "I wouldn't want to upset your ideas on how you deserve to be treated."

They had reached her car and he pulled the tow truck to a stop in front of it.

"Stay here," he advised. "There's no reason for both of us to get soaked again."

It was a begrudging sort of deferment to Emilie being the one who was paying for the service and it angered her. She pushed open the truck door and slid down to the ground, trudging through the rain and the cold winds whipped by the fast moving traffic to reach his side.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" he yelled above the sound of a passing truck that sprayed water on them both.

"Why do you dislike me so much?" she shouted back. "You don't even know me!"

"You're right," he agreed, setting up the equipment that would tow her car back to his garage. "I don't know you at all. Let's keep it that way. Get back in the damned truck." He bent down close to the road, bringing the hook with him, looking underneath her car at the damage she'd done.

She followed him. "Does it look bad?"

He stared at her, rain dripping from his face. "I can't tell. I'm going to have to take it back and look at it there."

"What about me?" she pressed, coming down almost to the same level with him at the car bumper. "Is it because my family has money? Or is it because I'm crippled?"

He stared at her. He'd been brought up in a family that was plain spoken but even they wouldn't have spoken those words. He'd heard one of the Ferriers was crazy. Was this the crazy one?

"What?"

"You've had something against me from the minute you picked me up today," she explained despite the fact that her teeth were chattering and she was soaked from the top of her head to her feet. "I want to know."

Faced with those astonishing green eyes set in that pale angel's face, her lips turning visibly blue in the cold, he relented. "It's nothing personal," he told her. "I-uh-just thought you should have noticed that Ham Hanson was dead and that someone else was looking after your cars. I thought you were just too rich, too busy."

Her face, amazingly, brightened at his words. "I'm sorry. Really. It's just that I've never been very good with cars and I suppose I don't take the time to notice what happens with them."

"That's okay," he assured her. "If you'll get back into the truck, I can finish up out here."

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Emilie Ferrier. I'm sorry I haven't met you before now, Mr.?"

"Nick." He took her hand, freezing and wet, in his own warmer one. "Nick Garrett."

"Nick," she said with a brilliant smile, wiping a hand that dripped with water across her equally wet hair, trying to keep it out of her face. "I'm glad to meet you."

"Thanks," he responded then glanced at the truck. "If you'll get back in -"

She looked down at the water that was sluicing across her shoes as it ran to the side of the highway. "I don't think I can get back in there again by myself, Nick," she admitted ruefully. "I'm afraid I've reached my limit for the day. So, if you'd like to finish, I can just ride in my car back to town."

"That's not legal," he answered, finishing his hook up on the Mercedes. "I could lose my license for letting you do that."

She frowned. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know. But I-"

He was suddenly there beside her, taller than she'd noticed earlier, and darker, rain dripping from his black hair that was drawn back under his hat and rested on his shoulder.

"I'm finished. Let me help you."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak when she looked into his eyes. Black eyes. Devil's eyes, as her father used to say. Up to no good. Not to be trusted. Gypsy's eyes.

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble," she apologized, starting to walk back around the side of the truck again. Her limp was more pronounced, painfully so as she was hunched over against the icy wind.

Before she went a dozen steps, he lifted her, coat and all, easily into his arms.

She didn't fight him, wondering instead what to do with her arms, ending up clenching her hands against her chest.

"This is better service than anyone deserves," she said, reaching with one hand to open the truck door.

"Even a Ferrier?" he wondered, dark eyes laughing ironically down into hers.

"Even a Ferrier," she pledged solemnly.

She fell asleep on the long drive home. It was a valiant struggle that Nick watched from the corner of his eye. Her eyelids drooped and she rubbed her hands across her eyes like a child. She yawned and shifted positions but the truck was warm and she was evidently exhausted. It was only a few minutes once they were back on the road before her breathing became regular and her head turned against the seat.

"Thank you," she'd said with a little smile when he'd checked the car again then returned to the driver's side.

He'd studied her face briefly then started the truck's engine and watched for a break in traffic. "No problem."

He'd kept his eyes averted after that brief exchange, willing her silently to go to sleep or break out a pocket Nintendo. Anything except stare at him or talk to him. True, it was over an hour on the road until they reached Ferrier's Mountain, but he preferred the silence.

Emilie Ferrier was trouble. He'd known it when he'd looked down into those awesome green eyes. She was the kind of woman who drew people into her world. He could feel her pulling him closer when he looked into her eyes and something inside of him responded. He didn't want or need to go there. It was way too easy to get lost.

He watched her uneasily as she slept. Her face was a perfect oval, her skin flawless with a faintly pearly sheen. Her dark eyelashes curled against her cheek. Her lips were pink and parted slightly and she whispered unintelligible secrets in her sleep.

She didn't look real and she certainly didn't look like the heiress he'd expected. In those wet clothes and her hair straggled around her face, she looked more like some homeless waif.

Still, when her head slipped lower on the seat, he fought with himself not to touch her. His fingers itched to feel that creamy skin beneath them. Her perfume filled his senses in the warm truck. When her head fell again, it was only reasonable to put his hand under her neck and move her the few inches so that her head was resting against him.

She sighed and murmured something in her sleep but didn't wake up. Her hand came to rest on his thigh.

Nick put his hands back on the wheel and refused to look at her again. The warmth of her body pressed close to his side and the feel of her skin on his hands lingered to haunt him.

He moved her hand away from his leg but she moved it back. The touch burned through the thick layer of denim that separated them.

He switched off the heat and turned on the radio, uncomfortable despite his best intentions to ignore her. The songs on the radio were meaningless as he fought down a powerful wave of sexual attraction. He focused his mind on the road but she moved and sighed and it returned back to her.

She wasn't what he'd expected. A year of hearing stories about the Ferrier family, about Emilie herself, hadn't prepared him for the reality. No one had mentioned that she was beautiful. Or that she was crippled. Or that her touch was like a hot coal.

He finally pulled through the wrought iron gate that led down the long drive to the old mansion. It was a relief to see the lights in the large garage where he usually picked up and returned her cars.

