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  Chapter 1

  Joy surged through Leanna, lighting her wide gray eyes, as Dr. Englander said, “Your tests are conclusive, Leanna. I'm sure you're delighted with the news.” He gave her a congratulatory smile across the desk, his weathered and wrinkled face looking benign. “I know how much you've always wanted a baby."

  Then Leanna hesitated. She and Jamie had never discussed having children. It was only one of their taboo subjects.

  "You seem a little overwhelmed, with the good news. Relax, and I'll ask Sue Ellen to bring you a cup of herb tea."

  Nodding, Leanna pushed shiny dark curls away from her face and took a deep breath. She hadn't expected it so soon. In all the years she had lived with Malcolm Boyd, she had become pregnant only once. Leanna winced and turned her thoughts instead to her present husband. Jamie. This, above all, they should have discussed. But, at twenty-nine, Leanna had felt time was running out. How could she expect Jamie, at 23, to understand her need for a child?

  "Not having the tummy-flutters already?” Blonde, blue-eyed Sue Ellen Graves, with whom she'd gone to high school, gave Leanna a conspiratory smile. “Or is it Mr. Mallory, who's on your mind? Don't you worry, he'll be tickled to right death when he hears the news. You watch, by next week he'll be strutting around acting like the only rooster in the henhouse, just like the rest of them."

  Sue Ellen handed her the teacup. Leanna smiled back at the former head cheer-leader, mother of five, and physician's assistant, and tried to act as if there were nothing to cloud her happiness. That was the trouble with living in a small town. Everybody knew everything about you. And what they didn't know, they guessed, then called it fact. Did they guess why Jamie had married her? They'd had plenty to say about why she had married Malcolm Boyd ten years ago. For his money. That wasn't true. Though security had been one reason for her decision, loneliness had played a much larger role.

  Leanna sighed and sipped her tea, knowing that Sue Ellen hadn't been able to keep a secret since she was nine years old. News of her pregnancy would be all over town within days. She had to tell Jamie, and quickly, or someone else would.

  Jamie. Given his reasons for marrying her, what would his reaction be? From the beginning, he had never been predictable. A smile played about Leanna's lips as she remembered the first time she had seen him.

  * * * *

  On that long-ago bright June day, she had been the young wife of a middle-aged man, pedaling her bike joyfully along the tree-lined streets of Port LeClare. The sleepy Alabama coastal town where she had been born and raised, had seemed familiar and comforting as Leanna skimmed beneath towering oaks, bearded with Spanish moss.

  Turning into the drive of a huge brick Victorian set back from the street, she leaped off the bike and pushed it toward the roomy garage at the rear of the house. Leanna didn't notice the boy sprawled on the wooden steps of the side porch, a paperback book in his hand. Even at fifteen he had been tall, his body muscular, but thin almost to the point of emaciation. His hair was shoulder length, an amber cascade streaked by the sun.

  "Hi! I'm Jamie Mallory. Mr. Boyd sent me."

  "Hi!” Leanna waved, still somewhat breathless from her ride. Malcolm had said something about getting someone to cut grass and paint the peeling trim on the house.

  Leanna studied the boy carefully, for never in all her life had she seen anyone like him. He wore scuffed Reeboks, jeans, and no shirt. The sun had bronzed the skin of his hairless chest. One ear was pierced and had a gold skull and cross-bones bobbing under it. Leanna wondered what on earth she could say to this—this punk rocker. Nobody wore their hair that long anymore.

  "Excuse, me. I'm looking for Mrs. Boyd.” The boy's voice, already fully mature, had a strange ‘round’ quality, as if each word held rich highs and lows that other voices could never catch. He leaped to his feet with the effortless grace and boundless energy that would later make his stage performances almost as beautiful to see as to hear, and shoved the paperback into the back pocket of his jeans.

  Catching a glimpse of the title, Leanna said, “I don't believe it! Shakespeare? In summer?"

