Monica stood on the sidewalk outside of the Reading Nook
Bookstore and Coffee Shop, trying to muster the courage
she needed to walk inside. It would take plenty of
determination, for through those doors she would find
Daniel Rourke. A man she'd thought she would never see
again.
Maybe she shouldn't do it. Maybe she should forget it. But
she couldn't. She had to do this. Because the tearful
confrontation with her parents four weeks ago had changed
everything.
Monica pressed the palm of her hand against her stomach.
She wondered if she had the fortitude to face him, to tell
him what she knew he had to be told. It would have been so
much easier to send him a letter. Why did he have to
return to Boise at this time, while she was grappling with
her confusion and hurt, not to mention her guilt?
She glanced longingly toward her car at the far end of the
jam-packed parking lot. She could still send him a letter,
she told herself. She didn't have to tell him in person.
But, of course, she did. He might have walked out on her
eleven years ago, breaking their engagement and her heart,
but that hadn't given her the right to keep such a secret
from him.
She knew that now.
Maybe she'd always known it.
But only recently had she been forced to acknowledge that
wrong. Her whole world had been shaken by the revelation
of her adoption. In an instant, old truths were no longer
true. As a result, she'd found herself questioning
everything else in her life. She had trusted her mom and
dad implicitly. No matter what else happened, she'd known
she could turn to them, that she could trust and believe
in them. But it turned out they had lied to her. So now
who or what could she trust?
God. She could trust God. And He wasn't pleased with her
deception, no matter how many good excuses she came up
with for keeping the truth to herself. She'd known, from
the moment she became a believer four years ago, that
Christians were called to speak the truth. In this case,
staying silent was the same as a lie.
She'd lied to Daniel Rourke by never telling him he had a
daughter. She'd lied by never telling him about Heather.
It was time for an end to the lie.
Drawing a quick breath, she stepped forward and pushed
open the bookstore door, moving inside before she
chickened out. She saw the table set up in the center of
the huge store, but she couldn't see Daniel. He was hidden
behind a crowd of fans waiting to buy his blockbuster book.
She wandered through the aisles, glancing frequently
toward the table, wondering how long she would have to
wait for the crowd to clear. Suddenly she found herself
with an unobstructed view of him, and her heart nearly
stopped.
Daniel.
She'd seen him on TV during the past years, of course, and
she'd seen his photos in the magazines. But seeing him in
person was different.
Impossible though it seemed, he'd grown more handsome
through the years. He wore his black hair shorter now. His
jaw was clean shaven. He was trim, tanned, fit. And he
wore his success with an easy confidence that was
tangible, even from across the bookstore. He was no longer
the student who had been her steady boyfriend throughout
her college years, the young man who had been her first
and only lover, the person she'd lived with for more than
a year and planned to marry. That Daniel had still been a
boy in many ways. This Daniel appeared mature, virile,
perhaps even a little dangerous.
The ladies must love him, she thought — and felt an
uncomfortable sting in her chest.
Monica was well aware of Daniel Rourke's success. It would
have been impossible not to know, since his photo and
byline had popped up so often in newspapers and magazines
in the last few years. Daniel had been on the fast track
as a hotshot newspaper reporter in Chicago for a decade
now. But his star had really taken off as he'd followed
and reported on the sensational Henderson murder trial.
He'd even won some awards for his coverage.
When the trial and its immediate aftermath were over, he'd
written his book about it. And The Rich Kill, by Daniel
Rourke, was now number eight on the bestseller list, and
he'd become a household name. His face had appeared in
every major magazine. He'd been interviewed on all the top
morning news programs.
Monica hated to admit it, but she'd read all the articles
about him, caught all the talk shows. She told herself it
was only because she was interested in the trial and its
results, not because of Daniel.
Surely that was true.
He's never married, she thought as she watched him hand
another book to a fawning young woman with bright red hair
and a come-hither smile.
She wondered why he'd never married. But then, she knew
why, didn't she?
She knew why all too well.
Daniel Rourke hated sitting in a bookstore, autographing
copies of his book. He hated it more than having a root
canal. But thank goodness, this one was the last he would
have to endure. His tour ended here in Boise, and none too
soon. He was exhausted after four weeks and twenty-two
cities.
Of course, his publisher hadn't originally scheduled
Boise, Idaho, into the tour. That had been done at
Daniel's request. He'd decided months ago he needed a
breather. He was extending his sabbatical from the
newspaper for another three months. He was going to stay
in his dad's old house, maybe do some fishing and camping.
He was going to try to relax — if he could remember how.
It had been a long time since he'd tried.
He scribbled his name on the title page and handed it to
the grinning middle-aged woman across the table from him.