The weather had changed during the drive up the mountain. The sleet had turned to fat, soft snowflakes that plopped wetly against the windshield. The night sky was alive with them in the steady beams of the truck's headlights.

They'd left the worst of the weather when they'd left the interstate. The town's higher elevation frequently made their weather different from the areas around them. It could be raining at the foot of the mountain and dry at the top.

Jacque de Ferrier had known what he was doing when he'd built his town on the side of the mountain, Nick mused, considering the large gold claim that had created the little town. The Frenchman had provided well for his family, the youngest descendent of which nestled against his shoulder.

"We're here, Ms. Ferrier," he began, trying to awaken her.

Her breathing continued rhythmically and her head slid a little further down against his chest.

"Emilie," he encouraged her to wake up, stifling a heavy groan. "We're back. Wake up."

There was still no response. But her head slid a little lower.

Finally, he threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her head back up to his shoulder level. "Emilie," he said, his face very near her own, "if you don't wake up, we're both going to be in a lot of trouble."

Emilie opened her eyes suddenly, blinking them sleepily as she tried to focus on the face that was close to her own. It occurred to her that she'd fallen asleep and that, somehow, she'd moved against Nick's shoulder and her hand-

She moved her hand out of his lap quickly and sat up straight. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I guess I fell asleep. Are we back home?"

"Yeah," he muttered darkly, a large, warm part of him wishing she hadn't moved so quickly, wishing her mouth had been just a half an inch closer-

"Oh, good," she rushed on, trying to gather her scattered wits together before she said something stupid. "I-uh-I hope I wasn't snoring or anything-"

"No," he smiled across at her, his eyes very dark in the half-light. "You sleep like an angel."

Emilie was bewildered by the tenderness of his tone and the intimacy of his words. And the combined effect on her breathing.

"Well, I- well, thank you. I'm sorry this turned out to be an all day problem for you. Please include it on the bill for the repairs to the car."

"Don't worry," he assured her. "I will."

The cab of the truck seemed very small and very warm suddenly when she looked at him. He was turned towards her but she couldn't make out his expression in the darkness. "I appreciate all of your help."

He opened the truck door and climbed out, coming around to her side of the cab. "Let me help you down."

"Oh, that's not necessary," she replied, embarrassed by his offer yet hoping, if he did walk away, that her leg wouldn't collapse under her when she reached the ground.

"My pleasure, ma'am." He didn't move away but held out his hand to her.

She put her hand into his and let him help ease the jarring transition between the high truck cab and the hard ground.

"It's snowing," she remarked unnecessarily, wanting to take the simplistic words back as soon as they were out of her mouth.

"It is," he responded lightly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "Thanks."

"I'll have the car back in a few days unless there's a problem with parts," he promised her.

"All right. Thanks," she grinned, feeling foolish. "Again."

He started to climb back into the driver's side of the cab, cursing himself for wanting to be close to her that last time.

"Nick?"

He paused, half in and half out of the truck. A fleeting shadow caught his attention running across the white snow in the large open meadow beside the house. Then it was gone and he turned back to Emilie.

"You should call it Nick's," she said, waving to him. "You're right. There's way too many places named Ferrier on this mountain."

"I'll think about it," he promised, then got back in the truck and drove away.

The headlight beams picked out her slender form walking slowly up to the house. He'd been working on her cars for a year and hadn't met her. The chances were it would be another year or more before it happened again.

By then he would have forgotten that her skin was like satin and her hair was like silk. Cliche but apt. He would have forgotten how close he'd come to touching his mouth to hers in that last instant before she'd awakened to look at him with those green eyes.

"But not tonight, old son," he said out loud, turning out of her driveway. He headed his truck for home.

Emilie had seen the shadow cross the snow-covered meadow as well. She sighed as she looked out into the night.

"Elspeth?" she called out, her voice echoing back to her from the darkness. "Are you out there?"

"Go inside, child," her aunt advised, a creepy, disembodied voice floating back from somewhere around her. "I'll be in shortly."

Emilie hobbled inside, glad to reach the warmth and comfort of her own home. Her clothes were still wet close to her skin, though the top layer had dried in the truck. She felt clammy and cold and only wanted a hot bath, a glass of wine and a good night's sleep. She was worried about Elspeth, of course. She was always worried about Elspeth. Sometimes, contrary to what she'd told Alain earlier, she did feel tied to her aunt. Responsible for her even since she was very young.

Sometimes she felt as though she'd never been young. That she'd never had the experience of being carefree. It was as though she'd been born to look after other people. Her reckless, irresponsible parents, then her strange aunt. She told herself that she liked it that way. That no one needed to look after her. She'd been born responsible.

But maybe Alain was right, she considered wearily, as she undressed slowly and started to run her bath water. Maybe she hadn't lived her own life. And maybe taking on the responsibility of a baby was just compounding the fault.

And maybe, she yawned, she was just tired and disappointed. She knew that tomorrow things would look better and she'd be calling Alain about the next adoption attempt.

She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, seeing the brown hair that seemed to have a life of its own, never staying in place despite her best efforts. She saw the green eyes and the dimpled chin she'd inherited from her father. And she saw the slender body that led to the ravaged leg, slightly twisted and a little thinner and shorter than the other.

Her mother had always encouraged her to act as though it didn't exist. She was a Ferrier. She should have been proud, no matter what. Wear short skirts, dance despite any awkwardness or fear of falling. Climb mountains. Water ski.

She looked at her face and found her lips trembling.

She might be a Ferrier but she couldn't pretend that she wasn't a cripple. She had never worn a bathing suit. She had never danced. She wore her skirts to her mid calf or lower or she wore baggy pants. She tried to keep her head up and she tried not to notice when people whispered as she limped past them.

That was as impossible as believing she would ever climb a mountain.

But being a mother was different. She knew that she could be a good mother. Despite the fact that nature had chosen to pass her body to give birth. She knew that she had so much love to give to another tiny human life. If only . . .

She climbed into the tub and admonished herself to stop feeling sorry for Emilie Ferrier. She lived in a nice, big house. She had plenty of money. She had a wonderful job that she loved. She was a Ferrier.

If that house was empty and lonely sometimes and the money and the name kept her isolated from the rest of the town, well, no one ever said that life was perfect.

