to graduate from high school.
Oh, she’d taken courses in drama at an exclusive school in New York City, but that didn’t count. Her studio paid for the courses, and she was pressured to take them.
Pressured should have been her middle name. Growing up, adults manipulated her constantly. Was it surprising that now, as an adult, Suzann had a problem making decisions?
Suddenly tired, she sat down and leaned back, gripping the maple arms of an aged rocker. The wood felt good under her hands, strong, like solid families. She’d never experienced that kind of closeness. She’d merely simulated that emotion when the movie script called for it.
Oh, her mother had loved her, all right, and was always just and kind. Yet for whatever reason, her adoptive mother, Nancy Condry, was distant—seldom kissing or hugging Suzann. As an adult, she still struggled to fully understand.
Her adoptive father died in a car accident less than two years after Suzann was born, and her mother had needed a means of support for herself and her baby daughter. It couldn’t have been easy, rearing a child alone.
Nancy Condry stumbled into the world of baby modeling and child acting by accident. One of the few choices for a poorly educated, single mom living in California twenty years ago.
Suzann’s birth parents were an even bigger mystery, and Holly hadn’t been much help. However, Suzann would soon know the truth. Private detective Roger Bairn had promised to locate her birth parents and reveal all the secrets of her past.
She eyed a photo album on the lamp table beside her chair. Her sister had thought of everything. Suzann ran her hand across the smooth, leather cover, then opened to page one.
Her mirror image in pigtails, and wearing a blue-and-white gingham dress, grinned back at her. Holly was probably about ten years old and stood between her two younger brothers. Their parents smiled proudly behind them.
Now there was a real family. Suzann imagined two little girls in the picture instead of one. The fantasy warmed her.
A mental list of all the chores she’d proposed to do that morning interrupted her musings. I should unpack, she thought. Reluctantly, she closed the album, promising herself that she would return to it later that day.
She would be wearing Holly’s clothes. The only items she needed to put away were her personal belongings.
Then she planned to trek the six-and-a-half blocks to Oak Valley Bible Church. Walking instead of driving would give her the opportunity to see Oak Valley, firsthand. The exercise wouldn’t hurt, either. She recalled that Holly had said nobody but the janitor would be at the church on Saturday morning. She could explore the building without being disturbed.
The name Josh Gallagher flashed through her brain again. If her interest in men was as similar to Holly’s as her taste in home furnishings, she would find him appealing.
Rule number one. Josh Gallagher is strictly off-limits. If this crazy idea of Holly’s was going to work, she must constantly remind herself of that important guideline.
Suzann coughed and sneezed her way to the hallway leading to the church library. She would take a quick look inside, then turn around and go back to the apartment.
Just outside the door, another coughing spell paralyzed her temporarily. Her throat still hurt. She coughed again. This was not the time to come down with a cold.
She took a sip of water from the fountain nearby, then another. As she reached out to open the door, she thought she heard someone coming.
Suzann froze. She’d found empty buildings unnerving since she was a child. She pulled her hand back from the door-knob and slipped her key ring back in her purse.
The janitor—yes, that’s who it is, she thought. Now, what did Holly call him? Oh, yes, Turner. Albert Turner.
Whirling around, her mouth formed the letter M for Mister Turner. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a white, western-style shirt, jeans and brown cowboy boots came around the corner. Could this cowboy be the church janitor?
“Miss Harmon.” He propped his arm against the door frame. A one-sided grin emerged. “How was your vacation?”
“Great.”
His eyes sparkled. “Then are you rested and ready to get back to work?”
“Do I have to answer that?”
“Absolutely.”
The corners of his mouth still turned up, revealing even white teeth. His brown, wavy hair looked thick and coarse. Yet she knew intuitively that it would be soft to the touch.
The bronzed tan on his weather-worn face and strong-looking hands suggested an outdoorsman. Jeans and cowboy boots painted an even clearer picture. Everything about him told of a working man who spent hours in the Texas sun.
But what kept her looking at him were those blue eyes that appeared to glow with energy and excitement. Their sky-blue color contained specks of a deeper blue and were edged in navy, giving his entire gaze an intensity that she found compelling.
“Having trouble opening the library door?” he asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’ve lost my key.”
Not lost it, exactly. She just couldn’t figure out which key fit without trying all of the keys on the ring. A task she’d rather perform without curious witnesses. But the excuse gave her the chance to talk to him for a minute. She suspected that he wasn’t a janitor. She wanted to learn his identity before she ran into him again.
“Here,” he said. “Try mine.”
“Thanks.”
So, he had a master key. Maybe he was the janitor after all. Or maybe he was…
Of course.
He didn’t fit her idea of a man of the cloth. Yet this too-handsome cowboy had to be none other than Josh Gallagher, the youth director and assistant pastor.
After seeing him, she knew why he’d captured the notice of all the single women in the congregation. That lean muscular body and long legs left no doubt.
“Don’t forget,” he said, “Pastor Jones wants us to work on that duet for next Sunday.”
“You don’t mean tomorrow, do you?”
“Tomorrow’s this Sunday.” His engaging grin held a pinch of laughter. “Don’t worry. We still have two weeks to practice. Do you have a copy of the music yet?”
“Yes. I mean—You know, I can’t remember.”
“Don’t let it bother you. I’ll run off a copy of mine.”
Suzann nodded her thanks and put the key in the lock. As she reached back to return his key, another coughing spell erupted. She felt slightly light-headed and feverish now along with her other symptoms.
Without a word the cowboy reached for a paper cup above the fountain. He filled it and handed her the water.
“Here,”
