The Street Where She Lives Read online

  Ben would have given her all of those things, and his name along with them. But he also wanted to drag her to the four corners of the earth and never settle down.

  Tonight, she’d looked into his incredible eyes, had seen the love he had for her, and had nearly, very nearly, caved. And yet, ironically, it had been the enormity of what he felt for her that had held her back.

  So, she’d given in to the fear and told him to go.

  And with shocking ease, he had, leaving her here, alone, just as she’d wanted.

  While a little part of her couldn’t help but wonder…how deep could his love really have been if he’d shaken it off so easily? With a choked sob, she put her head to her knees.

  And awoke to the sun piercing in her window. Just a dream, a horrible, wrenching dream. She started to sigh in relief, but the pain kicked in, and she remembered.

  Not just a dream. It’d all really happened.

  But she was no longer a young woman all alone. She had Emily now and they were a family, so anything was bearable. To prove it, she struggled to sit up. Her vision wavered for a second and her ribs sent pain jabbing to her brain. Tightening up, she braced for more. But shockingly enough, despite the aches, bumps, bruises and casts, it was nothing she couldn’t bear.

  Standing up, however, was a different story entirely. She tried until she was gasping for breath and sweating, but she couldn’t do it.

  Okay, not quite ready, she finally decided, sitting panting on the edge of her bed, swiping at her brow. What now? The pj’s were a problem. They were sheer and completely inappropriate for ignoring ex-lovers who were suddenly back in one’s life.

  Yes, he’d already seen her in it, several times as a matter of fact since he’d checked on her during the night, helping her to the bathroom, bringing her water, and my God, the heat in his eyes had given her sunburn. She’d felt his unbelievable wanting, and had actually felt the same. How did one go thirteen years without setting eyes on someone and then see him again and want so badly? How did that happen? Well, however it worked, she didn’t care to repeat it.

  Clothes. Number one order of business. Getting the pj’s top off wasn’t so difficult, her new air casts were surprisingly lightweight and easy to maneuver. She simply nudged the straps off her shoulders with her good arm, refusing to give in to the pain that was beginning to make itself known in her bad arm, and let the thing fall to her waist. With a good amount of wriggling, she managed to kick off both the pants and the camisole in one fell swoop.

  Getting something else on…not quite so easy. Realizing she had no clothes within reach, her scramble out of her pj’s suddenly didn’t seem such a wise move. And…yep, that was the doorbell. Naturally. Because she sat there in nothing but panties.

  Her robe lay across the foot of her bed. Using her good leg, she grabbed it with her toes and pulled it toward her. So far so good. But the terry cloth was thick and heavy, and one sleeve was inside out and—

  The doorbell rang again.

  Damn it! Where was Emily? School already? Without saying goodbye? Did she have lunch money and her homework? And where was Ben? She was almost afraid to wonder, because with her luck, she’d conjure him up here while she sat there looking like a black-and-blue poster child for abuse, huffing and puffing like a junkie to boot.

  By the time she got herself covered—forget tying the sash, she was cooked. She was a complete shaky mess, never mind the hair, or the fact she hadn’t brushed her teeth. Grateful for the wheelchair Ben had left right by her bed, she sort of half fell, half dropped herself into it. Okay, good. Panting for breath, out of shape and not happy about it, she set her hands on the wheels and paid the price for forgetting how bad her arm and shoulder still hurt. “Right arm only, right arm only,” she whimpered to herself, hugging her left arm to her chest.

  But right arm only meant she could only wheel herself in circles. Frustrated, she tried one more time, and let out a huffing scream when she got nowhere.

  “Rachel.” Garrett strode quickly into her bedroom, set of mug of delicious coffee down on her nightstand, and reached for her wheelchair. “Let me help you.”

  Her next-door neighbor was tall, dark-haired and studiously handsome. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and yep, there was his palm digital organizer sticking out his breast pocket as always. Good old dependable Garrett. He mowed her small lawn every Saturday, played Frisbee with her daughter whenever they were both around, and minded his own business. Usually.

  “I was on my porch,” he said. “And heard a thump. I thought maybe you’d fallen.”

  “And couldn’t get up?” she quipped.

  “Well, I knew Emily and Ben had gone to breakfast… I rang the doorbell and called out your name to warn you I was coming in.” He lifted the key Emily had given him after the accident, then unhooked the brake Rachel had hooked on the left side of the wheelchair. “Try that.”

  Of course that worked. Feeling stupid, she sighed, making sure to keep her fingers clenched over the lapels of the robe and praying a sudden wind didn’t whip through the house. “I don’t suppose you’d feed me your coffee intravenously?”

  He brought her the mug. “Try drinking it the old-fashioned way.”

  She eyed him over the top of it, trying, as she occasionally had, to feel some sort of attraction to him. Why didn’t looking at him rock her world, the way looking at Ben did? It made no sense. Garrett was a dentist, which meant he rarely traveled and made a decent living. He gave to charity. He was kind to old ladies. He also played tennis fanatically and had a sailboat. It all added up to him having his own life. He wouldn’t depend on her for anything including entertainment. Bottom line, he was handsome, intelligent and funny.

  And yet…not a single spark.

  As she sipped the coffee, another voice called out her name, and then shortly appeared in the doorway. Adam Johnson this time, her accountant, her financial advisor, her friend and Garrett’s physical opposite. Height challenged, blond, and not athletically inclined, he was, however, extremely intelligent, funny and one of the sweetest men she’d ever met.

  In three separate momentary bouts of loneliness, Rachel had dated him. Each time he’d made her smile, laugh, think. She’d enjoyed herself immensely and might have made it an even four dates—a record for her—if not for the accident.

  And, of course, the fact she didn’t feel any more attracted to him than she did Garrett.

  Adam had one hand wrapped around a dozen pink roses, the other around a thick file—hers, if she were to guess. He could undoubtedly tell her to the penny how much money she had at that very second.

  “The front door was ajar,” he said, moving into the room. “I hope it’s okay I just came on in. No one answered my knock and I got worried…”

  “I’m sorry.” She managed a smile, though in truth all that rush to get dressed and in her chair had done her in. She felt like a drooping flower. A hurting, drooping flower. “I’m fine, really.”

  “Mom!” Emily stopped short in the doorway.

  “Welcome to Grand Central Station,” Rachel said, but then her breath backed up in her throat because Ben appeared behind Emily, wearing cargo pants and a black T-shirt, looking wild and edgy and dangerously sexy. He was taller than Adam, darker than Garrett and, given that there wasn’t an ounce on him that wasn’t hard, lean muscle, he was far more solidly built than either of them.

  In his slow, purposeful way he looked around the room, missing nothing with his dark, deep, direct eyes—not the two strange men in it, not the fact that she wore only a robe or that she was holding it shut, nothing.

  Her pulse picked up speed as his gaze took a leisurely tour over her body. Clenching the robe even tighter, she drew a careful breath. She’d expected to feel a reaction when she looked at him—she always had. But this morning it came with an unexpected twist watching him against the backdrop of the other two men.

  Ben Asher wasn’t the most handsome, polished or cultured man in the room, but he was simply and by far