LITMIR.BIZ

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motioned him over. Charles honestly could not have cared less, but the path of the least resistance was the fastest way to get out the door and up to the river. Crossing the room, he peered through the glass at the woman standing in the reception area, idly thumbing through a magazine.

      A tall, slim woman with sleek blond hair and delicate features that would be right at home on the cover of the magazine she held. Nicely dressed was an understatement. This woman’s wardrobe could feed a developing nation.

      “Jesus.” He staggered back, nearly tripping over Rhonda.

      She jumped out of his way, steadying herself on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

      For a moment he could only stare. The words were in his head but wouldn’t come out. He blinked. He took a deep breath. He tried again. “You invited my ex-wife to volunteer here?”

      “Excuse me. What are you talking about?” Rhonda was clearly confused.

      Charles wasn’t talking about anything because he was still too busy trying to reason through why one all too familiar and very unwelcome blonde was standing inside this facility.

      Court-ordered community service?

      Rhonda stepped around the desk and thumbed through the folders that had slid half out of her jam-packed briefcase. “Here it is. Her name is Reece.”

      Sure enough, the folder tab had Reece printed in bold black letters.

      “Karan Kowalski Steinberg-Reece.”

      Rhonda’s frown melted and she glanced at the folder again. “Guess that will teach me to read what’s inside. Gosh, I’m really sorry, Charles. The program sounded like such a great deal when Chief Sloan mentioned it.”

      “Chief Sloan?”

      She nodded.

      A freaking setup if ever there was one. “He obviously suggested it because he didn’t want to deal with her himself.”

      Rhonda sank onto the edge of the desk with the closed folder neatly in her lap. She looked at him with an inviting, psychoanalyzing expression on her face. “Chief Sloan knows your ex-wife, too?”

      It took Charles another speechless moment to reason that through. Rhonda wasn’t from Bluestone Mountain. Like himself, she’d come to the area to attend Van Cortlandt College, an elite private university in the valley. She’d wound up settling here after completing grad school. Unlike him, or Chief Sloan for that matter, she’d managed to avoid running into Karan.

      “They have a history,” he said.

      “I see. And you think Chief Sloan sent her our way because he’d rather we dealt with her?”

      “Jack sits on the board of directors. He was involved with this project long before I was, and he didn’t ask me to let her volunteer here because he knew I’d say no damn way.”

      Rhonda conceded the point with a nod then flipped open the folder and scanned the documents inside. “Okay, I’m reading. Not seeing what the big deal is about her. I also don’t see… What does she do for a living?”

      “Professional social climber.”

      Rhonda frowned. “Come on, Charles, you married her. How bad can she possibly be?”

      He had no words. Just a knot in his stomach.

      Rhonda tossed the folder onto the desk and returned to the security panel. “Hmm. I’d say she’s getting impatient because I’m running late. But she is very beautiful. I guess you must have been blinded by her beauty.”

      He had been. No question. Charles could still remember the first time he’d ever set eyes on Karan. He was in med school in the midst of a particularly brutal stretch. He hadn’t slept in over forty-eight hours. The autumn sun seared his eyeballs after being holed up in the medical library for he couldn’t even remember how long. The quad was packed with booths and students, and he wished like hell he was headed home for a few hours of shut-eye. No such luck.

      The Feminization of Poverty event beckoned.

      Dr. Nan Bryson was a popular anthropology professor from Harvard who toured the country speaking on an alarming trend gaining speed in academic circles. The fact that she was coming to Van Cortlandt was a big deal, particularly as one of the undergrads had managed to do what the deans of the anthropology and sociology departments combined hadn’t been able to do—get Dr. Bryson to speak while traveling through the Catskills. To honor this visiting professor, the faculty had pulled out all the stops to ensure the talk was well attended.

      Charles had zero interest in sociology, anthropology or women’s issues but after bombing an exam, he’d appealed to the professor for mercy. Charles hadn’t had time to study because he’d been invited to observe surgeries at St. Joseph’s Hospital—no way could he pass up the opportunity. The professor had offered an opportunity for some extra credit.

      Charles wouldn’t have missed the event if he’d had to be carried here on a gurney. He needed every dime of his scholarship money so he didn’t have to spend the rest of his life paying off student loans. That meant keeping up his GPA.

      He was assigned to work the book booth and did nothing but try to keep his foggy brain functioning. While using hands that were learning to perform delicate maneuvers on organs and arteries to count out ones, fives and tens, he saw her.

      Hot. The hottest. Details didn’t register. The punch to his gut did. Suddenly, all the tired vanished and his pulse pumped at warp speed. Blurry vision instantly saw with clarity as if he'd sharpened his sight on the edge of a scalpel. Only after he could breathe again did he notice details.

      Blonde. Lean. Tall. She barely looked real with that pale silky hair blowing around her face. A face as exquisitely feminine as the rest of her. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they were lighter. Blue or gray, maybe.

      Then she smiled.

      That full pink mouth made him think about kissing.

      He had no idea who she was but even sleep deprived, he knew she was someone important. She walked with the college president, several of the deans and a woman he recognized from the jacket of the book he was selling—Dr. Nan Bryson. Then she disappeared backstage with her group and was gone.

      But not from Charles’s thoughts.

      He couldn’t get the image of her out of his head. He sold books, made change, but his brain replayed every detail he could remember, ached with trying to remember more. And the most important detail of all: who was she?

      He intended to find out.

      Once Dr. Bryson’s talk started, the book booth would quiet down and he could slip away to grab coffee. No one would miss him for ten minutes and he’d make a few calls on the way.

      When the president took the stage and announced the beginning of the program, the noise level on the quad dropped. Charles tucked the cash box under his arm and timed his exit. While listening to the president welcome their guest to Van Cortlandt, he slipped the cell phone from his pocket. Then the president introduced the person responsible for Dr. Bryson’s visit, the person privileged with introducing their speaker.

      The blonde walked onto the stage.

      She wore a blinding smile, seemed completely at ease in front of the crowd as she began the introduction in a honeyed voice that matched up with every sleek inch of her.

      Charles set the cash box on the table. He slipped the phone into his pocket.

      Karan Kowalski.

      Now, here she was again, two husbands later. Standing in New Hope’s reception area, which was exactly the last place on the planet she should be.

      And he had that same knot in his stomach. Only the years had turned anticipation into dread.

      “Charles?” Rhonda’s voice penetrated his brain. “Charles, are you all right?”

      Was

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