"Pouting again?" Elspeth was like a shadow, there beside her before Emilie had seen her.

The old woman sat easily in the chair beside the tub, tsking over the wet clothes on the tiled bathroom floor.

"What is it this time, child?"

Elspeth Ferrier was the last of three siblings. One had died at birth, the other, Emilie's father, ten years before. They were a proud, if not hardy, line.

Emilie soaped a sponge and ran it across her neck and shoulders. It wasn't unusual for Elspeth to visit her in the tub. Or late at night while she was sleeping. Or any place that was unexpected. Her aunt lived for the unexpected.

"It was a little cold for the rites of the full moon, wasn't it?" Emilie asked her aunt.

Elspeth shrugged then took the sponge from her niece and soaped her back and shoulders. "The rites must be maintained. The temperature doesn't matter."

Emilie smiled at her aunt, looking at the snowflakes still trapped in the long white strands of her hair. Her green eyes burned fiercely in a timeless face.

No one knew exactly how old Elspeth was. Her father had told her that she had refused to celebrate birthdays even as a small child.

"You didn't bring a child home with you," Elspeth said bluntly. She sniffed. "You must be going about it the wrong way."

Emilie sighed. "The little girl's guardian wants two parents."

"Easy enough," Elspeth answered practically. "Get married. That lawyer of yours has eyes for you."

"But I'm only part of the Ferrier money to Alain," she explained to her aunt. "I wanted-"

"Didn't you want more that other time?" Elspeth pressed. "And look what a fiasco that was! The child is what's important here, Emilie! The family must continue, even if it's with blood other than our own!"

Emilie looked down at the rapidly cooling water in the tub. "What about love, Elspeth? Don't I have the right to be in love, being a precious Ferrier or not?"

Elspeth looked into her niece's eyes, so like her own and shook her head. "Only you know the answer to that, ma petite belle. Love is one of the great mysteries. It comes when we least expect it."

Elspeth turned away to leave her niece to her bath, her flowing blue robe spreading out around her like a peacock's tail.

"Have you ever loved someone, Aunt Elspeth?" Emilie asked.

"Once," Elspeth replied quietly, stopping but not looking back at her. "He died fighting in a war that wasn't his own. We were never together but we've never been apart."

Emilie caught her breath at the pain in her aunt's honeyed voice. "I'm sorry, Aunt Elspeth. I love you."

Elspeth sighed. "I know, child. Get out of that water and get into bed. You look as though as though a good breeze would knock you down."

Emilie finished her bath when her aunt had closed the door behind her then she poured herself a large glass of peach brandy that had been bottled while her father had still been alive. She climbed into her oversize canopy bed hung with white lace and turned off the light.

The next day she got up late and dressed hurriedly. She looked for her aunt but there was no sign of her. The mansion had eighteen bedrooms though and she didn't have time to check them all. She was probably asleep somewhere in the house and she would be awake by the time Emilie returned home that afternoon.

That was the way their relationship worked. Elspeth did what she pleased and Emilie knew she was all right because no one called and told her that they'd found her body on the road.

Her own parents hadn't been much different. From the time she could remember, they were always flying here and there. They climbed Mount Everest, her father losing two toes and her mother's nose frostbitten for the rest of her life. They raced cars and horses. They treated their daughter as if she were a doll with the occasional pat on the head and the comment on the way that she was dressed.

They died when Emilie was eighteen, just out of high school, when their latest passion, racing planes, went terribly wrong and they crashed into a mountainside.

Long before that, Emilie had taken over the day to day running of the big house and the extensive grounds. She made sure that her parents had food to eat and replaced her father's socks when they were worn. She bought their plane tickets to Spain and kept them up to date with the family's charities.

They were both beautiful, charming people with swarms of friends. Emilie arranged lavish parties at the mansion, sometimes doing the catering for the hundred or so guests herself.

She looked around the quiet kitchen, the sunlight very bright through the windows, reflecting off the white snow that lay like a blanket on the ground.

The mansion was a different place without their laughter and energy. Even when they were gone and she was planning for their return, it had been exciting. Her world had become very quiet without them.

Not that she had time to speculate, she considered, puling herself from her reverie with a last gulp of strong coffee.

Not being like her parents, Emilie had chosen a much different life. She'd gone on to college and started teaching school as soon as she'd finished.

Elspeth had been outraged at a Ferrier lowering herself to teach school. Emilie wouldn't be dissuaded. She loved working with the children, even the difficult ones. It gave her a purpose, a reason to get up in the morning.

She started her car, thinking suddenly about Nick and the maintenance he did on her cars to keep them running. She hadn't liked the idea that she had ignored something that was done for her. It was one thing to pay someone and another to appreciate that person.

Emilie had always tried to do both.

Nick, with his flashing dark eyes and not so subtle innuendoes about her thinking that she was better than everyone else, had touched a raw spot.

She pulled out of the huge garage that had been built to hold ten cars, feeling again the emptiness of being alone.

She'd sold the other six cars that her parents had left behind keeping only two Mercedes' and her father's Lamborghini. It had been their particular favorite and she kept it in storage, knowing she would never drive it but not wanting to part with that memory as well.

Sometimes, she thought, pulling down the long drive, glancing up at the red brick mansion silhouetted against the white hills, she felt that she should sell everything. The house was too big for two women. The stables had been empty for years. There was a cottage for the gardener and a cottage for the housekeeper that hadn't been used since she was a child. The estate covered most of the mountaintop, looking down at the lights from the town and the highway that snaked around it.

She'd kept it all because she had wonderful memories of growing up there and had always thought her children would love to run through the apple orchard and play in the waterfall that rushed down the side of the mountain into the stream that meandered through the grounds.

Elspeth was another obstacle. Emilie knew she could never move the older woman to a condominium. She had been born and raised there and she wanted to die there.

Until then, Emilie sighed, she would have to rattle around in the big old house that her great grandfather had built. But she wouldn't live there alone. If the time came and she still had failed to find a child, she would sell the place, memories and all.

It was Wednesday morning but the week had just begun for the children. Monday and Tuesday had been teacher's workdays so the teachers were ready for the middle of the week but the kids were wild after the long weekend.

