She lives in a small town in southeastern Oklahoma with her husband of nearly thirty years. She has one son.
Contents
Chapter One
He was back! Her prayers had been answered!
Heedless of the late hour, Grace Holliday whirled away from the living room window and hurriedly searched the floor for her sandals.
Since they were nowhere in sight, she quickly decided she didn’t need shoes and flew out the door to scurry across the dark lawn toward the bungalow next door. Part of the structure was hidden by pines and magnolia trees, but she hadn’t dreamed the light shining in the kitchen. She could see it plainly now.
The yellow shafts filtering through the pine boughs were like a beacon to her weary heart and in spite of her growing girth, she felt as light as air as she skimmed up the wooden steps and across the planked porch.
The solid wooden door was open to the ocean breeze, and through the screen she could see the small living room was dark. No sound stirred from within the house, making her wonder if he’d fallen asleep.
Rapping her knuckles on the jamb, she called out, “Trent! Trent, it’s me, Grace. Are you in there?”
Seconds dragged into a minute as she stood in the muggy darkness, anxiously awaiting his answer.
To her left, parked beneath the small carport next to the porch was a late-model sedan of an indistinguishable dark color. It wasn’t the vehicle Trent drove while he’d stayed here in the bungalow, but he could have easily changed cars since she’d last seen him.
“Trent! Answer the door!”
Another long minute passed without any sort of response and she decided to enter the house and make herself known to him. Surely he hadn’t heard her knock. He wouldn’t just ignore her. After all, he’d come back to Biloxi. That had to mean something.
Inside the shadow-filled living room, she called again, “Trent! Where are you?”
Moving toward the light in the kitchen, she entered a short hallway. Suddenly the floor creaked behind her, and then a male voice lifted the hair on the back of her neck.
“Who the hell are you?”
Her heart hammering, she whirled around, then unconsciously inched backward toward the light and away from the dark bulky image of a man looming in front of her.
“I—I’m Grace Holliday. Who—are you?”
“Obviously not who you were looking for.”
His deep voice was full of sarcasm and just a hint of warning. Unwittingly she moved several more steps behind her, until she was completely illuminated by the dim overhead light in the kitchen.
“I thought—I was looking for Trent,” she said haltingly.
“I know. I heard.”
Her brows lifted with skepticism. If he’d heard, why hadn’t he answered her knock? she wondered. Slightly irked, she asked, “Is Trent here?”
The man suddenly moved into the light and it was all Grace could do to keep her hand from flying to her mouth as he stopped within inches of her.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I…thought—he—”
Her disconnected words halted completely as her gaze tried to access everything about him at once. Aside from being tall, he was lean and fierce-looking with hooded gray eyes, a square set jaw and chiseled lips, which at the moment were pressed together in a grim line. Hair the color of a lion’s mane curled ever so slightly against his collar and fell in a thick wave straight back from a broad forehead. Grace realized she was looking at one irritated but very sexy man.
“You thought he…what, Miss Holliday?”
Nervously she licked her lips, then pulled her gaze away from him to glance around the room. Funny how nothing in the cozy little kitchen had changed since Trent had come and gone. She supposed the only thing his presence had changed was her.
“Nothing. I…saw the light from next door and thought it was him. Sorry about the mistake.”
The young woman standing in front of him had a messy blob of coal-black curls piled atop her head. She was wearing white shorts and a loose red T-shirt. Her feet were bare and the legs connected to them were long and firm and shapely. But her legs were not what riveted his attention. It was the rounded protrusion evident beneath the swell of her breasts that quickly caught his eye. The woman was pregnant! Very pregnant!
The discovery distracted him, making him momentarily lose his train of thought. Which was a cardinal sin for a man in his field of work.
“My name is Jack Barrett,” he finally said.
She extended her hand to him and Jack felt inclined to take it rather than rebuff this pretty intruder. Which wasn’t like him, either. Jack didn’t usually give a damn whom he snubbed. Beautiful women included.
“Are you—did you buy this place, or something?” she asked in a faintly bewildered tone.
As he clasped her soft hand in his, he decided she couldn’t be more than twenty-two or three. Jack quickly racked his brain, trying to remember if Trent had ever mentioned a girl named Grace, but that was like fishing in a lake for a minnow. In the span of a work week he heard more names than most people heard in a year. And it wasn’t as though he associated with his nephew on a regular basis. Since his sister’s boy had grown up, Jack rarely saw the young man.
