so private, just the two of them standing there.
“Valerie, listen …”
“It’s okay,” she said, smiling up at him. “Really. I asked, didn’t I? That’s how I am. You were honest with me, and I appreciate that. It’s true I’m attracted to you, but that’s probably fairly common in our circumstances, since you saved my father’s life and all. Being attracted doesn’t mean I’m in love with you.”
“I know, it’s just that—” He broke off hastily, his eyes probing hers. “Oh, what the hell,” he murmured, the words so low that Valerie had to strain to hear him. Then his hands were taking hold of her shoulders and drawing her toward him. His mouth unerringly found hers and without conscious intent, she responded to his kiss, feeling none of the awkwardness she experienced with other men. The kiss was much like the man. Warm, deliberate, devastating.
She heard a soft moan from the back of her throat.
His head shifted restlessly before he released her. He dropped his arms, looking completely shocked. Valerie didn’t know what had distressed him most—the fact that he’d kissed her or that he’d enjoyed it.
“Valerie, I.” Her name was a whisper.
Just then the elevator doors opened, and Colby cast an accusing glare at the nurse who entered. Grabbing Valerie’s hand, he jerked her onto the floor before the elevator doors closed again.
“This isn’t CCU,” she protested, glancing around. Good grief, they were on the maternity floor. Down the hall, a row of newborns was on display behind a glass partition.
But Colby didn’t give her a chance to get a closer look. Still holding her hand, he led her to the stairwell. He held open the door, then released her and dashed up the steps. He was halfway up the first flight before he seemed to realize she was no longer beside him. He turned back impatiently.
“Colby,” she objected. “If you want to run up the stairs, fine, but you’re in better physical condition than I am. I sit at a desk most of the day, remember?”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“What, racing up the stairs?”
“No, kissing you!”
“It was nice enough, as kisses go,” she said, out of breath from the exertion, “but don’t worry, you won’t have to marry me because of a simple kiss.” The only way she could deal with this experience was to deny how strongly it affected her, push aside these unfamiliar, unwelcome feelings. She suspected that was how Colby felt, too.
“Our kiss may have been a lot of things, but simple wasn’t one of them,” he muttered.
“You’re worrying too much about something that really isn’t important.”
His eyes held such a quizzical expression that Valerie continued talking. “You’re tired, and so am I,” she said, making excuses for them both. “We’re under a great deal of stress. You’ve had a long, discouraging day and your guard slipped a little,” she went on. “My being so pushy didn’t help, either. You kissed me, but it isn’t the end of the world.”
“It won’t happen again.” He spoke with absolute certainty.
Pride stiffened Valerie’s shoulders. “That’s probably for the best.” Colby was right. Her personality was all wrong for someone like him. A doctor’s work was emotionally demanding and physically draining; she couldn’t blame him for seeking a wife who’d create a warm cocoon of domesticity for him. A home filled with comfort and love and peace. Valerie couldn’t fault his preference. She wished him well and determined to put the kiss out of her mind.
The next afternoon, Valerie went downtown. The streets of Orchard Valley greeted her like a long-lost friend. She felt heartened by the sight of the flower-filled baskets that hung from every streetlight.
The clock outside the Wells Fargo Bank was still ten minutes slow, even after thirty years. When Valerie was thirteen, a watchmaker from somewhere out East had been hired to repair the grand old clock. He spent most of a day working on it, then declared the problem fixed. Two days after he’d left town, the clock was back to running ten minutes late and no one bothered to have it repaired again, although it came up on the town council agenda at least once a year.
The barbershop with its classic red-and-white striped pole whirling round and round was as cheery as ever. Mr. Stein, the barber, sat in one of his leather chairs reading the Orchard Valley Clarion, waiting for his next customer. Valerie walked past, and when he glanced over the top of the paper, she smiled and waved. He grinned and returned the gesture.
The sense of homecoming was acute, lifting her spirits. She passed the newspaper office, two doors down from the barbershop; looking in the window, she noted the activity inside as the staff prepared the next edition of the Orchard Valley Clarion. She hadn’t gone more than a few steps when she heard someone call her name.
She turned to find Charles Tomaselli, the paper’s editor, directly behind her. “Valerie, hello. I wondered how long it’d take before I ran into you. How’s your dad doing?”
“About the same,” she answered.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He buried his hands in his pants pockets and matched his pace to hers. “I haven’t seen Stephanie around.”
“She’s still in Italy.”
Although he gave no outward indication of his feelings, Valerie sensed his irritation. “She didn’t make the effort to come home even when her father’s so ill? I’d have thought she’d want to be with him.”
“She’s trying as hard as she can,” Valerie said, defending her sister. “But she’s stuck in a small town a hundred miles outside of Rome—because of that transportation strike. But if there’s a way out, Steffie’ll find it.”
Charles nodded, and Valerie had the odd impression that he regretted bringing up the subject of her sister. “If you get the chance, will you tell your father something for me?”
“Of course.”
“Let him know Commissioner O’Dell called me after last week’s article on the farm labor issue. That’ll cheer him up.”
“The farm labor issue?” Valerie repeated, wanting to be sure she understood him correctly.
Charles grinned almost boyishly, his dark eyes sparkling with pleasure. “That’s right. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but your father would make one heck of an investigative reporter. Tell him I said that, too. He’ll know what I mean.”
“Sure,” Valerie agreed, wishing she knew more about the article and her father’s role in it.
“Nice seeing you again,” Charles said, turning to head back to the newspaper office. He hesitated. “When you see Stephanie, tell her hello from me,” he said over his shoulder.
“Of course. I’ll be happy to.” Thoughtfully, Valerie watched him walk away. Charles not only edited the Clarion, he wrote a regular column and most of the major features, like the farm labor story he’d just mentioned. Considering his talent and energy, she was surprised he’d stayed on with a small-town paper; he could have gone