Emilie walked down the crowded hallway to her fourth grade room, shivering in the cold. The furnace wasn't working that morning and her breath was frosty on the air. She kept her coat on while she hung up some new papers and drawings that she considered original, and then mentally prepared for the onslaught of class when the first bell rang.

Emilie didn't teach an exceptional class because she wanted to work with children who had a hard time. The principal and the school obliged her by dumping all of the problem children that the other teachers didn't want into her classroom. Most thrived under her guidance. A few she could never sort out.

She'd inherited Adam Markland in the middle of the year from a distraught teacher who 'couldn't do a thing with him'. Unfortunately, it appeared that Emilie would have the same fate. She'd had him for a month and the boy wasn't interested in any of her programs. He was rude and disruptive and well on his way to being a candidate for juvenile hall.

Twenty minutes after class had started, he dragged into the classroom with the principal behind him, beckoning her into the hallway.

"Adam was having some problems with the snow this morning," Mr. Howard explained briefly, his troubled brow furrowed as always. "He seemed intent on making Jonnie Blair eat all of it."

Emilie hid a small smile. Jonnie Blair was one of the biggest bullies in the school. He was a large, aggressive boy who managed to get good grades and suck up to the teachers while scaring the smaller children around him. It was difficult to imagine the much smaller, almost frail looking, Adam Markland making the other boy do anything.

"I've called in his uncle, the boy's legal guardian, for a conference this afternoon. I'd like you to be there."

"Of course," she murmured then went back into her classroom.

Everyone else in the class was busy doing the assignment she'd given out except Adam whose tousled blonde head lifted as she entered the room. He stared at her defiantly.

"We're doing Math," she told him. "Page 101."

"I don't have my book," he answered.

"I have one you can use," she continued, also taking out a pencil and some paper before that could be the next problem.

She set everything on his desk and he stared at it without making a move to use any of it.

Emilie hadn't realized that his parents didn't have custody of the boy. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of man the uncle was who was trying to raise Adam. As well as why he had the child. That could have a great deal to do with the boy's attitude.

Adam sat and looked out of the window most of the day. Emilie refrained from doing anything until she talked with the boy's uncle that afternoon. Maybe with a better under-standing, she could find some way to get Adam to include himself in the classroom activities.

The bell rang for dismissal that afternoon and Emilie had Adam wait for the halls to clear before they walked down to the office.

"Were you really trying to make Jonnie eat snow?" she asked when they were alone.

Adam looked at her, his dark eyes fierce on her face. "He wouldn't leave me alone."

Emilie frowned. "I know that he's a bully. But he's so much bigger than you."

Adam grinned, showing a place where two teeth were missing. "I don't care how big he is. He's a puppy."

"Adam, why won't you do the school work? I know you're smart. If you can take on Jonnie, you can do this work."

He lounged back in his chair. "It's not the same."

"It is if you want it to be," she tried to interest him. "If you think about your school work as being a fight to be better, to grow up and have a good job."

"I don't need to go to school to have a job. My uncle owns his own business. I can work for him."

"I don't think he owns a business where you don't have to read or write or use math," she enjoined. "What does he do?"

"Ms. Ferrier." Mr. Howard nodded to her from the doorway. "I brought Adam's uncle down here for the conference." He turned to the man who was standing behind him.

"Mr. Garrett, this is Ms. Emilie Ferrier. She's taken over as Adam's teacher for the second quarter of the year. Ms. Ferrier, this is Nicholas Garrett, Adam's uncle."

They shook hands. Emilie smiled up into his face and started to speak, but Nick's dark face was shuttered. He didn't give any sign that they had ever met.

"Maybe we could all sit down," Emilie managed finally, awkwardly.

She sat at her desk while Mr. Howard and Nick squeezed into children's desks beside Adam.

"Mr. Garrett," Mr. Howard began, "your nephew has been giving some of the other children a hard time as well as refusing to do his class work or participate at all in the school process."

Nick glanced at his nephew. The two looked so distinctively different that Emilie looked between the two of them, wondering further about their relationship.

"Adam told me about the bully that's been giving him a hard time. He said you wouldn't do anything about him."

Mr. Howard looked at Emilie, scowled, then looked away.

"Adam is clever and resourceful." Emilie moved into the silence. "He's only half the size of the other boy, yet he managed-"

"Ms. Ferrier!" Mr. Howard interrupted. "This wasn't exemplary behavior we're discussing! We can't encourage the boy to take matters into his own hands."

Emilie glanced briefly at the three, then beckoned to Mr. Howard to join her at the door excusing them to Nick.

"I need some time alone with Nick, with Adam's uncle," she amended quietly. "If you could take Adam to your office, we could join you there in a few minutes."

"This is highly irregular," Mr. Howard protested, being left out of the conversation between the two.

"Adam's case may be highly irregular as well. I don't want to discuss the boy's family problems with him sitting there." She leveled him a stern look of warning. "You know my methods work, Mr. Howard."

"All right," he relented under the pressure of the Ferrier eyes. "I'll take the boy to my office."

They turned to face Nick and his nephew and Emilie saw at once the resemblance she'd missed at first. The eyes. Both the older and younger man had the same dark eyes that looked out at the world with defiance and a certain anger.

"If you'll come with me, young Adam." Mr. Howard beckoned to the child.

Adam looked at his uncle and Nick nodded. The boy pouted and stalked past the principal but he went with the man. Nick turned his gaze on Emilie as the door closed behind them.

"This is a surprise," she began, smiling inanely, trying to keep herself from babbling about the weather or some other topic that had nothing to do with Adam or his problems. Nick sat back in the chair, a great deal like Adam, glaring at her from beneath thick, sooty lashes.

"And not a pleasant one," she added, quelling the smile and shuffling some papers on her desk.

She looked at him again, then stood up slowly, walking past her large desk. She sat beside him at one of the children's desks.

"Tell me about Adam," she said, leaning towards him, her green eyes every bit as fierce as the dark gaze she met.

"He's a nine year old boy with problems in school," Nick said with a shrug.