  Jamie shrugged. “I read everything I can get my hands on. People either like it or they don't. You a reader...? Uh, sorry, I didn't catch your name."

  "Leanna.” She pulled off her scarf, released her curls from the rubber band that had confined them, and shook them out, then met his gaze for the first time. The impact of his glance made her knees feel weak, not only because of the strange color of his eyes—a cross between topaz and amber—or because they held a latent sexual invitation even then, but because the mature expression in them was far too old for his face.

  "Mr. Boyd hired me to do chores. I'll be working here all summer. Do you know where I can find his wife? Is she your mother?"

  "No.” Leanna tried to muster a smile. “That is, I—I'm Mrs. Boyd."

  Jamie had looked at her a long time then, a strange expression in his coppery eyes. “Mrs. Malcolm Boyd?"

  "Yes."

  "Jeeze.” Jamie walked toward the garage, lean hips moving gracefully in jeans so threadbare there had been white-furred holes in them.

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  Leanna closed her eyes and sighed, as Dr. Englander came back into the room, took the chair behind his desk, and made a tent of his fingers. “Humor an old man. Tell me what's wrong."

  Leanna's gaze met his, the question in her gray eyes exposed at last. “There won't be any—complications?"

  "Because of what happened before?” The doctor shook his head. “I don't see any reason you shouldn't produce a fine healthy baby in about seven and a half months—barring accidents."

  A spasm of pain flashed through Leanna and she turned away.

  The doctor sighed and sipped his tea. “Put the past behind you, my dear. There's nothing to be afraid of this time."

  "I know.” Leanna bit her lip. “I mean, physically I know I'm all right, but I'm not sure—this may not be the right time in my marriage to—I don't know how Jamie will feel...."

  "Then this wasn't a planned pregnancy?” Dr. Englander gave her a sharp look.

  "Not—exactly.” Leanna drew a deep breath, unable to explain the turmoil of emotions. “I didn't think it would happen this soon—it was years and years before. I'm just not sure what to do."

  "Oh—? Dr. Englander raised one bushy eyebrow and looked over his half-glasses at her. “We're old friends, so I'll be direct, Leanna. You're already between eight and ten weeks pregnant. If you don't want to have this baby, you should reach a decision very quickly."

  "Not have—? Oh, no! I just—that is, Jamie—uh, no!” Leanna sat back carefully in the chair, folded her arms protectively across her abdomen. “It's just—I need time to think."

  Chapter 2

  Across town, in the library of Leanna's house, Jamie Mallory heard the screened door slam as sneaker-shod feet pounded across the front porch, leaped to the brick sidewalk, and hammered down the street. With a sigh, he leaned on the piano and put his head down on his arms.

  As usual, Darren Williams had been a challenge. The boy was gifted but undisciplined. Jamie sighed again. At fifteen, who wasn't undisciplined?

  Jamie sat up and let his fingers drift over the keys, playing “Sweet
Invocation,” the theme he had chosen to represent the Princess of France in the Rock Opera he was composing. He had almost completed the work, loosely based on Shakespeare's Love's Labor Lost. Jamie had kept the original character names, but updated the politics, letting the music strongly advocate the theme of the original play.

  He had already sent parts of the score to Tony in London and the word was good. Tony was looking for a theater, casting about for little-known people with good rich voices for the parts. Jamie insisted on a cast of unknowns. He wanted the music to gain the attention, not serve as window-dressing for some ego-bound star. Today, Tony had called with the news they could be in production by October and open before Christmas if there were backers. Jamie's lips curved in a smile. Backers were no problem. A phone call to Switzerland would produce plenty of operating funds.

  It was Leanna who concerned him. How would she feel if he announced suddenly that he was going to London? Whatever had happened to her in the years he had been away had left an indelible mark. Leanna never discussed it, never talked about the past. Jamie sighed. Well, at least she had married him, though he had never been certain whether it was fear of scandal, or pity, that drove her to suggest a wedding. Whatever her motivation at the time, now she seemed content with their life. He had waited so long to find her again, to have her, to make her his wife.... Did he have the right to ask for more?

