Six More Hot Single Dads!

For once Bobby Johnson was utterly speechless. They left him that way.

She might not have had a word for Bobby, but she had plenty for Brandon. “Brandon! You can’t just interrupt a session like that.”

“I’m not interrupting it,” he informed her, crossing the threshold with her in tow. “I’m ending it. Don’t worry, I paid for his session, so he can’t complain. Zoe’s getting another therapist to come in and take your place.” Looking back at the fuming baseball player, he called out, “Don’t worry. If you feel shortchanged, there’s another therapist on her way.” Facing Isabelle again, he said, “Let’s go.”

Not wanting to cause a scene, she waited until she was outside the office—her sister was conveniently gone, and the receptionist looked at her wistfully as they passed by the front desk.

Once the door had closed and they were out in the hall, she abruptly stopped walking and yanked back her hand.

When he turned around to look at her, Brandon saw that she was furious.

“You had no right to embarrass me like that,” Isabelle fumed.

He’d never seen her angry before, and for a moment, he just took it in. And then, as in a poker game, he matched her. And raised her one.

“If I embarrassed you, I’m sorry. But you had no right to just walk out on me, on us like that,” he amended, thinking of what Victoria would say once she returned from camp and heard what had happened. “Without so much as a damn word! Like I was just someone you’d passed on the street.”

Don’t you know that you’d never be just like someone I’d pass on the street? That you were and are so very special to me? Too special, she underscored.

Out loud, she merely said, “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Well, by not saying anything, you did. You made a hell of a very big deal out of it,” he informed her, all but yelling into her face. He struggled to get the better of his anger. Shouting at her wasn’t going to bring her around.

Isabelle couldn’t wrap her head around the logic of his words. “I just assumed you would have preferred it that way. Quietly,” she emphasized.

His eyes were dark with suppressed anger. “What I would have ‘preferred,’” he informed her, “was a chance to talk to you.”

She took a deep breath, telling herself that she wasn’t intoxicated by the very scent of him. That her heart wasn’t beating harder than a bongo drum, racing to a strange, exotic beat. That this rush was normal for someone in an argument.

She ran the tip of her tongue along her very dry lips to moisten them. “Well, you’re here now. Talk.”

He should just go. Ignore her. Not let her know that she’d succeeded in shredding him into teeny-tiny little slivers. That was the only way to save face. To save his pride.

But the truth was, he didn’t give a damn about his pride. What he gave a damn about, now that he’d found her, was Isabelle.

He struggled not to take hold of her shoulders, afraid he’d wind up hurting her by holding on too tightly. “Damn it, Isabelle. Was it all one-sided? All that time together, was I just there by myself? Fooling myself?”

She was having trouble catching her breath, centering her thoughts. Trouble staying where she was instead of throwing herself into his arms and just holding on for as long as he’d let her. She’d missed him more than she had ever thought possible.

Taking in a shaky breath, she tried to sound calm as she asked, “About?”

“About us!” he shouted. “About you. About you caring.” He took a breath. “Damn it all to hell, Isabelle, you can’t just leave like that. I need you.”

Isabelle shook her head. It sounded too good to be true. Or maybe she had just imagined she’d heard him say that. Ached for him to say that. “You need me?” she heard herself asking, praying that if this was a dream, a hallucination, she wouldn’t ever wake up.

“That’s right, I need you,” he all but shouted, struggling to get his voice under control. “I need you very much.” His voice softened, and he smiled down into her face. “As does my mother and Victoria. Nothing’s going to be the same in the house until you decide to take pity on us—on me—and come back.”

“Come back as what?” she asked. “Your mother doesn’t need a physical therapist. Anastasia’s going away on that cross-country tour. And Victoria’s still at camp—I talked to her yesterday,” she told him before he had a chance to question how she knew his daughter’s current location.

“You’re right,” he answered honestly. “My mother doesn’t need a physical therapist. What she needs is a daughter-in-law.” His eyes took her prisoner. “Any suggestions? Know anyone open to taking on that position?”

Again, Isabelle stared at him, this time utterly dumb-founded. She couldn’t have heard him right—could she?