She shook her head. "Tell me about Adam. The real Adam." He opened his mouth to speak and she held up her hand. "I've read his files. I know he has a problem in school. What I want to know is why his file doesn't include that he doesn't live with his parents. Where are his parents?"

Nick dropped his eyes from hers to his hands. "That doesn't have anything to do with his schoolwork. That's why it's not on his 'file'."

Emilie stared at him. "You can't be that stupid!"

His eyes flashed back to hers and he stood up from the children's desk. "What?"

Having gained his attention, however questionable her methods, Emilie stared up at him. "Adam's problems in school reflect directly back to his problems at home."

"That's your way of saying that the teachers don't do a bad job," he argued. "That everything is the parents' fault."

"That's my way of saying that Adam sits and looks out of the window all day. That he can do the work but he won't," she answered back as hotly as he'd replied. "Did you know that he doesn't think he needs to learn math because he can work with you when he gets older so it doesn't matter?"

Nick sat back down, the breath knocked from his hostility. "No."

"It's true. He told me so himself while we were waiting for you today. He said that you had your own business so that what he did in school wasn't important."

"I never told him that," Nick answered with a shake of his dark head. "We've talked about his schoolwork. I've tried to help him with it."

"So then you've noticed as well. It's not that he can't do the work. He's a smart boy. He won't do the work. Or participate in any school activities. Except for making Jonnie Blair eat snow."

Nick nodded but didn't return her smile. He looked above her head for a moment then he stared into her eyes as though looking for something in her soul that would tell him that he could trust her.

Emilie caught her breath and felt very warm for an instant, wishing she could get up and hide behind her big desk full of papers. That was impossible, of course, but-

"Adam's parents were both killed a little over a year ago," Nick told her finally in a voice devoid of emotion. "His mother was my sister, Renee."

Emilie gasped, her mind reeling with the emotions of her own loss at losing both her parents at once. What could that have been for a boy half her age?

She looked at the pain in Nick's face and stifled her immediate response of apology and remorse. He was expecting that and was ready to deny the right to be comforted for his loss. No wonder Adam was having problems!

She nodded and swallowed hard over the lump that had developed in her throat. "Do you know if he was having any problems in school before that time?"

He stared at her, surprised that she had been astute enough not to offer those trite words of condolence. "I'm not sure. I don't think so. Adam doesn't like to talk about the time around the accident."

"I can understand that," she murmured, her mind racing to find a way to help the boy deal with the terrible loss in his life. "I can't understand why you wouldn't have thought that this wasn't important to his school work."

Nick got up again and prowled the room restlessly. "I knew he didn't want to talk about it with a bunch of strangers. And he seemed to be doing all right for a while."

"Then?"

"Then his teachers started sending home notes that he wouldn't do his schoolwork, that he was fighting. We talked and he promised to try harder. But the notes kept coming."

"So they moved him to another class."

He turned to look at her. "You're his fourth teacher in three months. This is the second school he's been in during this grade alone."

"But you didn't think that was a hint that he wasn't working through the loss of his parents?" she wondered out loud.

He glared at her. "I knew he didn't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't matter," she corrected. "He has to talk about it. He has to bring out those feelings so that he can accept his parent's death and go on with his life."

"I don't buy into all that therapist crap," he told her bluntly.

"I noticed," she responded, equally as short.

"What?"

She sighed, knowing she had already annoyed him. She might as well be hanged for the whole crime. "You obviously aren't working through the problem any better than Adam is. You're angry and hostile-"

"You don't know anything about Adam. Or me," he defended angrily. "Don't try to play amateur psychologist with us."

"Look," she replied, feeling herself getting angry and trying hard to quiet that emotion, "the man was impossibly stubborn! I don't want to invade your grief or your private life but Adam is headed down the wrong path, Nick. If he doesn't get some guidance, you're going to be visiting him in juvenile detention and trying to figure out what went wrong."

"I don't think-"

"He respects your opinion," she continued relentlessly. "Maybe a good place to start would be telling him that he can't work for you unless he graduates from high school." Their eyes clashed wordlessly. Nick was the first to break the contact, wandering to the windows at the side of the empty room.

"Before my sister died last year," he began, not looking at her, "the longest I'd had either one of her children was babysitting a few hours while she and her husband went out to dinner or a movie. Before Renee died, she asked me to take the kids. I promised her that I'd do the best I could."

Emilie felt tears sting the back of her eyes. "How did they die?"

Nick laughed shortly. "It's ironic, really. Renee was leaving Jack and the kids to run away with another man whom she was sure she loved. She was willing to leave it all behind. Jack tried to stop her. They ran off the road and hit a telephone pole. It was lucky that they hadn't taken the kids with them. Jack was killed at the scene. Renee lived for another three days."

Emilie couldn't help herself. In a voice thick with emotion, she said, "I am so sorry." but added, "I lost both of my parents in a plane accident when I was eighteen. I can't even imagine what it must be like for Adam being so young."

Nick turned back to her, appraising her sorrow filled face with a different attitude. The green eyes were bright with unshed tears but knowing that she had suffered a tragedy as well made her sympathy more acceptable.

"How old is the other child?" she asked, clearing her throat and wiping at her eyes.

"She's barely a year old," he answered, feeling again that empathy that pulled him close to Emilie Ferrier. What was one of the Ferrier's doing teaching school? Why hadn't he heard that she'd lost both of her parents in one terrible moment?

"She won't even remember," Emilie discerned, shaking her head ruefully. "It might be a blessing compared with Adam's grief, but it's so sad for your sister."

Nick cleared his own throat and looked at her with tear-bright eyes. "That's another story, I guess. I want to help Adam, Emilie. I just see every day how much he's still hurting and I don't want him to hurt anymore."

"Neither do I," she assured him firmly. "Does he have any hobbies or interests?"

He shrugged, thinking about his nephew's activities. "He loves music. He wanted to join the band but they wouldn't let him because his grades were so low."

Emilie made a quick mental note of that fact. "Okay, so let's not work against each other in this. We both want something good for Adam. If you could keep after him about his homework and make sure that he understands that he has to finish school before he can work for you. Maybe we can even find ways to make him understand the correlation between what you do and what he needs to learn in school."