  If the rock opera was going to happen, come the fall he'd have to be in London. Would she feel betrayed if he went alone? Pressured, if he insisted that she come? Miserable in the midst of the media whirlwind London was certain to be? Always had been? Jamie knew that either way, the production of Love's Labor would be a painful change for his wife. And pain was the last thing he ever wanted to give her.

  Jamie glanced at his watch and frowned. Leanna was usually home before now—must have stayed late at the hospital. He played the Princess's theme again. A smile erased the lines of weariness from his face as he recalled he had been reading that very play on the day they had met.

  As clearly as if she were standing before him, Jamie saw the Leanna of yesteryear. Girlish, shy, unsure of herself. Her eyes had been as pale a gray as morning mist—but warm, open, hiding nothing. He remembered looking into them and falling in love between one heartbeat and the next. The emotion was one of instant recognition and joy that went beyond time, beyond explanation. At fifteen his love for her had sprung full-blown, no immature idolization or crush, but the mature love of a man for a woman.

  Years later, he wrote a song about that feeling. “Solvate,” backed the first hit record the rock group, Eye of the Tiger, had cut. To the record company's surprise, both sides had gone gold, with the B side receiving more air play than the “commercial” song picked by Tony Grant, the London producer who had “discovered” them. That one song had marked Jamie as a promising composer and had set a group of London boys on the road to stardom—and to death.

  Jamie sighed again. Sometimes there were no right answers. There certainly had seemed to be none the summer Malcolm Boyd hired him to do odd jobs and Jamie had fallen in love with Boyd's wife Leanna.

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  Jamie remembered the day Leanna brought a pitcher of lemonade and a book outside to sit on a bench in the shade while he trimmed the hedge. He'd taken a covert peek at the title. Love's Labor Lost rested lightly on her firm thigh as propped it against one knee. Unable to resist, he moved closer and closer to her, though she seemed absorbed with her reading. Finally, he could stand it no longer.

  "Shakespeare?” he said, imitating the tone of disbelief she had used earlier to him. “In summer?"

  Leanna looked up, smiled, then shrugged. “Your copy was so tattered, I thought it must be good.” She tossed her curls and moved over to make room on the stone bench in the shade of the willow. “Sit down. How about some lemonade?"

  "Thanks.” He dropped to the seat beside her. “How's it going?"

  "There's a lot of political stuff I don't understand, but isn't it ironic that the moment Ferdinand swears off women forever along comes the Princess of France and all his well-made plans are tossed for a hoop?"

  "Men have been swearing off women since Adam without notable success. And don't forget, nothing is an enticing as forbidden fruit.” Jamie drained the glass, the ice cubes clicking as he lowered it. “Reminds me a bit of the Victorians, all that repressed sexuality is fascinating, don't you think? They pretended to be so proper on the surface, but underneath...” Jamie held out his glass for more, wondering what she'd do or say if she could read what he was thinking, know the number of times he made love to her in fantasy each day? Talk about repressed sexuality—his physical need for Leanna was tough to conceal.

  "As for the politics, do you think a line about Watergate would make sense to someone reading it five hundred years from now?"

  "Do you think our civilization will be around that long?"

  Jamie, unable to keep the sparkle out of his eye, said, “Sure. As long as human beings feel the basic urge to procreate."

  "Jamie, please!” He looked up to find her blushing.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you.” He let cold lemonade slide down his throat, then said, “Mr. Boyd is a lot older than you—are you happy with him, Leanna?"

  "Of course, I'm happy.” Leanna looked away. “Why do you ask?"

  "Some of the other ladies I've worked for are—uh, not too happy.... “They too, came to talk with him while he worked. Some offered lemonade, some other forms hot weather of escape.