"It's so exciting to have you here, Mr. Rourke," she
gushed. "I had no idea you were a Boise native until I
read the article in the paper this morning. Your parents
must be very proud."
"My parents are deceased." Not that it was any of the
woman's business, but Daniel was learning there was little
privacy in his life these days.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." She flushed with embarrassment.
"I... I..."
"It's all right. It's been a long time."
The woman clutched her copy of his book close to her ample
bosom and hurried away.
Cathy Monroe, the bookstore manager, stepped unobtrusively
to his right side, whispering, "Is there anything you
need, Mr. Rourke? I could get you coffee or a cola or —"
"No, I'm fine, Cathy." He smiled at her, saw her overeager
smile in return. "Thanks anyway." He hoped she didn't read
more into his politeness than was intended. He'd
discovered how willing some women were to do that. It was
amazing what a difference a high six-figure book deal
could make in a man's social life, once the facts were
published in every newspaper and scandal sheet in the
country.
On his left side, Allison True, his publicist, slid
another book in front of him, already open to the title
page. He glanced up at the person across the table.
"And who should I sign this —" he began. The words died
abruptly in his throat.
"Hello, Daniel."
For a moment, his voice wouldn't work. Finally, her name
came out. "Monica?"
He shouldn't have been surprised to see her, but he was.
Or maybe it was the way seeing her again made him feel.
Unsteady. Off balance. As if he'd been awakened from a
sound sleep and wasn't sure where or even who he was.
She offered a tentative smile. "It's been a long time."
A long time? It had been a lifetime. "Eleven years," he
managed to say.
"Yes." She gestured toward the stacks of books. "You've
done well for yourself."
"I've done all right." But what he wanted to say was, How
about you, Monica? What have you done with yourself? Are
you married? Do you have that little house and white
picket fence like you always wanted? Are you happy?
She looked incredible. She must be happy.
If anything, Monica Fletcher was more beautiful than he'd
remembered. She still wore her golden blond hair long and
curly. Her brown eyes were still the color of chocolate
truffles — her favorite candy in college. She wasn't as
skinny as she'd been when she was twenty, but she wore the
few extra pounds well. They'd added some lovely curves.
He cleared his throat. "Should I sign this to you?"
"Please."
He tried to think of something clever to write. But what
did one say to an ex-lover, to a former fiancée, to a
woman who had been his sunshine until he'd driven her
away? Finally he just scribbled his name.
As he closed the book, she said, "Daniel, I was wondering
if we might talk when you're finished here. You don't have
a flight to catch, do you?"
"No." He held out the book to her. "As a matter of fact,
I'm staying in Boise for a few months."
"Oh, I didn't know." She seemed flustered. "Could we..."
she began, then glanced at Allison, obviously wondering
who the woman was. "Could we go for coffee or something to
eat when you're done?"
He had to admit he was surprised Monica wanted to spend
any time with him. After all, they hadn't parted on the
best of terms. Before he'd moved out of their apartment,
their fights had turned bitter and caustic. They'd said a
lot of things to wound each other. They'd both been good
at it, but he'd been the champion. He'd known her most
vulnerable points, and he'd used them against her.
He'd hurt her. Intentionally.
It wasn't something of which he was proud. "I won't keep
you long," Monica continued, her gaze flicking to the
publicist again.
It was time for an introduction. "Allison, meet my —" What
was he supposed to call her? He settled for, "Old college
friend, Monica Fletcher." He paused, glancing toward her
left hand, but his book was in the way. "Is it still
Fletcher?"
"Yes."
He wasn't about to analyze the way her answer made him
feel. "Monica, this is Allison True. She works for my
publisher. It's her job to get me all the places I have to
be, on time, looking good and feeling organized. She's
been a real trouper on this tour."
"It hasn't been all bad," Allison said as she offered her
hand to Monica. "I've worked with many more temperamental
and demanding authors than Daniel." She glanced at him and
chuckled. "Although you have had your moments." She
returned her gaze to Monica. "It's a pleasure to meet you,
Miss Fletcher. Boise is a lovely city. I'm not surprised
Daniel wanted to come back here for a well-deserved rest."
Monica offered a tight smile in response, then glanced
behind her. "I'd better get out of the way and let Daniel
sign the rest of these books." She was no longer speaking
to him, but to Allison. "I'll just browse until he's
finished."
Daniel watched her walk away and wondered what had caused
her to seek him out. Monica Fletcher was no groupie, no
fortune hunter, he was certain of that. He had a vague
suspicion she would have preferred that same root canal
he'd been thinking about earlier rather than coming here
to see him.
So why had she come? "Mr. Rourke, I'm so excited to meet
you. I've already read your book..."
Reluctantly he returned his attention to the reader across
the table, smiling. "And you want this autographed to..."