Nick nodded his dark head in understanding. "I'll do that. Maybe you could help with this band thing. I think it would mean a lot to him."

"I'll see what I can do and get back to you," she answered readily then peeked at him from under her lashes, "and can we agree on one hour a week with the school counselor? She doesn't have to hound him about his parents. Just give him a chance to talk about it when they get to know one another."

He hesitated, frowned, then drew a deep breath. "All right. So long as she understands that I don't want him badgered for information! Do you know her?"

Emilie felt a strange flutter in her chest when he looked at her, obviously deciding that he could trust her judgement. "I do," she rejoined brightly. "She's not the badgering type. I'll explain the situation. She'll listen to whatever he wants to tell her."

"I can handle that. You'll keep me informed on any progress?"

She nodded. "I will. Maybe we can go and save Mr. Howard now. I'm afraid Adam might be too much for him."

Nick was startled. "How?"

Emilie smiled as she walked towards the door, trying not to feel self-conscious and not succeeding. "Well, Adam did tackle Jonnie Blair today. Mr. Howard's not all that much bigger."

He smiled! Emilie caught her breath. He actually looked much different when he smiled. It was like a shadow passing from in front of the sun.

"Adam's father was a karate teacher. He taught him how to take care of himself when he was really young. Jonnie Blair needs to push someone else around."

Emilie was still dazed by the impact of his more lighthearted side. At some time, she realized, the man had actually had a sense of humor. It was amazing!

"I'm sure he will," she said quietly, walking down the hall beside him.

"By the way," he injected, "the parts for your car won't be hard to get. The damage wasn't as bad as I thought. You should have it back by the end of the week."

"Oh, that's wonderful," she enthused, hoping she wasn't gushing. "I appreciate it. And you. Working on my cars," she clarified awkwardly. Why was she so tongue tied with him the minute they stepped away from her professional aspect?

"Thanks," he added, surprised again by the woman beside him. He walked slowly so that she could keep up with him, wondering, wanting to ask what had happened to her. How had she been crippled? Had it happened in the same accident that had taken her parent's lives?

He focused, instead, at the principal's office door ahead of them and refused to ask. He had determined that he didn't want to be any more involved with this woman than he had to be but fate seemed to have other ideas. Far from the year he'd expected between meetings, the feel and scent of her next to him was still very fresh in his mind.

Emilie fell silent when she saw his smile fade and the usual scowl appear on his dark face. She didn't know what cloud had crossed him again but she was sorry to see that younger version of him fade away.

They reached Mr. Howard's office and she had Adam join his uncle in the hall before she explained everything to the principal, not really asking for his consent to her plan. She had been successful with problem children. They both knew that her methods worked. Besides, no one else seemed to have any idea of the answer.

They both joined Nick and Adam as they waited in the hallway and there were handshakes all around. Adam frowned and squirmed restlessly on the chair beside his uncle, feeling a change in the air.

Emilie took Nick's hand, her own disappearing into his warm hold. She looked up into his face, recalling the day before when he'd picked her up and put her into the truck. Her face felt hot and she held his hand a little too long, laughing nervously as she released her grasp and stepped away from him.

Her foot hit a wet patch, probably left behind by a snowy boot on the slick tile floor. It was her weak leg and she would have fallen as it twisted beneath her but Nick reached forward quickly and helped her regain her balance.

"Thanks," she said, embarrassed by her ungainly movement, wishing she were anywhere but here at that moment.

"Are you all right?" he asked, watching her face flame bright red, feeling the trembling in her hand.

"I'm fine," she replied easily, refusing to meet the concern in his eyes. She moved away from him nervously, careful of the wet spot on the floor. "Really. We'll -uh- work this out. I'll be in touch."

Nick watched her stalk back down the hall towards her classroom, wondering what it was about her that made him want to run after her and tell her that it was all right.

She was rich. She had a nice house, expensive cars. She was beautiful. She might even be married for all he knew. Just didn't take her husband's name so that she'd stay in her position of power. She was Emilie Ferrier, after all. She certainly didn't need his comfort.

"We'll be in touch," Mr. Howard said, echoing Emilie's words with his sanguine smile.

"Thanks," Nick retorted. Thanks for nothing, he wanted to add but refrained.

In the year since Renee had died, Emilie was the only person who'd thought to ask what she could do for Adam. Everyone else had been more concerned with the rules and the fact that the boy didn't fit in with their plans.

Maybe she was right and he'd been wrong not to have shared the information about his home life. But he hadn't met a teacher or principal before that day that he felt like he could trust with the knowledge.

In other words, he chided himself, she was the only one who'd managed to get past his guard. Somehow, she'd made him feel as though he could say anything to her. He knew that he could trust her with anything.

He didn't want to speculate on the newly found knowledge. It was enough that she might be able to get Adam back on the right track.

And watching her handle the principal, he knew she had the other man on track as well. He didn't tell her what to do. Emilie ran her own show.

He looked after her again. She'd disappeared into the shelter of her classroom. But he could still smell her perfume.

"Let's go, Adam," he said to his nephew, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "We've got a few things to talk about."

Emilie slammed a few things around her classroom when she'd closed the door behind her. Did she always have to make a spectacle of herself?

Last year at the teacher's conference, she'd managed to dump a whole vase of yellow gladiolas into the school superintendent's lap when she'd tripped on her way to speak at the podium.

She'd smiled and apologized profusely to the woman, then she'd limped back to her table, embarrassed beyond words.

Being a Ferrier wasn't of any particular importance at that moment, she reminded herself. Just a few moments before she'd almost fallen on the floor at Nick's feet!

She could dance, her mother had protested at Emilie's tears when she'd refused to attend her senior prom. She could do whatever she wanted to do. Stand tall. Hold your shoulders back and your head high. Stare them all down and dare them to talk about the fact that you limp. Show them that they can't laugh at you.

Emilie wound her scarf around her neck and shrugged on her coat, muttering darkly about expectations.

She had no doubt that her mother could have been crippled and almost fallen and managed to turn that to her benefit. She would have been all charming witlessness and helpless delight and Nick would have probably taken her into his arms and-

Whoa!

