Think of Me Read online

  An Encore Romance Publication

  Think of Me

  By

  Jane McBride Choate

  Think of Me

  An Encore Romance Publication

  August 2008

  Copyright ©2008 Jane McBride Choate (Previous copyright assigned)

  Cover illustration copyright © BG Designs

  ISBN Not Assigned

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Published by: Encore Romance, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165

  .

  This book was previously published in paperback format.

  Prologue

  Carla Hastings placed her hand over her rounded middle, an instinctive gesture as the baby stirred within her. Her sigh of relief whispered out at the slight flutter—a definite relief compared to the tightening in her womb that had occurred earlier today.

  Without warning, the baby kicked vigorously, a series of sharp raps, as if he were somersaulting. Or jogging. Or warming up for a hockey game. A few minutes later, he settled down. She shifted to ease the kink in her lower back. Her back had been aching all day. It was little wonder, considering she was carrying around an extra twenty-five pounds. Still, it had never throbbed quite this way before. She shrugged away the discomfort and turned her attention to her notes.

  "Carla, are you all right?"

  She looked up to find her friend Eve Dalton watching her in concern. "I'm fine. Sam Junior is just letting me know he's still here." She glanced down at the mound of her eight months plus pregnant self.

  The morning sickness—all three months of it, the swollen feet, the constant trips to the bathroom, had all been worth it. The knowledge that she was carrying a new life within her, a life she and Sam had created together, was a constant source of wonder for her.

  The pain in her back intensified. She rubbed at it, hoping to massage it away. It persisted, though, and she changed positions again.

  Jeanette Hastings, Carla's mother-in-law, frowned. "You're pushing yourself too hard. Sam would have my head if he knew I was letting you sit in on today's meeting. You promised him you'd go home and rest before the auction."

  Carla made a face, even as her heart picked up its beat at the mention of her husband. Two years married and she still blushed like a new bride whenever she thought of Sam. "Sam treats me like I'm made of china."

  "He loves you," Eve said quietly. "Besides, he's about to become a father. The man's entitled to act a little crazy."

  The three women laughed. That eased the tension, and Carla threw her friend a grateful look. Eve had been a lifesaver during the last few weeks. The two had met while raising money for scholarships for inner-city children and had become fast friends. Eve shared Carla's commitment to helping kids plus a quirky sense of humor that relieved even the tensest situation.

  A weaver who managed and owned a yarn and design shop, Eve had sponsored Ron Franks, a young friend of Carla and Sam's, offering him an afternoon job and, more importantly, faith in him. Carla knew, better than most, what that belief meant to a teenage boy who rubbed uncomfortably against the edges of adulthood.

  Another flutter. She ignored it and concentrated on the task at hand. "Come on. We've got an auction to put the final touches on."

  An auction to raise funds had been Jeanette's idea. Her mother-in-law had proven invaluable in organizing, advertising, and finding a place to hold the event.

  Carla winced as a tiny heel—or was it an elbow—pressed against her belly. She'd grown accustomed to the sensation of a heel or fist or elbow poking her at inconvenient times, but this felt different somehow.

  The pain sharpened, quickened until she could no longer ignore it. She changed positions and nearly doubled over. The flutter had grown into a full-fledged contraction.

  Jeanette took Carla's hand in her own. "You're having contractions, aren't you?"

  Carla nodded and flattened a hand against her stomach, trying to ease the growing pressure there. It was probably just false labor. She wouldn't panic. Hadn't she read somewhere that first babies were rarely early?

  The pain had spread, settling in the small of her back. She glanced at her watch and timed the next one. Ten minutes. Too soon to start planning the trip to the hospital. The next one kicked in at a little less than eight. All pretense at working ceased as the three women kept their gazes trained on the clock.

  First babies aren't supposed to be early, she reminded herself, and then wondered if Sam Junior had read the same book she had. By the time the contractions reached a six minute interval, she was panting. "I think…I think we'd better get to the hospital."

  Jeanette took charge with scarcely a ripple. "Eve, help Carla to the car. I'll call Sam."

  * * * *

  Sam Hastings looked at the choked downtown Saratoga traffic in front of him, then at his watch, then at the tax driver—all for the tenth time in as many seconds.

  Of all days for his car to be in the shop. The call from his mother had had him racing from a city council meeting and hailing a taxi.

  "Can't you find a way around this mess?" he asked, even while knowing there was none.

  The harried driver shot Sam an annoyed look over his shoulder. "Look, mister, if you're in such a hurry, why don't you get out and walk?"

  "Good idea." Sam threw a couple of bills in the front seat and pushed open the door.

  "Hey, I was just kidding," the driver yelled.

  "I wasn't."

  "What's so important?"

  "My wife's having a baby." Sam slammed the door behind him and took off running, his prayers keeping pace with his feet as they slapped the pavement. Grateful for the early morning runs Carla had addicted him to, he kept up a steady stride. Joggers weren't uncommon in Saratoga's parks. But a man in a three piece business suit cutting through the streets at mid day was enough to attract more than a few stares.

