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      MILLS & BOON

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      SHARON SALA

      is a child of the country. As a farmer’s daughter, her vivid imagination made solitude a thing to cherish. During her adult life, she learned to survive by taking things one day at a time. An inveterate dreamer, she yearned to share the stories her imagination created. For Sharon, her dreams have come true, and she claims one of her greatest joys is when her stories become tools for healing.

      During my lifetime, there have been many people who’ve made promises to me. Some have been diligent in keeping the pledges they made, while others swiftly forgot or ignored the fact that they’d once given their word.

      I want to dedicate this book to three very special people who have been forever faithful to me in this respect.

      First, to my agent, Meredith Bernstein.

       Thank you for your honesty and your constancy and your belief in what I do.

      Next, to my editor, Leslie Wainger.

       Thank you for trusting me enough to let me tell my stories my own way.

      Last, but not least, to Dianne Moggy.

       Thank you for taking me in at MIRA and letting me stretch my wings and fly.

      Three ladies who are, to me, the epitome of class.

      Thank you for your presence in my life.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      “I’m sorry Ms. O’Rourke, but your friend had to cancel your luncheon appointment. She said to tell you that the school called. Her daughter is ill and she had to go home. She tried to reach you at your office but you’d already left. May I seat you at a table for one?”

      Mary Faith O’Rourke shook her head. “No, thank you. I won’t be staying,” she said softly, and walked out of The Mimosa without looking back.

      It wasn’t as if she’d wanted to come. For the past six years she hadn’t wanted to do anything but die, and today was no exception. Exactly six years ago today, her husband and child were killed in front of her eyes.

      Her friends worried about her, and in the back of her mind, she appreciated their kindnesses and sincerity. But they simply did not understand. Oh, they knew what had happened, but they didn’t know the details or the guilt with which Mary lived.

      Yes, she had been standing in her front yard when her husband had backed out of the driveway with their baby in the car. And yes, she had heard, before she’d seen, the police car come careening around the corner in pursuit of another vehicle. And yes, she had yelled at Daniel—screaming for him to stop. But they didn’t know that the reason he’d been leaving the house was because they’d had a fight, or that the last words they’d spoken to each other had been in anger. They would never understand how insidious guilt was, or that she had tried so hard to die along with them when the three cars had collided and then burst into flames. Watching Daniel and their baby daughter die in that fire had destroyed her spirit. Now, she was just waiting for her body to catch up.

      She glanced at her watch. It was a whole hour before she had to be back at work at the dress shop across town and since food was the farthest thought from her mind, she started to wander the streets.

      It had been years since she’d been in this part of Savannah, but her friend had been insistent, raving about the renovations that had been done and the new businesses that had sprung up afterward. Mary had to admit that the place looked good. Old cement had been removed from the sidewalks, revealing a herringbone pathway of ancient, red bricks. Trees lined the curbs on both sides of the street, laying down a wide swath of shade for the shoppers who were on foot. Dainty trellises covered with climbing ivy and bougainvillea partially

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