Back up there, she advised, picking up her briefcase and notebooks. Where had that come from?

Do you want Nick to take you in his arms . . . and anything?

He was her mechanic. She was his nephew's teacher. What had caused her to think anything else?

A brief, shadowy memory of the day before when she was waking up, her head on Nick's shoulder, teased at her senses. What had he said to her? Hadn't their faces been close enough to-

She shook her head and slammed out of her classroom, trudging down the hallway, not hearing another teacher call out for her to have a good evening and a safe drive home.

There was a message from Alain when she got home. He'd called to say that so far, Jon Stewart hadn't been able to get his client to meet with her. Knowing she would be a single parent made any idea of a meeting a waste of time in the guardian's eyes.

In the meantime, they would be meeting with several other adoptive parents who were more fortunate than Emilie. They had two parents in the family and they were eager to adopt the little girl. No doubt they would find a suitable family quickly. The adoption market was fierce.

"You could marry me, Emilie," Alain joked when he'd finished telling her the bad news. "I'd make a good husband."

"That's not what your other wives thought," she replied honestly then relented, knowing her words were sharpened by keen disappointment. "I'm sorry, Alain. I appreciate your offer. And I might have to take you up on it."

"If there's no other way?" he teased her gently.

Emilie smiled sadly. "You know that you don't love me, Alain! And you know that I don't love you. We've been friends for a long time. It just doesn't go beyond that."

"Emilie, we've never even dated! Spend the day with me Saturday. We can do whatever you like. You might find there's something more to me than the lawyer you've always known but never loved."

Emilie smiled but she thought about his words and shrugged, holding the phone with her shoulder as she unpacked grocery bags on the counter.

"All right. Maybe you're right," she conceded. "Pick me up at eight. We'll have a full day together."

"I'll be there," he murmured sweetly. "Fuel up the Lear Jet, sweetie. You can afford to do something extravagant!"

Emilie hung up the phone, smiling despite herself. Alain was honest, at least. He made no bones about loving her for her money.

"Did you get any carrots?" Elspeth asked, surprising Emilie into dropping a can of soup on the floor.

"I wish you'd learn to make some noise when you walk, Elspeth," she requested, annoyed.

"Still no good news about the child, I take it," Elspeth mocked, grabbing an orange from the counter. "Don't worry! I sense something different about you, Emilie. There's a strange glow about you!"

"That's embarrassment and annoyance, Aunt Elspeth," she countered.

The older woman perched on a stool at the end of the counter, not listening to her reply. "You aren't pregnant, are you?" she asked excitedly at last.

Emilie dropped the head of lettuce on the floor. She came back up after grabbing it with a frown on her beautiful face.

"Pregnant? That's why I'm adopting or trying to adopt, remember, Elspeth? Because I can't have children?"

"Oh," Elspeth shrugged and walked away, forgetting the entire incident. "I won't need dinner tonight, child. I'm meeting in the greenhouse with some of my Sisters."

"Fine," Emilie retorted, feeling more than usually put out by her aunt's indifference to her presence. "I'll just heat up a frozen dinner and eat in my room. There's probably some-thing on television and-"

She looked around but the kitchen was empty. She'd been left standing there talking to herself again.

She finished putting away the groceries, then did as she had promised, falling asleep before she'd eaten her dinner or graded her papers.

She woke up after midnight when the television station changed to big band music and startled her out of a particularly good dream. She'd had it before and it was so outrageous that it sometimes made her cry.

She was in the solarium and she was wearing a beautiful silver ball gown. She was dancing with a tall, dark man. There was moonlight coming in from the huge skylight as they moved effortlessly, fluidly across the shiny tile floor. And she felt as light and free as any moonbeam, unfettered by the awkwardness of her leg.

She got out of bed and changed out of her rumpled clothes, slipping into a flannel nightgown that had been her mother's. Forgetting her slippers, she went down the long stairway, across the cold floors and stood in the ballroom doorway.

How many times she'd stood in that doorway during a party that her parents were giving and wistfully watched the couples swaying in time to the music. Their clothes were beautiful, like colored birds flitting across the room as they danced or talked, and laughed, drinking champagne from crystal goblets with the de Ferrier crest etched in gold leaf.

The moonlight was there that night but the room was silent and empty except for the ghosts that still danced there across the dusty floor.

The ballroom was too large for anything except parties and neither she nor Elspeth were inclined towards anything that exciting. It seemed sensible to close off the room, as it had been for the past ten years.

Sensible. And sad.

Emilie closed the French doors to the ballroom and left the ghosts to their own devices. It wouldn't have surprised her to see her parents dancing the night away in that room. It had been their favorite place.

And truly, she would have been glad of even their ghostly company.

She walked slowly back up the stairs, feeling the ache in her leg from the cold floor. The pink marble staircase was elegant but no amount of heat could keep it warm against her feet.

Feeling a little like a ghost herself, she wandered back into her own room and shut off the television. The food in the frozen dinner tray on her bedside table was gone but Elspeth had left a white flower the size of a dinner plate in its place. She recognized it as a moonflower that only bloomed in the light of the full moon.

She walked to her bedroom window that overlooked the shadowed grounds. The moon was bright on the snow-covered landscape. In the far distance, protected by a rocky gorge, was the waterfall she'd played in as a child. It would be frozen in the dead of winter, only a trickle of water coming down from the mountaintop.

She saw movement in the greenhouse, the only part of the estate that the two women kept up with and that only because Elspeth loved the warmth and the plants.

It meant that Elspeth's 'Sisters' were probably meeting there again. It was a good place to practice their earth rituals, as they called them. Mainly, they danced around the flowers and hoped for good but impossible things to happen to them and their loved ones.

It was harmless, as far as she could tell. It gave Elspeth something to do besides pine away for the man she'd loved or the family she'd lost.

Emilie sighed as she turned away from their dancing to climb back into her bed. Sometimes she wished that she could join them.

She stayed up after that for a few hours grading her essays and thinking about Adam Markland and his uncle.

Uncle Nick, she speculated, wondering if that was what Adam called him. It was hard to imagine him raising two children alone. Still, if they had no other family, she could understand why his sister's dying wish had been for him to care for them.