  Leanna looked down, refusing to meet the question in his eyes. “What is happiness, anyway? A home. Someone to belong to. Peace.” She swallowed and her voice was husky as she continued. “Malcolm gives me that."

  "Sounds a little empty to me. What about fireworks in the bedroom?"

  "Jamie!"

  "Sorry. It's just that my mother has gone through four husbands looking for someone who can set her off like a Roman candle. Maybe you've got the right idea, though. Seems like no matter how they sparkle in the beginning, they all fizzle out after awhile.” Jamie's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

  "Which one was your father?"

  "None of the above.” Jamie twisted his long hair and stuffed it under his painter's cap to let the breeze cool his neck. “I was an early mistake. He had money and she tried to force his hand, but he wouldn't go for it. Look, I really don't want to talk about it okay? My Mom's just—a little mixed up."

  "I didn't mean to pry.” Leanna looked so apologetic, that Jamie felt guilty, knowing he was the one who had raised the subject in the first place.

  "Don't apologize. I'm the one who started asking questions...."

  Leanna smiled and Jamie caught his breath. He could almost see her looking for a way to change the subject. “That hair must be awfully hot. Why don't you get it cut?"

  Jamie clenched his teeth. Was there nothing they could talk about that didn't touch a sore spot?

  Leanna must have sensed his discomfort, because she bit her lip and looked away. For no good reason he could think of, Jamie decided to tell her the truth.

  "Husband number four was a bit of a sadist. One day he decided to teach me to be a man. Aside from proving beyond all doubt that he was physically the stronger, one of the ways he did it was to drag me into a barber shop and have them shave my head. I swore when he left that I'd never cut it again and I haven't.

  "Your mother didn't mind?"

  "My mother doesn't give a damn what I do, and even if she did—the hair is a matter of principle. It stays."

  "But don't the other boys tease you?"

  "Not like they did when I was bald.” Jamie lifted one shoulder in a shrug of indifference. “Anyway, people who judge by externals are jerks, Leanna."

  He hadn't waited for an answer, but strode back to pick up the clippers. Nevertheless, he couldn't help wondering about Leanna and Malcolm Boyd. Why should an older, married woman look so unsure of herself whenever sex was mentioned?

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  Even now that Leanna was his own wife, Jamie didn't know all the dark secrets hidden in the marriage that had tied her to Boyd. She never talked about him, or the past and he felt too afraid of losing her again to probe.

  For the past two years, Jamie had done his best to make her happy. He loved her more than ever now. Then why was he growing bored? Bored? With Leanna? Never! Bored with the life they lived...? Maybe.

  The rock opera was good. Damned good. But going into production was out of the question. He didn't really want to step back into the center of the whirlwind, did he? Still, damn it, he had talent to burn. And giving piano lessons to a bunch of mischievous moppets wasn't exactly a stretch. That was why he started Love's Labor in the first place. He'd put two years of his life into it. What now? Stick it into a drawer and forget it?

  The sound of tires on the gravel drive brought him to his feet. Leanna was home at last.

  Chapter 3

  Leanna brought the car to a stop and reached for the bag of groceries beside her, taking out a lemon meringue pie to hold carefully in the crook of her elbow. The screened door banged and she looked up to see Jamie's smile of greeting.

  He met her halfway to the door, saying, “I'll take that, Princess.” He took the bag of groceries, the elbowed the door open and held it for her with his foot. “You're late tonight."

  "I know."

  He followed her inside and put the groceries down on the table. Leanna smiled at him across the large old-fashioned kitchen with its glass-fronted cupboards and dimity curtains that swayed with the summer breeze. “I—got tied up and then I stopped at the market."

  "So I see.” Jamie's eyes lit as she set the bakery box on the breakfront. “Pie?"

  "Leave that alone and kiss me.” Leanna slid her arms around him from behind.

  When he ignored her to rummage through the rest of the groceries, Leanna untied the leather thong that fastened back his long hair and mussed it, sending hip-length honey colored tresses flying wildly about him.