The ensuing silence throbbed in his ears like a thunderous heartbeat. It was far from a comfortable silence. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. Well, I’m scared, too. We can be scared together,” he proposed. “And tell each other that there’s nothing to be scared about. Your father might have played around on your mother—”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him, stunned. “I never told you that.”

“No, you didn’t trust me enough to let me in on that,” he conceded.

She didn’t understand. “Then how—?”

“Zoe told me. Nice woman, your sister,” he said with approval. “I like her.”

How could her sister have betrayed her like this? Made things known about her without asking first? “Don’t get used to her. She’s on borrowed time.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unconventional, Isabelle, I’ll give you that. I guess it’s one of the things I love about you.”

The all-important phrase echoed in her head. “One of the things you lo—” She blinked, stunned beyond words. “You love me?”

“Hell, yes, I love you. What do you think we’re talking about?” he demanded.

“I don’t know. You lost me when you said you liked my sister.”

“I like your sister,” he repeated patiently. “But I love you.” He took in a deep breath. Waiting. Praying. “You have anything to say to me?”

Adrenaline raced through her like a gathering lightning storm. She was utterly surprised that she was still standing. “You’re crazy.”

He laughed, waving the words aside. “Okay, anything to say to me other than that?”

She couldn’t stop smiling. Her face refused to relax. “Maybe I love you, too.”

He eyed her. “Maybe?” It was going to be all right, he thought. She needed to take baby steps, and he was all right with that. As long as the steps ultimately led to him.

She felt as if her heart was bursting. As if what she had always secretly wanted was suddenly being granted after all this time. “All right, all right, all right. Yes, I love you. Satisfied?” she cried.

“Getting there. Now, about that vacancy that I mentioned. You know, the one for a daughter-in-law for my mother—”

There went her heart again. “Then you are saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I am if you think I’m proposing.” Right on cue, Isabelle’s mouth dropped opened. “I thought you deserved an unconventional proposal.” His eyes were already making love to her—asking her to give him the answer he needed to hear. “But if you don’t like that one, I can rewrite it until I find one that you do like.” Opening his jacket, he reached into his pocket for a small scratch pad and his pen.

She put her hand on top of Brandon’s, stopping him before he got carried away. “There’s no point in rewriting it. Why don’t you just ask me?”

Was that all it took? Just asking her? “Because I didn’t think it would be that simple. In a world of plain butterscotch pudding, you’re custard cream.”

That had to be the strangest compliment she’d ever received. But it was definitely a compliment, and she loved it.

Loved him.

Isabelle couldn’t help wondering what she was letting herself in for. And part of her could hardly wait to find out.

“Ask me,” she coaxed in a soft whisper.

God but he loved her. Even so, he couldn’t resist teasing her. “To be my physical therapist?”

Isabelle was beginning to catch on to the way his mind worked. She shook her head. “Ask me the other thing.”

He stopped teasing and grew very serious. “Isabelle Sinclair, will you marry—?”

“Yes,” she cried before he had all the words out. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Throwing her arms around his neck, she knew she’d just given him the right answer. It was the right thing to do. The only thing she wanted to do with all her heart. Brandon wasn’t like her father. He wasn’t going to disappoint her. Wasn’t going to break her heart as her father had broken her mother’s. She was betting her own on it, but she’d always been a safe better, and this, she was certain, was definitely a sure thing. And now that she’d finally gotten out of her own way, she saw that clearly.

He smiled down into her face. “Right answer,” he told her before he kissed her and set his world back on track again. “Oh, by the way,” he said just as his lips had brushed seductively against hers, “I wasn’t just talking a minute ago. I really do love you. More than I ever thought possible. Hey,” he cried, upset by her reaction, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Happy tears,” she told him. “These are happy tears. Because I love you, too,” she added, then sealed her mouth to his before he could find another footnote to add to the occasion.

Epilogue

The applause was like life-giving water to a thirsty flower. She stood there, bathed in it, absorbing it as she and the rest of the cast took yet another curtain call. Their fourth.