  He ignored them.

  All that mattered was that he reach the hospital on time.

  Why hadn't he stayed home today? He'd even suggested it, but Carla had insisted he go on to work. She'd steadfastly refused his efforts to pamper her during the last months.

  He sprinted through the hospital doors. Deciding the elevators were too slow, he took the stairs two at a time.

  "Carla Hastings." He managed to pant out the words at the nurses' station on the fourth floor.

  The nurse looked him over. "Funny. You don't look like a Carla." His scowl silenced her. "Sorry. It's been a long day." She checked a chart. "Mrs. Hastings is in room 412."

  * * * *

  Eve and Jeanette alternated between pacing and downing cups of coffee. When Gerald Hastings joined them, Eve excused herself, leaving the two grandparents-to-be alone. She kept an eye on her watch, figuring she had an hour and forty-five minutes, two hours at the most, before she had to leave to dress for the auction.

  She wasn't officially in charge, but she'd promised Carla she'd be there to oversee it. Thank goodness they already had an auctioneer.

  When Sam emerged from the delivery room an hour later, he had tears in his eyes. "It's a boy."

  Eve waited with the senior Hastings to see Zachary Samuel Hastings at the nursery window. "There h
e is," she pointed as a nurse held up a baby with a tuft of dark hair peeking from the white knit hat covering his head.

  Gerald Hastings clapped his son on his back, tears glistening against his ruddy cheeks. Jeanette cried openly as she hugged Sam.

  Eve knew enough of the history of the family, the estrangement between Sam and his parents that had only recently been bridged, to understand the miracle she was witnessing.

  Chapter One

  Normally Eve Dalton avoided fund-raisers. She left them to the movers and shakers of the city who chased after power and prestige. The cheek bussing and hand pumping were nothing more than a polite camouflage for society's version of robbery. That tonight's version was organized by a friend's mother wasn't alone enough to induce her to attend, much less help.

  No, she was here because she believed in the cause. She gave her passion and her energy wherever her heart dictated. So far, it hadn't led her wrong.

  She pulled on a velvet skirt and topped it with a crocheted vest of cobweb-fine yarn, leaving her arms bare. The effect was feminine, soft, and a touch eccentric. She wound her hair in a French braid and settled for a quick dab of lipstick as her only makeup.

  Carla wasn't able to be there, but Eve was determined to make the night a success. Jeanette Hastings had put together a dynamite collection of services to be auctioned off. A smile slipped across Eve's lips as she thought of Jeanette's original idea—a bachelor auction.

  Carla had tactfully nixed that with a suggestion of a service auction. Jeannette had seized upon that with a zeal that Eve could only envy, extracting promises from dozens of people to contribute. The services she'd secured ranged from furniture refinishing to dog grooming, art restoration to plumbing, a diaper service to a ride in a hot air balloon.

  In addition, Jeanette, in the most ladylike manner possible, had strong-armed the use of a mansion from one of her society friends to hold tonight's auction.

  The auction had started off with bidding for a meal for eight catered by a chef of a five star hotel. It netted several thousand dollars.

  Daniel Cameron was accustomed to fund-raisers. That tonight's affair was for charity rather than for political reasons didn't change the nature of it. Men and women dressed to impress, jewels removed from safes to adorn and embellish, smiles ready in case the camera flashed their way. He didn't mind the trappings; they were part and parcel of the package, a slick and glossy package.

  He wasn't here as a political figure but as a friend. Sam Hastings was one of the few people Daniel knew who wasn't impressed by Daniel Cameron, United States Senator. College roommates more years ago than he cared to count, they had kept in touch despite the different paths their lives had taken.

  Sam had called shortly before the auction was due to begin to tell Daniel about the baby.

  "That's great, buddy. Congratulations." Daniel listened some more. "Yeah. When can I see Carla and the baby? Tomorrow night? Right."

  "You're not off the hook on going to the auction, buddy," Sam had said. "I expect you to drop a bundle tonight. It's for a good cause."

  After promising to bid on something, Daniel had congratulated his friend again and rang off.

  One of Saratoga's older homes, a Georgian styled mansion, was the setting for the auction. When he arrived, the bidding was already underway on flying lessons from a local aviation school.

  Good-natured competition carried the bid up to five hundred dollars for three lessons.

  Daniel watched as one item after another was sold. He calculated the evening's take thus far to be a little over twenty thousand. After bidding on and winning a day at a health spa which he intended to give to his mother, he felt free to indulge his hobby of people watching.

  A husky laugh had snared his attention, and he turned in that direction. The woman it belonged to was a surprise. In a room where most of the women were clones of each other, she stood out. Her skirt and vest weren't from a shop catering to society wives. They were as vivid and unusual as the woman herself.