Nick was a more complex personality than she'd first considered. She'd thought that he was walking around with a chip on his shoulder because of some rich man-poor man grudge. Understanding his grief had made him more human, easier to empathize with as a man who had suffered a terrible loss and was trying to cope with his new life.

He'd said that he bought the garage a year before, she hypothesized. He might have moved the children from their own home to Ferrier's Mountain as a way of trying to escape.

She corrected two more essays and chewed at her nails. There was something about him that bothered her. She'd thought it was his attitude. Then she'd thought it was the way he treated her.

But it was something more than either of those things. Something about him made her uneasy and uncomfortable. She was normally clumsy and far too aware of her own handicap but she could usually manage to put two words together without giggling or repeating herself.

And there was that distinct impression that he'd been about to kiss her when she was waking up with her head on his shoulder.

Of course, that was ridiculous, she corrected herself as she corrected two more papers. He didn't know her. Obviously didn't particularly like her. Of course, he hadn't been about to kiss her.

Had he?

And what would she have done if he had kissed her? She could hardly complain since she'd fallen asleep and pushed herself up against him, resting her hand in his lap right up next to his-

"Never mind," she said aloud to the empty room, putting the rest of her papers away and turning off the light. She snuggled down into her heavy comforter and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and getting ready to go to sleep.

What would it have been like?

Once the idea popped in her head, her eyes popped open as well. She stared into the darkness, tracing the outline of her lace-covered canopy against the moon-drenched ceiling.

Probably like every other kiss, the practical side of her nature told her reasonably. Lips meeting. A little wet. Probably a little too impatient.

Was he the type of man who would have tried to slip his tongue into her mouth on the first kiss?

She turned over, fluffed her pillow and refused to even consider the question.

The rest of the week went by slowly. There was no real change in Adam's attitude. If anything, he became more withdrawn and less cooperative.

She started him seeing Wendy on Thursday. They couldn't afford a full time counselor on staff at the tiny public school so Wendy traveled through the county, visiting different schools on different days.

Emilie explained the problem to her before she interviewed Adam but Wendy agreed with her prediction that the boy was going to be difficult to help. He was old enough to have understood what had happened to his parents but not old enough to understand the need to grieve.

Their interview was brief. Adam wasn't rude or difficult to get along with during the session. He simply sat in his chair and stared mutinously out the window.

Emilie talked with the school band instructor who refused to even consider making an exception for the troubled boy.

"If he's so troubled," Mr. Foster told her bluntly, "I don't want him. It takes discipline to play a band instrument. He could cause my whole class to lose focus."

Annoyed, Emilie went to Mr. Howard and threatened to go to the superintendent if she had to, although both of them knew she didn't want to after last year's incident with the gladiolas.

Knowing that the school review was coming out in a few months was in Emilie's favor. Raises in salary for principals and teachers were tied to the school's performance. Turning around a child like Adam could mean a feather in both their caps.

"I'll talk to Mr. Foster," he agreed. "But we're only talking a trial here. If the boy doesn't show improvement-"

Emilie nodded. "I know. Thank you, Mr. Howard."

"By the way," he caught her as she would have walked out the door, "what instrument does the boy play?"

She chased back in her mind to her conversation with Nick that day. "I don't know. But I'll find out and get back with you."

There was a message from Nick on her machine that afternoon, telling her that he was bringing her car back that evening.

She waited, like a child, at the front window to watch for the headlights coming up the drive. It had stopped snowing and the weather had turned bitterly cold. Too cold, even, for Elspeth to be out and running through the yard.

She knew Nick had seen the older woman the night he'd dropped her off at the house and didn't want a repeat performance. Elspeth's jaunts in the rites of the moon were frequently without clothes, as she had been that night. That was one of the reasons Emilie liked to be home during the days of the full moon.

Not that she could do anything to restrain Elspeth but she could try to be sure that they were alone on the estate.

Elspeth was Elspeth, she sighed. She'd never learned to drive. Never used a telephone. She'd outright refused to allow a microwave oven into their home.

Not that she minded allowing herself to be driven places, Emilie smirked, looking out the dark, cold windowpane. Or that she minded asking Emilie to use the phone for her. Headlight beams lit the end of the driveway and Emilie pulled on her jacket and hurried out into the night. She was careful on the stone walkway between the kitchen door and the garage. She didn't want Nick to have to pick her up off the ground.

He opened the side door to the garage just as she reached the building and the light from the interior shone full on her face like a spotlight.

Dry, her golden brown hair sweeping around her face like a cloud, she was even more stunning than the first time he'd seen her. Her lips were full and reddened, like her cheeks, from the cold. Her green eyes were turned up to him and he felt lightheaded for an instant.

"Hello!" she said, moving out of the path of the door.

"Hi." He looked away from her bright eyes to get his bearings.

"So you brought the car back," she began, "fixed."

Was that a sentence? She wondered, wanting to hit herself in the head. Was something wrong with her?

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's ready to go."

"Thanks," she answered, trying to be brief but coherent. She dug her freezing hands into the pockets of her coat.

"Could I use your phone?"

"Sure." She looked beyond him into the garage. "Oh, do you need a ride back to the shop?"

"Yeah. Randy's waiting to come out and pick me up," he lied.

Randy was probably home watching football with a beer in one hand and the television remote in the other. He was going to be surprised when Nick called him but-

"I could take you home," she offered sweetly.

He'd argued with himself all day. He was taking the car back to Emilie. Usually, Randy drove the tow truck out with him and they came back together. That was how it worked.

But he'd wanted to talk to her. About Adam, he explained rationally to himself when he told Randy good night and that he wouldn't need him to go out to the Ferrier's house.

He'd wanted her to offer him a lift home. That's what it came down to, he considered, looking at her soft skin and delicate cheekbones. Despite all his good sense, he'd wanted to be alone with her for a few minutes.

He could just say 'no, thanks', call Randy, and that would be the end of it. He could, for once, listen to his saner side telling him that he didn't want to be alone again with this woman.

"Thanks," he said, holding the door open for her to enter the garage. "I'm sure Randy will appreciate it."

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