Gift from the Heart. Irene Hannon

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СКАЧАТЬ I’m sorry if I seem a little suspicious, but frankly I keep wondering, what’s the catch?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well, if I accept your offer, it will totally disrupt your life for six months. I just can’t understand why you’d go through that.”

      “I’m not going to inherit a million dollars, or anything close to it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Clare said stiffly. “This isn’t a TV reality show, Dr. Wright.”

      She seemed insulted by his question, but Adam didn’t think it was completely out of line. She was a total stranger, and he wasn’t entirely sure about her motivations. Something just didn’t feel quite right to him. Then again, maybe it was his problem, he acknowledged. He was so used to paying his own way that maybe he was just uncomfortable accepting anything as a gift.

      “Look, Dr. Wright, would it make you more comfortable if we met face to face?” Clare offered when Adam didn’t respond.

      He could hear a touch of impatience—or was it desperation?—in her voice. “Maybe,” he conceded slowly.

      “Then why don’t I come down?”

      He glanced again at the area code. “Where do you live?”

      “Kansas City.”

      “That’s a long trip. And I can’t make any promises.”

      “I’m not asking you to.”

      If she was willing to make the effort to come down, how could he refuse to meet with her? And what did he have to lose, except an hour or two of his time?

      “Okay. Let’s try that.”

      Clare had a couple of substitute teaching assignments to fulfill, so they agreed to meet on a Saturday in mid-November.

      “I’ll see you then,” Clare said as she hung up, already making a mental list of all the things she needed to do to prepare for a six-month absence from Kansas City.

      Because even though Adam Wright seemed to have some qualms about accepting her offer, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: One way or another, she would find a way to convince the good doctor that she was exactly what he needed.

      Chapter Two

      Clare let her car slowly roll to a stop, set the brake and peered through the passenger’s-side window at Adam Wright’s house. Located at the edge of town, on the side of a hill near the end of a country lane, it was just as he’d described it—a two-story white clapboard with forest-green shutters and a large front porch. It was set on a spacious lot shaded by large trees, and a detached garage was just visible to the right, about fifty feet behind the house. When she turned to look out the driver’s-side window, she saw a valley filled with fields and patches of woodland. Blue-hazed mountains were visible in the distance, their wooded slopes ablaze with fall color. It was a lovely, peaceful setting—and completely at odds with her emotional state.

      Clare nervously withdrew her compact from her purse and studied her face. Despite her best efforts to artfully apply some blush, she still seemed pale. She also looked tired, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. She’d driven straight through from Kansas City, arriving last night about ten. Though she’d been exhausted from the long journey, jitters about today’s meeting had kept sleep at bay. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, then risen at dawn in anticipation of her nine o’clock meeting with Dr. Wright. The stress and lack of sleep had clearly taken their toll on her appearance.

      After one final, dismayed look, she dropped the compact back in her purse and opened her door. This was as good as it was going to get, she acknowledged with a sigh. Maybe Adam Wright wasn’t the observant type, she thought as she made her way toward the front porch.

      All such hopes quickly vanished, however, when the front door opened in response to the doorbell. In the seconds before he greeted her, the blue-jean-clad man gave her a swift but thorough perusal that was insightful, assessing—and unnerving. She saw surprise in his eyes—and caution. And even before he said a word, she sensed that something about her appearance had raised a red flag. Nervously she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of her skirt and adjusted the strap on her shoulder purse.

      As Adam scrutinized his visitor, he struggled to keep his face impassive. Seth Mitchell had described Clare Randall as a widowed schoolteacher. But the elegant, fashionably clad woman on his doorstep was far from the older, matronly type he’d somehow expected. His prospective nanny couldn’t possibly be even forty. And she was small. At five foot ten, he didn’t consider himself to be especially tall, but she seemed petite beside him. It wasn’t that she was short. She had to be about five foot five. But she was very slender; so slender that the fine, classic bone structure of her face was startlingly evident. She was also lovely. Her honey-gold hair was pulled back into a chignon, and her slightly parted lips looked soft. Despite her beauty, he caught a glimpse of a haunting sadness in the depths of her large, azure-blue eyes that stirred something deep in his heart.

      She was dressed beautifully, as well. While he wasn’t too knowledgeable about clothes, he did know quality when he saw it. His wife had always bought expensive things, so he recognized the designer touch in Clare Randall’s attire. Especially the discreet Gucci logo on her handbag.

      The woman obviously had money. Which made her willingness to go along with Jo’s stipulation even more suspicious.

      While Adam assessed her, Clare looked him over, as well. The doctor appeared to be about forty, with dark-brown hair that was touched with silver at the temples. Even though she wore two-inch heels, he was still several inches taller than her. And obviously in good shape. His worn jeans hugged his lean hips, and his sweatshirt couldn’t disguise his broad shoulders or the solid expanse of his chest.

      She completed her rapid scan at his eyes. They were deep brown—and they’d narrowed imperceptibly since he’d opened the door. A slight frown had also appeared on his face. Not good signs. Clare felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

      “Clare Randall, I presume?” He had a deep, well-modulated voice that Clare would have found appealing under other circumstances. Now she was all too conscious of the subtle note of caution in his tone.

      “Yes. Dr. Wright?”

      He held out his hand, and Clare’s delicate fingers were swallowed in his firm grip. “Guilty. Please come in.” He stepped aside for her to enter, then nodded to his right. “We can talk in the living room.”

      As he led the way, Clare looked around the spacious room with an appreciative eye. It was a lovely space, with high ceilings, tall windows and a large fireplace. It had great possibilities…but unfortunately, none of its potential had been realized. While the living room was meticulously clean, it was sparsely furnished. The leather couch and chair were completely out of sync with the character of the house, and the contemporary coffee table was bare. So were the walls. There were shades at the windows, but no window treatments to soften the austerity.

      “Make yourself comfortable.”

      Adam took the chair as Clare perched on the edge of the couch. From her rigid posture, he could only assume that she was as uncomfortable with this whole situation as he was.

      “May I get you some coffee?”

      “No, thanks. That’s not one of my vices.” СКАЧАТЬ