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      MAUREEN CHILD

      was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette Books and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.

      An avid reader, Maureen looks forward to those rare rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. Maureen is also an award-winning historical writer under the names of Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.

      To My Own Prince Charming, my husband Mark.

       Thanks for nearly thirty wonderful years.

       I love you more today than I did in ’71.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Epilogue

      One

      “Okay,” Annie Foster said aloud, “maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.”

      The wind snatched her words and threw them off into the surrounding forest. Snow flurries fluttered in that same wind and pelted her face with icy fingers. She blinked and tipped her head back to look at the sky. But there were no stars. Just a wide canvas of black from which more and more snow was falling.

      A curl of anxiety unwound in the pit of her stomach and, as if in reaction, the baby in her womb gave her a hard kick.

      “Hey,” she said, stopping long enough to pat her tummy. “I’m on your side, remember?”

      A gust of frigid air shot past her, shoving her toward the cabin, and Annie stumbled along with it, trying to keep her footing. All she’d need would be to fall in the snow. With her center of gravity so far off, she’d lie there like an overturned turtle, unable to right herself. Come springtime, some unsuspecting hiker would find her frozen body and she’d make headlines. Hugely Pregnant Woman Fell and Couldn’t Get Up.

      She laughed shortly at the thought, then continued on toward the cabin. All she could think about now was the warmth inside. Escape from the cold wind and the snow flurries that had been getting steadily thicker for the past hour. Who would have guessed that it would snow so hard in southern California? Well, all right, the mountains of southern California. But still. Who worries about snowstorms in a state where a sweatshirt is considered a winter coat?

      At the foot of the steps leading to the porch she stopped and cocked her head, listening. A steady, rhythmic pounding carried just under the howl of the wind. Like the heartbeat of some giant snow monster, it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. It surrounded her, and Annie turned in a slow circle, letting her gaze sweep the edge of the treeline, searching. But there was nothing. Just the swirling snow and the shadowy forest beyond.

      She shivered and hunched deeper into her down jacket as she grabbed hold of the banister with one hand and her suitcase with the other. A twinge of discomfort rippled along her back as she climbed the steps slowly, and she hardly winced. After all, she’d been pregnant for eight months now. She was an old hand at this. Used to the occasional spasm or stitch in her side. The infrequent jolt of pain that shot down from her hips all the way to the soles of her feet.

      “Pregnancy’s not for sissies,” she muttered.

      Plus, the baby seemed so much bigger in the last few days. Her belly had taken on a life of its own. Heck, it felt as if she was lugging around a small planet. Annie paused halfway up the stairs to take a breath and arch her back, stretching out whatever muscle was kinking. Then, before she could chicken out and just set up camp on the steps, she plodded on, unconsciously keeping time with the eerie pounding still reverberating in the air.

      She crossed the porch, opened the door and stepped into a welcoming warmth that almost had her weeping with pleasure.

      “Thanks, Lisa,” she said in a whispered prayer of gratitude to the friend who had loaned her the cabin for the weekend. Lisa must have called someone and had them turn on the heat so the place would be warm for Annie’s arrival. “A true friend,” she said as she trudged across the room, still carrying her suitcase.

      She

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