It was Mrs. Howard. Caroline had a visitor. And Mrs. Howard didn’t allow visitors in the rooms. But for Caroline, and because the visitor was a friend of Will and Becca Parsons, she’d make an exception. For one hour.

  Caroline wanted to beg her not to do that.

  She didn’t want to see him. Had assumed she wouldn’t have to until their doctor’s appointment the following week.

  But her upbringing wouldn’t let her leave him standing there, rejected. Smoothing a hand over the new forest-green, stretch denim pants she was wearing, she nodded her head.

  JOHN CLIMBED THE STAIRS SLOWLY. He shouldn’t have come. And he damn sure should’ve gone home and changed first.

  But if he had, he wouldn’t be here.

  She was waiting for him in the doorway, not looking any heavier at all, though he supposed her shirt hid whatever changes there might have been.

  He hadn’t felt so guilty since he’d stolen an apple off his neighbor’s tree in first grade and had to go confess to his sins. Without an apple to return.

  “John, it’s nice of you to stop by. Come on in.” Her welcome grated on him. He’d been rude beyond measure and deserved sarcasm at the very least.

  A quick search for a seat as he heard the door close behind him revealed only the bed and the chair by the desk. He took the chair—although it appeared from the notes and books, the calculator and pencils to one side of the computer, that she’d been occupying it. The rest of the room was pristine.

  “You made it back,” she said, standing awkwardly at the end of the bed before perching on one corner.

  His last message, left on her cell phone the previous Wednesday, had told her he was flying in from Kansas the day before. He nodded. Waited—giving her plenty of time to berate him. He’d take whatever she handed him. He deserved it.

  And then he’d ask for her forgiveness. He couldn’t promise he’d never stand her up again. He didn’t trust himself to keep his word. He could only promise that he’d never stand up his kid.

  She shifted her feet against the floor. Glanced at the desk and then at him, her eyes shying away from his exposed shoulders.

  “Sorry about the attire,” he said, shrugging, a selfish part of him wondering if she liked what she was trying so hard not to see. “I just came from a cookout.” And then he felt compelled to add, “I left early,” as though that somehow made the fact that he’d been out partying on Valentine’s Day while she sat there alone, pregnant with his kid and studying, seem less cold and heartless.

  Not that he was in any way responsible for her social life.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, with a smile that was almost natural. “I’m used to guys coming into my kitchen straight from the manure. Chlorine smells a lot nicer.”

  He cleared his throat, tapped a hand against his leg, noticed that she was wearing new clothes. And noticed the little piece of lace sticking out from beneath her pillow.

  So she was one of those women who stored their pajamas under their pillows. And she wore lace to bed.

  He wondered what the lace was attached to. And didn’t think it would matter. If he had her in his bed, he was fairly certain she wouldn’t be wearing whatever it was for long.

  Not that he’d have her there. Ever.

  Or, at least never again.

  “Did you get enough to eat?”

  His gaze returned to her. He liked the lighter green shirt she was wearing in contrast to the slacks. It matched her eyes.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, getting a little impatient with the waiting. He deserved to be raked over the coals. He’d told her he’d take her shopping, had practically coerced her into agreeing and then he’d neither showed up nor called to tell her he wasn’t coming. He’d been a total jerk. It was completely unlike any action he’d ever taken in his life.

  She had every right to give him a piece of her mind.

  He wished she’d get on with it so he could try to apologize. “Some friends of mine got together, barbecued ribs,” he murmured. She probably didn’t want to hear about it.

  “Some of the same people who went to that court case in Phoenix?”

  He nodded. And waited again.

  Until it became painfully obvious that she wasn’t going to do anything but sit there, making restless little movements that were driving him nuts.

  “I see you got the clothes.” Maybe a little baiting would help.

  She glanced toward the window. “Yes. Thank you.”

  If John hadn’t been so frustrated, he might have smiled at her insincere but perfectly polite response.

  He sighed, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Look, Caroline, I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

  “You have called. Several times.”

  “I stood you up.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “I owe you—anyone I give my word to—the respect of doing what I say I’m going to do.”

  She didn’t speak, just sat there looking at him with that placidly blank face, her thoughts closed to him.

  “I told you I’d be here at three to take you shopping and I wasn’t.” Maybe if he reminded her of his shoddy treatment, he could get a response out of her. A little anger wouldn’t be amiss.

  “And I told you that you had no obligation to buy me clothes.”

  She had, yes, and he’d been obstinate about the whole thing, insisting she put aside time for him to take her right after his golf game.

  And then he’d shot four under par, mainly due to a hole in one that had everyone cheering and patting him on the back, and his first thought had been that he could tell Caroline on the way to Tucson. Until that moment, whenever anything good had happened to him, Meredith was the only person he’d wanted to tell.

  He’d showered at the clubhouse and sped off to Tucson—alone. Two days later, he’d gone to a mall in Phoenix and, with the help of a saleswoman, had purchased enough clothes to get Carolyn comfortably through her pregnancy. He’d had them delivered to her.