But as wonderful as it was, as much as she had really missed the sound of instant, gratifying feedback, Anastasia had to admit, in the privacy of her own soul, that something, a small but viable component, was missing from her life these past three months that she had been on the road, touring with the play. A component that interaction with the other members of the cast and crew—some old friends, others brand-new acquaintances—as entertaining as it often was, could not adequately replace.

Which was why, as she sat in her small, private dressing room going about the task of turning herself back into Anastasia Del Vecchio, legendary icon, and her cell phone rang, she immediately stopped what she was doing and reached for it. Hoping.

A glance at caller ID as she flipped the phone open brought an instant wide smile to her lips. Love was evident in each word as she asked, “Hello, darling, how are you?”

“I’m good, Gemma,” the girl on the other end of the call answered. “Did you knock ’em dead again tonight?”

A deep, throaty chuckle met her granddaughter’s question. Grandmother though she was, she was also part living legend, a fact she never forgot. “Do you have to ask?”

“No,” Victoria readily agreed. “I don’t. You always knock ’em dead.”

“You were always my very best audience, sweetheart.” Anastasia looked at her watch. It was after eleven. “Forgive me for making grandmother noises, my love, but shouldn’t you be in bed, asleep?”

“I wanted to wait until your show was over before I called,” Victoria answered evasively.

Anastasia was instantly alert. Bohemian-like though she had been for most of her life, there was a very strong mother-grandmother streak alive and well within her heart. It rose to the foreground, blotting out everything else. “Why? What’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Gemma. I just wanted to call you as soon as I heard.”

“Heard what?” She had never once lost patience with her granddaughter, but she felt herself coming close to the edge now.

Instead of answering, Victoria asked a question of her own. “Do you think you can come home three weeks from Saturday?”

Anastasia blew out a breath. “Victoria, you grow more and more like your father every day. Now what is going on?” She wanted to know. “Why do you need me to come home? Is it your father? Has something happened to Brandon?”

“Well, yes,” Victoria hedged. “Something’s happened and it does involve Dad, but not like you think.”

Her head suddenly filled with a variety of dramatic scenarios, none of them good, Anastasia assured her granddaughter, “Trust me, you have no idea what I’m thinking. Now, what’s going on, Victoria?” she demanded with the full range of her powerful voice. She was a force to be reckoned with.

“Dad’s getting married!” Victoria cried happily, the news all but bursting out of her. “To Isabelle,” she told her in case there was any doubt. “They just told me. It’s going to be at Maura’s house because it’s so big and all,” she went on breathlessly, referring to her father’s literary agent. “But they said they won’t have it if you can’t make it. Tell me you can make it, Gemma. I’ve never seen Dad look this happy before,” she added.

Anastasia laughed shortly. As if anything could keep her away. “Of course I can make it. My understudy is watching me like a hawk, hoping I’ll fall off the stage and break the other hip so that she can go on in my place. She’ll be thrilled if I take a few days off. But why didn’t Brandon or Isabelle call me themselves?”

Just as she asked the question, Anastasia heard her phone beep, telling her that another call was coming in. She quickly glanced at the screen for confirmation. “Well, speak of the devil. It’s your father,” she told Victoria.

“Oh. He’s probably calling to tell you the news. Don’t tell him I told you. It’ll spoil it for him. Act surprised, Gemma,” Victoria implored.

“Of course, darling. Acting is what I do best. Now go to bed. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Gemma,” Victoria said. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she couldn’t resist asking.

“Yes, darling, wonderful,” Anastasia replied, sharing her granddaughter’s happiness. She heard Victoria end the call.

Settling back in her chair, Anastasia switched to the incoming call.

“Hello, Brandon,” she greeted her son cheerfully.

Raising her eyes, she looked up into the mirror. The woman reflected there was smiling in triumph. And why not, Anastasia silently asked rhetorically. Her son’s forthcoming marriage was, after all, at bottom all due to her initially calling Cecilia. She considered the match to be her own personal victory.

Her smile widened as she innocently asked, “So, what’s new?”

Capturing the Single Dad’s Heart

Kate Hardy

A love worth fighting for?

Nate Townsend is a brilliant surgeon, but being a full-time single dad is his biggest challenge yet. So he doesn’t need the temptation of beautiful neurosurgeon Erin Leyton!