  She didn't bid on the items most women were interested in—the appointment with a prestigious salon, the dress worn by a thirties Hollywood star, or the glamour shots by a famous photographer. No, a diaper service had caught her interest. She wasn't a flashy bidder, but a relentless one. Her bids rose by small but steady amounts until the service was hers.

  Hair too bright to be called auburn and too dark to be titian rained down her back in an intricately coiled braid. But it wasn't that which held his interest. A face too animated to be truly beautiful nevertheless compelled the viewer to take a second look. But that wasn't the draw for him either. Her laugh invited others to join in. Even that wasn't what attracted him.

  It was something in the eyes, he decided. A vibrancy, a touch of mischief, a fresh way of looking at the world, perhaps. She was a woman who drew a man's gaze, not because she was beautiful, although she was far from plain, but because she compelled attention.

  She was, Daniel decided, not a woman to be ignored. He watched as she tried to make her way to where the food waited, pausing to talk with a group here, another there. Others sought her out. Her easy way with people wasn't affected. He'd seen enough of its counterfeit to recognize the genuine article. She listened to everyone with the same sincere interest.

  He knew colleagues who paid handsomely to have others advise them on how to achieve that same ease with people. What they didn't realize was that the real thing couldn't be bought. Reality brought him up short. A diaper service meant babies. And babies most likely meant she was married. The disappointment he felt was way out of line. He'd seen her only from a distance, had never talked with her, and yet he was drawn to her in a way he couldn't explain.

  When she retired with her prize, he lost interest in the bidding and decided to visit the buffet table.

  The organizers had spared no expense, providing an impressive array of food. After choosing jumbo shrimp and lobster pastries, he leaned against a marble column and prepared to enjoy himself.

  Eve had felt the dark-haired man's gaze on her for the last few minutes. He was six feet plus of pure male. It was the artist in her, she decided, that gave her a healthy sense of appreciation for sheer male beauty. Easily the best looking man in the room, he looked like a young Robert Redford with a little Kevin Costner thrown in.

  He looked spectacular in his tux, but, then, she imagined he'd look just as good in casual clothes. It was more than physical attraction, though. It was something in the way he carried himself, a self-assurance that said he knew who he was and was comfortable with it.

  Their gazes caught, connected. Her skin prickled with tension as he made no pretense of pretending not to stare at her.

  The room receded around them, and, for a moment, it was just the two of them. Muted voices, like lapping waves, ebbed and swelled around them, no more than background noise to the rapid tattoo of her heart. Awareness arced between them, an intangible but nonetheless real force. A rush of air signaled that she'd been holding her breath. She inhaled sharply, hoping the influx of oxygen would clear her head.

  It didn't work.

  Tension shimmered in waves so intense that she was surprised the air didn't snap and crackle with electricity. She shifted her gaze, and the spell was broken.

  She started toward the buffet table again, only to be waylaid by a husband and wife who'd just purchased a grooming service for their twin poodles and were eager to share their good fortune.

  She gave the appropriate remarks and made her escape. Her stomach voiced its displeasure at having missed both lunch and dinner. Intent on reaching the smorgasbord, she ran into a hard wall. Strong hands steadied her. She looked up into a pair of pewter gray eyes. His.

  "I'm sorry," she said, trying to sidestep.

  "I'm not." He dropped his hands, but their warmth on the bare skin of her arms remained.

  His smile was so engaging that she felt her own lips curve in response.

  "I'm trying to make it to the buffet table and keep g
etting sidetracked."

  "I saw. How 'bout if I run interference for you?" He cupped her elbow and steered her toward the food-laden table.

  With him as her escort, she found the path suddenly clear.

  "Try the shrimp," he said. "They're delicious."

  She bit into a particularly succulent jumbo shrimp. "Mmm." She polished off two more shrimp and a couple of crab cakes before she tried to make conversation. "I missed dinner," she confided.

  "I would never have known," he said, straight-faced.

  Unoffended, she proceeded to fill her plate. She'd spent two hours seeing to the behind-the-scene workings of the auction and then making small talk. Now she needed sustenance.

  After working her way down the table, she headed back to where she'd left him standing.

  His lips quirked as he took in the amount of food on her plate. "I like a woman who knows how to enjoy food."

  "Then you ought to love me," she said without thinking. She didn't need to touch her cheeks to know they were hot with color.

  "You could be right," he said, his eyes on her hand.

  That wasn't what she'd expected to hear.

  "You bought a diaper service," he commented.

  Had he been watching her during the bidding? Well, she couldn't complain. Not when she'd been doing the same thing.

  "It's a present. For a friend." At his intent look, she explained, "She just had a baby. Today."

  "You aren't married." The words held more than casual interest.

  "No." Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she popped a triangle of caviar-topped toast into her mouth, then picked another one for him. "Here."

  "Thanks."

  "It's the least I could do since you saved me from a slow and painful death." At his raised brows, she explained, "Starvation."

  "My pleasure."

  She liked him. Maybe it was the way he entered into her nonsense without a qualm. Maybe it was his serious eyes that still managed to glint with humor.