  “You’re wearing the clothes I bought, though,” he said now.

  She shrugged, looked pointedly at the work spread out on her desk. “Seemed wasteful not to. All the tags had been taken off, making it virtually impossible to return them. Especially since I had no idea what store they’d come from.”

  He’d done that on purpose.

  “I know.”

  “Well.” She stood. “Thanks for stopping by….”

  “Dammit!” John stood, his voice purposely soft in deference to the other people who might be in the house, but also because he’d learned a long time ago to control his anger. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “With me?” She glanced up at him. “Nothing. I’m fine. I was afraid I was going to suffer from morning sickness, but except for a brief bout or two, I’ve been fine.”

  He stepped closer, cocked his head enough to catch her wandering gaze. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. I treated you like shit. How can you expect the world to give you what you deserve if you don’t demand it for yourself?”

  She didn’t say a word. Just stared at him.

  “You think you can go through life being nice and expect people to be nice back?” His tone was full of frustration—with her, with himself, with the whole damned world. “The Golden Rule is great, but it doesn’t always work.” He couldn’t seem to stop. “If you let people walk all over you, they will. You have to be willing to ask for what you’re entitled to.”

  As his delivery continued to grow in intensity, Caroline continued to stand there and take it, spurring him on further. He was acting like a total ass.

  “Look at this,” he finally said. “I’m the one who misbehaved and I’m standing here calling you down, as though you did something wrong, and still you don’t defend yourself.”

  She didn’t flinch. Hardly moved, except for the even intake and exhaling of breath. John shut up. He stood there trying to stare her down, but it was a contest in which she refused to engage.

  “Are you through?” she asked after a full sixty seconds had passed.

  “Yes.” At least he hoped he was. With her, he could never tell. She raised all kinds of emotions that were unfamiliar to him.

  “Then it’s probably best if you go. Mrs. Howard only gave us an hour.”

  He was being dismissed. So be it.

  “It’s only been half an hour.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I have studying to do.”

  “I thought you always read ahead.” He’d lived his whole life as a nice guy, and this country woman from Kentucky was turning him into a first-class jerk.

  “I have a section test in algebra.”

  Of course, that had nothing to do with the baby, which was all they were supposed to be discussing. She was right to get rid of him.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “Getting good grades?”

  “We’ve only had one test in Math, Biology and Psychology, and a couple of papers in my two English classes, but yes.”

  “How good?” It didn’t matter to him. What did matter was the little glint he’d just seen in her eyes. Anger? Or pride in herself?

  He didn’t know. But wanted to.

  She didn’t answer. Her way of telling him to mind his own business. He’d crossed a “not baby” boundary.

  “I’m interested,” he said. “After all, there’s a lot you’re going to be teaching my child,” he offered in return.

  “All As.”

  Chin jutting out, John nodded. “Impressive.” He wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  She moved to the door, reached for the handle.

  “You know, in spite of what Dr. Mason said, you don’t have to come to the appointment next week. Someone might see you there and get the wrong idea.”

  “Or the right one,” he shot back. “I’ll take my chances.”

  With one hand out, John leaned forward, covering her hand on the knob. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes directly connected with hers.

  She nodded. All the acceptance he was going to get.

  He released her hand and stepped back so she could open the door. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard her softly utter, “Thanks for the clothes.”

  It sounded as if she meant it that time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE FRIDAY AFTER Valentine’s, Carolyn sat in Psychology class, wondering if she’d made a mistake in coming to Shelter Valley. Phyllis was so many leagues ahead of her, there was no way she could ever tell anyone they were related.

  John had called every night that week, and while she wasn’t forthcoming, she was beginning to expect to hear from him—which was dangerous. And stupid.

  She’d run into Ellen Hanaran a couple of times on campus. Had grabbed a quick snack with her at the campus food court once, and been thrilled to hear that the young woman didn’t appear to be suffering any lasting physical effects from the rape, despite her fears. “A yeast infection,” she’d whispered to Caroline.

  Still, those few conversations with a woman more than ten years younger than her were the closest she’d come to developing any friendships in this town.

  Dressed in black slacks and a green silk tailored blouse, Dr. Langford faced the lecture hall still crowded with students, even after the final drop date. “Who can tell me what psychophysics is?”

  The study of how physical stimuli are translated into psychological experience.

  “Kayla?”

  Phyllis’s compassionate smile almost brought tears to Caroline’s eyes—and a kind of detached pride to her heart.

  “Something to do with how we process what we see and hear?”

  “Something,” Phyllis said, moving her mic wire as she walked toward one end of the room. “Anyone else?”

  She wore her hair much shorter than Caroline’s, but it was the same color. Did Phyllis like the muted shade of red as much as she had growing up?

  “It has to do with how our experiences affect our perceptions,” a young man called out from behind Caroline.

  Phyllis nodded.

  “Like the rose in the book,” another girl said. “Some people saw it as a rose and one guy thought it was a red shape with a green line because he’d never seen a rose before.”