Erin’s instantly taken with Nate’s daughter. She knows she can help them both—if she can keep her heart off the table...because love never lasts, right?

But time spent with Nate and Caitlin stirs hopes Erin has long thought impossible. Can Nate convince her that his love is here to stay?

Erin felt that same prickle of awareness as when their hands had touched over the scones. But this time, instead of avoiding eye contact, she looked him straight in the eyes. Nate’s pupils were dilated to the point where his eyes looked almost black.

Oh, help. It looked as if this attraction she felt toward him was mutual, then. What were they going to do about it? Because this situation was impossible.

His face was serious. “Erin.” He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm, then brushed his thumb over her lower lip.

She felt hot all over, and her skin tingled where he touched her.

“Nate. We’re right in the middle of the hospital,” she whispered.

“And anyone could see us. I know.” He moved his hand away. “Erin, I think we need to talk.”

She knew he was right. “But not here.” It was too public.

“Where? When?” His voice was urgent.

“You said Caitlin would be all right with your mum for a while.” She took a deep breath. Maybe she needed to be brave about this, as Mikey had suggested. Do it now. Tell him the truth. And if he walked away—well, it just proved that she’d been stupid to let him matter to her. “My place, right now?”

Dear Reader,

I’d gotten to that stage of life where I’m really fascinated by gardens—and then my friend Michelle told me about a news story of a sensory garden for spinal patients. What a perfect setting, I thought. Especially when I kept seeing stories about spinal patients in the news.

But who would get involved with a sensory garden? And who would think it was a bad idea?

Meet Erin, who has a lot of shadows in her past, and Nate, who has a lot of shadows in his present.

The sensory garden starts by keeping them apart, and then it is very instrumental in bringing them together. Add in a troubled teen—who reminds Erin very much of herself at that age—complicated families and the whole idea about how love happens when you least expect it...and you have what happens with Erin and Nate.

I hope you enjoy their journey—and that the garden inspires you as much as it did me.

I’m always delighted to hear from readers, so do come and visit me at katehardy.com.

With love,

Kate Hardy

To Michelle Styles, with love and thanks

for the lightbulb

Praise for

Kate Hardy

“This was a truly stunning, heartfelt read from Kate Hardy. She blew me away with the intensity of the heartache in this read.”

—Contemporary Romance Reviews on

The Brooding Doc’s Redemption

“Bound by a Baby moved me to tears many times. It is a full-on emotional drama. Author Kate Hardy brought this tale shimmering with emotions. Highly recommended for all lovers of romance.”

—Contemporary Romance Reviews

Bound by a Baby won the 2014 RoNA

(Romantic Novelists’ Association) award!

CHAPTER ONE

WHY WOULD YOU turn down every single invitation to a team night out when you were new to the department? Erin wondered. Surely you’d want to get to know your colleagues and help yourself fit in to the team more quickly, rather than keep your distance?

Nate Townsend was a puzzle.

As a colleague, he was fine; she’d done a few ward rounds with him, and had been pleased to discover that he was good with their patients. He listened to their worries, reassured them and explained anything they didn’t understand without showing the least bit of impatience. The team in Theatre had all been thrilled to report that, unlike the surgeon he’d replaced, Nate was precise with his instructions and always bothered to thank the nursing staff.

But he didn’t socialise with the team at all. There was always a polite but guarded smile, a rueful shrug of the shoulders, and, ‘Sorry, I can’t make it,’ when anyone asked him to join them. No excuses, no explanations. Just a flat no: whether it was a drink, a meal, going ten-pin bowling or simply catching the latest movie. He didn’t even have lunch or coffee with any of his colleagues in the spinal unit; he grabbed a sandwich at his desk instead and wrote up his notes so he could leave straight at the end of his shift.

Erin knew that some people preferred to keep themselves to themselves, but she’d been working at the London Victoria since her first year as a junior doctor, and the friendliness of her colleagues had always made even the most harrowing day more bearable. Why did Nate rebuff everyone? Did he have some kind of complicated home life that meant he needed to be there as much as he could outside work and just didn’t have the energy to make friends with his colleagues?

