LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To Leslie Wainger and Pat Teal, with me at one and still with me at one hundred.

       Thank you, with love and gratitude,

       Marie

      Praise for bestselling author

      MARIE FERRARELLA

      “Marie Ferrarella shines among the brightest stars….”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      “Ms. Ferrarella has created another enchanting romance with style, passion, and unforgettable characters.”

      —Rendezvous

      “Ms. Ferrarella demonstrates a mastery of the storytelling art as she creates charming characters, witty dialogue and an emotional storyline that will tug at your heartstrings.”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      “Ms. Ferrarella’s engaging style leaves readers wanting more.”

      —Rendezvous

      “As usual, Ms. Ferrarella finds just the right balance of love, laughter, charm and passion.”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      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

      Chapter One

      The wide, gregarious smile that had become his trademark faded the moment Shawn Michael O’Rourke stepped outside the Irish-style pub he’d discovered his second weekend in Bedford, California.

      There was nothing to smile about and no reason to pretend any longer. There was no one to see him. His friends were all inside.

      Ordinarily, meeting and sharing a pint or two at the Shamrock with his friends would smooth over whatever was troubling O’Rourke at the time. He wasn’t a happy-go-lucky man, but he met life head-on, facing what it brought and moving on. But this was no ordinary situation and he was worried.

      Worried clear down to the bone, as his grandmother used to say.

      The light showers that were falling when he’d entered the pub had turned into a full-fledged storm while he’d been inside. He turned the collar of his jacket up, but it did little to keep the March rain off his neck. He hunched his shoulders in. But it was more than the rain that was making him feel beaten down.

      There had to be something he could do.

      He knew that if he didn’t come up with a solution—and soon—everything he’d worked for these past few years, everything he’d dreamed of over these past ten years, would mean nothing. He’d be done for. It didn’t seem fair that a random act of birth could have such an effect on a man’s life, a man’s future and that of his family’s.

      O’Rourke hurried to the rear of the building, to the postage-stamp-size parking lot that was filled to capacity tonight. He dug into his pocket for his car keys.

      Had he been born on the other side of the Atlantic, today would have been just another day in his life, a day in which he was working toward the culmination of his dream.

      Instead, it was one day less he had. One day closer to when he had to leave. Leave the country, leave his hopes and his dreams. Sure, he could attempt to start over again back home in Ireland. After all, the dream had begun there, in his head. But it was right here, in a converted loft in Bedford’s Industrial Plaza, that all the visible components were housed.

      To Shawn Michael O’Rourke, America really was the land of opportunity. He’d found everything he’d needed on this side of the ocean: the education he required and the financial backers, both men of experience and dreamers like himself. Dreamers who weren’t content only to dream, but to do.

      All that wouldn’t mean anything anymore come thirteen days from today. That was his deadline. In thirteen days, he was to be gone from these shores. To return home just another failed dreamer.

      Muttering words under his breath he knew his late, sainted mother would have taken a very dim view of, O’Rourke got into his van. The rain followed him in, covering the steering wheel and everything

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