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       And for just a minute, he allowed himself to wonder—if things had gone differently, would he and Trish have had a son? With red hair and big blue eyes?

      Trish had wanted a child. Once she’d finally made the decision to get married, she’d jumped in with both feet.

      When he’d had to leave, had been forced to disappear, he sweated out the first couple months, until he was sure that he hadn’t left her pregnant. He still wouldn’t have been able to go back, but he’d have figured out some way to ensure that his child was well taken care of. Just like he’d figured out ways to ensure that Trish was safe, protected.

      He’d done a good job.

      But now something had gone wrong and Trish was paying the price.

      Deep Secrets

      Beverly Long

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      BEVERLY LONG enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com, or like her at Facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.

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      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Trish Wright-Roper stuck the fork tines through the paper napkin, ruining it. Normally, she didn’t mind rolling silverware. It was a mindless activity, really. But on a day like today, when her brain was too busy remembering, it was irritating her beyond reason.

      She could hear Milo finishing up in the kitchen. Earlier he’d dropped a steam table pan onto the tile floor and the clang had echoed through the empty café. She’d gone back to investigate and he’d been staring at the pan, his face flushed with anger.

      Not at himself. Not at the pan. Not even at her.

      For her. Because everyone who knew Trish well knew that four years ago today, Rafe Roper had died and her heart had been broken. And everybody who cared about her, which definitely included Milo, was on edge. No one would admit it, though. Instead, they’d practically turn somersaults to get her to think of something else.

      Milo was no different. “What do you say you and me catch a movie in Hamerton tonight?” he asked, coming out of the kitchen. The man’s hair was pulled back from his face in a tight ponytail and it hung practically to the middle of his back. He was an ex-con who’d applied for work just weeks after Rafe’s death. He’d been a lifesaver because she’d been in no shape to work, to hold up her share of the responsibilities.

      “You hate movies,” she said. “You think it’s ridiculous to pay ten dollars to see something that you’ll be able to see for nothing in just a couple of months.”

      “Yeah,

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