been desperate to somehow free them, to give them back their lives so they could enjoy each other and the world around them. But just when intensive speech therapy seemed to have put that goal within her reach, fate had dropped yet another obstacle into the path of the Corbett family.
When her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer, Libby knew it was her turn to become the caretaker. And she had done everything she could to make her mother’s load lighter. She’d rushed home from school to cook and clean. She’d done the shopping, the laundry. She’d accompanied her father to the hospital on daily visits. She’d knelt by the toilet, holding a cool, damp cloth to her mother’s forehead when the chemo treatments caused such violent vomiting. When her mom’s silken hair had fallen out in clumps, Libby had refused to cry, choosing instead to run out and buy several colorful turbans she knew would bring a smile to her mother’s wan and weary face.
Libby had done everything in her power to be strong for her mom, to somehow pay her back for all the love and caring the woman had showered on her.
Sandra’s cancer had gone into remission, but the disease had taken its toll on her emotional welfare. The years of battling had stolen her zest for living. And then in ’97, the cancer had returned.
Both Libby and her father had nearly died of grief when Sandra Corbett had passed away. Their terrible loss had only made them closer. When it came time for her to start her career, Libby had balked at leaving her dad all alone, but he’d gently pushed her out of the nest so that she could test her wings. With a law degree under her belt and her exciting job with a prestigious firm in San Francisco, Libby was terribly grateful that her father had allowed her the freedom to fly. There simply wasn’t enough room in the entire universe to contain the love Libby felt for her father.
David Corbett had been her champion when she’d been a little girl. Her knight in shining armor. He’d sacrificed so much for her, made her feel secure, made her feel loved at a time when the awful stammer she suffered made her feel flawed and awkward and often stupid.
Years ago, Libby had been strong for her mother through those long months of her illness. It had about killed her to keep her chin up and a smile on her face, but she’d been proud to offer a shoulder for her mom to lean on. Now the time had arrived for her to be strong for her father. Now was her opportunity to repay him for his years of total devotion and sacrifice.
When her father had called her to request that she find him a good lawyer, Libby hadn’t a clue why he might need representation. She’d assured him that she could take care of any personal legal matters he might have. She might be a criminal attorney, she remembered telling him, but someone in her firm could certainly see that his will was properly filed.
Her knees had grown wobbly when he’d finally confessed that he was calling her from jail and that he was facing felony charges.
Disregard for human life? Attempted murder?
That very evening the story had hit the west coast newspapers.
How could anyone—the EPA, the FBI and least of all the executives at Springer, Inc.—believe that straitlaced David Corbett could be guilty of those crimes?
Libby had immediately gone to the partners in the firm and requested time away from the practice in order to give her father the best representation available. No one had a greater stake in this than she did. No other attorney would be willing to go to any lengths to prove her father’s innocence like she would. Together, she and her father would beat this thing.
Uncertainty, gray and thick, gathered around her like a wintry coastal mist.
Why had her father balked initially when she’d proposed she travel north to act as his lawyer? She hadn’t really thought about it at the time, so caught up was she in his plight. Why had he tried so hard to decline her offer of help? Sure, he’d used the excuse of not wanting her life interrupted by what was sure to be a mess—the biggest three-ring circus in the history of Prosperino, he’d said. He’d tried to reason that her professional reputation might be in jeopardy just by having her name associated with the case. However, she couldn’t help but wonder if, just maybe, her father doubted her ability as an attorney. Maybe he thought she didn’t have the skills necessary to successfully clear his name.
“But I can help you, Daddy,” she whispered in the solitude of the car, wretched emotion burning her throat, unshed tears prickling the backs of her eyelids.
Fear gripped her belly with icy fingers when she thought of all the hostility she’d faced at the courthouse today. From the media. From the townspeople. Everyone seemed so dead-set against her dad. Everyone.
Suddenly she remembered the rich, mahogany eyes of the man who had come to her aid this morning. Never in her life had she experienced an expression filled with such complex and concentrated intensity. The memory made her shiver.
When the man had touched her, when he’d taken her by the arm, the chaos in her mind calmed. She’d felt safe. Secure. He’d been like a harbor in the midst of a terrible storm.
But that was silly. Safe and secure with a complete stranger? Come on, Libby, her brain lectured. You’re letting down your guard.
That protected feeling had simply come from the fact that he seemed to be on her side when no one else had been. The man must know her father, must have had some dealings with him. The thought brought her comfort.
Maybe everyone wasn’t against her father.
She inhaled deeply and tipped up her chin. She sure wouldn’t be able to clear her father’s name by wallowing in doubt and self-pity.
The car key was cool against her palm as she pulled it from the ignition. Shoving open the door, she exited the car, bringing with her the bag of groceries she’d purchased this afternoon and her attaché case. With a small thrust of her hip, she closed the car door. The heels of her shoes clicked on the paved drive as she made her way to the porch.
Libby looked up and was truly astonished to see him standing on the front lawn. The man with those intense, dark eyes.
Two
H e was a big man. Tall. Lean. Powerful. And his features looked as if they’d been chiseled from some golden-hued stone from the desert, his cheekbones high and sharp, his jaw angular.
Without conscious thought, her steps slowed, then stopped altogether.
Something about his stance gave the impression that he was primed, ready. To attack or flee, she couldn’t tell which.
Just then the afternoon breeze tangled itself in his long, raven hair, whipping it across his eyes and jaw, obscuring his face from view. An odd, out-of-the-blue urge welled up in Libby, and she had to fight the impulse to go to him, to brush back his hair, experience what she easily imagined would be the silken texture of it between her fingers. The startling thought made her eyes go wide, made her heart trip in her chest.
In the calm of the moment, she realized he was the most luscious man she’d ever laid eyes on.
That astonishing notion made her suck in a quick breath. What on earth had gotten into her?
She suppressed a smile when she realized that just because experience had forced her to swear off men entirely, she was still a woman. The feminine part of her demanded its right to appreciate a good-looking man when she saw one.
With an economy of movement,
