Chapter 1

After the breakup, Maria Johnson's most fervent wish was that she'd never lay eyes on him again. She got her way, as she usually did. But only for four years. Then Fate decided she had other plans for Maria and brought David Hunt back into her life with a vengeance.

Maria never saw it coming.

After breakfast she'd lain on the lounge chair farthest from the house and drowsed under the leafy wisteria pergola by the pool. Sunlight filtered through the dangling purple flowers, warming her face. She sighed with pleasure and her lungs filled with Cincinnati's early summer air.

Eventually she moved, but only enough to stretch, slide on her sunglasses and reach into her overflowing beach bag for one of her romance novels. What should she start with? The Gothic? The romantic suspense? Delightful possibilities tempted her, and her blood pulsed with contentment. Was anything on earth better than sitting by the pool on a day like today, reading romances and napping? Did anyone anywhere have a better life? What could—

A door slammed, jarring her out of her thoughts. Vaguely irritated, she looked across the sapphire pool to the house. Her father, Ellis Johnson, wearing his summer semiretirement uniform—white linen tunic and khaki pants—appeared at the edge of the second-story veranda, blinking against the sun's glare. When he saw her, he fisted his hands on his trim hips.

"I should've known you'd be out here," he called.

Her heart sank.

Amazing how one man's voice speaking seven short words could convey such a wealth of disapproval. It wasn't just his words. The tone, deep and faintly disdainful, didn't help. Nor did his woolly white Einstein brows, lowered in a glower over his flashing brown eyes. Even his white mustache seemed to frown at her.

She watched him stride down the steps and alongside the pool to where she sat, hoping she could sweet-talk him out of his snit. Maybe then he'd go back in the house where he belonged, and she could get back to her reading in peace. Smiling, she dropped her books in her bag; her father hated romances and thought she should read Something Worthwhile, like histories or biographies. When he came close enough, she scooted forward on her lounge chair and planted a kiss on his soft brown cheek.

"Hi, Daddy."

He sat in one of the dining chairs, crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. No hint of a smile softened his stern face. "I want to talk to you, Sugar."

Maria sighed, cast a longing glance at her bag and pretended she wanted to hear the forthcoming lecture. "Sure, Daddy. I'm always glad—"

One hand came up, silencing her. "Save the honey. You won't be catching any flies today."

The first feelings of unease snaked up her spine, but she smiled pleasantly anyway. "No need to be rude, Daddy."

"I'm at my wit's end with you, Sugar, and I—"

"If this is about me fussing at Miss Beverly over that pickle juice she tried to pass off as lemonade yesterday, then—"

His lips compressed. "No, it's not, although I wish you'd be nicer to her. She's worked and cooked for us for thirty years, she's practically family, and she deserves a little respect."

"I respect her plenty. I just wanted to know if there was a shortage of sugar in the house."

He huffed theatrically. "This is about you doing something with your life. I—"

Exasperated, she slumped back against the cushions. Oh, great. Not that old speech again. She retied the hip strings of her white bikini, yawned and wondered whether she'd get the condensed or extended version of his lecture today.

"—have had enough. You sit out here by the pool all day, and as far as I can tell, you've never done an honest day's work, except for scraping by at Barnard and a little part-time job at a boutique for the discount on the clothes. What are you going to do with your life? Nearly twenty-eight, divorced with no husband, no children, no job and no prospects—"

Extended version; he was really working up a head of steam. Tuning him out, she ran through her options. She could go to the mall later, but her manicure was at two, so she couldn't go too late. Or she could reschedule the manicure and—

"—but I blame myself. Yes, I do. I felt sorry for you. Your mother died when you were so young and you've got no brothers or sisters. So I never told you no. Let's face it. I've spoiled you all your life. Never encouraged you like I should. Melted like butter in the sun every time you flashed that pretty little smile at me. So now you coast through life on your looks, don't you? And when your birthday comes in a few months and you gain control of your trust, then what? You'll never work a day in your life, that's what. You'll just sit around here, living at my house and eating my groceries forever. So the best thing I can do for you, as a loving father who wants you to be a productive member of society, is to make you—"

—go to a movie, but of course she'd gone to a movie yesterday. What she really needed to do, she thought, smoothing her legs and eyeing the faint but unmistakable stubble around her knees, was get a wax while she was there for the manicure and—

"—get a job."

Thunderstruck, Maria blinked. Ellis stared, waiting for her reaction.

That single tiny word penetrated her consciousness and filled her with horror. One mention of the unthinkable and her sun-warmed skin went clammy with dread. He wasn't serious, was he? Was…was this a joke?

Copyright © 2008 by Sally Moore.