Not that it was any of her business.

Then she became aware that Nick, the head of their department, was talking to her.

She really ought to be paying attention in the monthly staff meeting instead of puzzling over her new colleague.

And it wasn’t as if she was interested in Nate anyway, even if it turned out that he was single. Erin was very firmly focused on her career. She’d let her life be seriously derailed by a relationship when she was younger, and she was never going to make that mistake again. Friendship was all she’d ever offer anyone from now on. ‘Sorry, Nick. I didn’t quite catch that,’ she said with a guilty smile.

‘No problems. Can you bring us up to date on the sensory garden?’

Erin’s pet project. The one that would help her make a real difference to their patients’ lives. She smiled and opened her file. ‘I’m pleased to report that we’re pretty much ready to start. The hospital’s agreed to let us transform the piece of land we asked for, the Friends of the London Victoria are working out a rota for the volunteers, and Ed’s finalised the design—the committee just has to approve it. But they liked the draft version so it’s pretty much a formality and we’re planning to start the ground work in the next week or so.’

‘Hang on,’ Nate said. ‘What’s the sensory garden?’

‘We’re remodelling part of the hospital’s grounds as a sensory garden, and making sure it’s accessible to our patients,’ Erin explained.

He frowned. ‘That kind of project costs an awful lot of money. Wouldn’t those funds be better spent on new equipment for the patients?’

This was Nate’s first monthly team meeting, so he wouldn’t know that Erin had been working on the garden project for almost a year in her spare time. She was sure he didn’t mean to be rude, so she’d cut him some slack. ‘I know that sensory gardens have a reputation for costing an arm and a leg, but this one’s not going to cost anywhere near what you imagine,’ she said with a smile. ‘We already have the grounds, and the designer’s working with us for nothing.’

‘For nothing?’ Nate looked sceptical.

‘For publicity, then,’ she said. ‘The main thing is that he’s not charging us for the actual design.’ Like Erin herself, Ed the garden designer had a vested interest in the project. This was his way of giving something back, because the spinal unit at the London Victoria had treated his younger brother after a motorcycle accident. But it wasn’t her place to tell Nate about their former patient. ‘Actually, I hope he gets a ton of clients who respond to his generosity.’

‘Hmm.’ Nate’s blue eyes were so dark, they were almost black. And right at that moment they were full of scepticism. Did he really have that bitter a view about human nature?

‘The labour isn’t costing us anything, either,’ Erin continued. ‘Ayesha—she’s the chair of the Friends of the London Victoria—is setting up a rota of volunteers from across the community. So that’s everyone from students who want some work experience for their CVs through to people who just enjoy pottering around in the garden in their spare time,’ she explained. ‘It’s going to be a true community garden, so it will benefit everyone. And the rota’s not just for planting the garden, it’s for maintaining it as well.’

‘What about the cost of the plants and any other materials used in the design?’ Nate asked.

‘Some things have been donated by local businesses,’ she said, ‘and the staff here, our patients and their families have been raising funds for the last year. We have enough money to cover the first phase of the project.’

‘And you really think a sensory garden’s the best way to spend that money?’ he asked again.

Just who did the guy think he was? He’d been here almost a month, kept himself completely aloof from the team, and now he was criticising a project that had been months and months in the planning without having a single positive thing to say about it? Erin gritted her teeth in annoyance and, instead of letting her boss deal with it—the way she knew she should’ve done—she gave Nate Townsend her most acidic smile. If he wanted an answer, he’d get one.

‘Actually, I do, and I’m not alone,’ she said crisply. ‘As you know, most of our patients have just had a massive and unexpected life change. They have to make a lot of adjustments—and they can be stuck inside in a clinical environment for months, just staring at the same four walls. A garden will be a restful space for them to sit in and have some quiet time with family and friends, chat with other patients, or even just sit and read in a space that’s a bit different. It’ll help them start getting used to their new lives rather than just feeling that they’re stuck inside the same four walls all the time with no greenery. A sensory garden has scent, sound, texture, colour and even taste—all things that stimulate our patients and can help with their recovery.’