  “Right.” Phyllis lifted her right hand to the cord that came together at her neck, and Caroline had another glimpse of the ring her sister always seemed to wear on her right hand. From this distance, all she could make out was a plain gold band, thinner than the one on the wedding finger of her left hand. Was it the opal her mother had given her? “It’s the study of how physical stimuli are translated into psychological experience.” She continued with her lecture, talking about absolute thresholds, the JND—just noticeable difference—and psychophysical scaling. Caroline had found these topics fascinating a week ago when she’d first read about them.

  Now all she could do was stare harder at that ring, trying to convince herself it was the one she’d read about in the letter.

  She had to get over this obsession. It didn’t matter if Phyllis was wearing the ring or not. Even if she was, it wasn’t about Caroline. Or about them. Phyllis didn’t know Caroline existed. The ring, if she’d kept it, would simply be a keepsake from their parents.

  She’d had parents Phyllis knew. Parents she’d never meet.

  She looked away, and forced her thoughts to move on. She wondered if she’d ever be able to wrap her arms around her sister and give her the hug she so desperately longed to give—and receive.

  “Subliminal perception, scientifically speaking, is the registering of external stimuli without conscious awareness.”

  As Phyllis Langford expounded on this newest topic, citing several examples including a woman who wound up in bed with a man she barely knew because her unconscious self had picked up on signals he’d been sending, Caroline paled. Had her twin somehow read her mind?

  That was impossible, Caroline quickly assured herself.

  And prayed to God John wasn’t still sending out messages that her body answered without first checking with her. She was having enough trouble dealing with the challenges she knew she faced; she’d rather not have to worry about hidden problems, too.

  Class ended. Finally. For the first time since school had begun, Caroline was eager to get away from Psychology 101. And it would appear that her sister shared her eagerness. Where normally Dr. Langford stood at the podium, available to take questions from her students, today she had her mic off and was rushing with the rest of them toward the double doors at the top of the room.

  When Caroline turned around, she saw why. Tory Sanders was standing there, and judging by the look on her face, whatever she’d come to share with Phyllis was important. Caroline’s heart caught when she saw an answering urgency on Phyllis’s face. Clearly these two were close. As close as any sisters could be.

  She watched as, heads together, the two women walked out into the sunshine. And hated the jealousy that flooded through her. She’d never been a small or petty person. And she had no desire to become less than she already was.

  Maybe she’d made a mistake in moving to Shelter Valley.

  “THEY CALLED THIS MORNING!” Tory’s excitement was palpable and Phyllis grinned right along with her friend as the two women chose a shaded bench in a gazebo. “I’ve been approved to adopt Alex!”

  “Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful!” Phyllis hadn’t been in any doubt that Tory would eventually be a legal mother to her husband’s adopted eleven-year-old daughter. Tory, on the other hand, who’d both nurtured and been nurtured by the little girl since Alex came to live with Ben as an abused seven-year-old, was a little slower in the trust department.

  They talked about court dates. Phyllis agreed to be there no matter what. And then there’d have to be a party—a birthday party, Tory said.

  “Alex is special enough to have two birthdays a year,” she continued, grinning and fidgeting as she sat beside Phyllis. In that moment there was no sign of the tentative and fragile young woman who’d first come into Phyllis’s life pretending to be her dead older sister, Christine—Phyllis’s best friend—four and a half years before.

  Tory was a living example that people could heal. That life could go on…

  “Brad called.” Phyllis hadn’t meant to blurt out the words. Hadn’t been planning to tell Tory at all once she saw the state her friend was in. They’d worked too long and too hard, waited through excruciating months of torment for these moments of unadulterated happiness.

  But she didn’t have anyone else to tell. Tory was the only one who’d understand her irrational fear of her ex-husband—and her refusal to give in to him.

  “And?” Tory’s brow furrowed as she studied Phyllis.

  “He’s threatening to make me miserable until I let him have what he wants.”

  The tender touch of a hand against the side of her knee gave Phyllis more strength than Tory would ever know. “What can he do to you?” the younger woman asked quietly.

  Shrugging, Phyllis didn’t immediately reply. She’d been asking herself the same question since the unexpected telephone call in her office the previous day.

  “Show pictures of me when I was fat,” she said, trying to make light of a situation that probably held no danger at all.

  “And you can walk right behind them skinny and beautiful,” Tory said, her rare militant side showing its face.

  Phyllis tried to smile. Didn’t quite make it. “Brad’s an unknown quantity,” she said, watching as students walked, some hand in hand, some alone, others in loud groups, throughout the campus. God, she loved it here. Loved the peace and warmth and sunshine. The green and browns of the desert. Loved the blue sky and the stucco and, most of all, she loved the people in Shelter Valley.

  “He’s spoiled and weak. He’s always the victim. And he believes that whatever he wants is his due. A person like that, who finds himself alone, broke, virtually powerless—who knows?”

  “You know enough to watch out.”

  “Yeah,” Phyllis agreed, pressing her knee against Tory’s hand, taking comfort from the small contact that represented the entire network of friends and loved ones they’d both found in this town.