The Gingerbread Girls

Love, even love that worked, was an uphill battle with heartache. Look at Em. Look at Andrea, having to bury her husband before her honeymoon had even ended!

Casey decided—right then and there, in the parking lot of the Gingerbread Inn, with fresh snow drifting down around her—to be on a quest, not for love, but for emotional freedom. She would rid herself once and for all of the lifelong myths and fantasies and hopes and dreams that had bound and imprisoned her.

Her life would be about her baby. Who better than a scientist to conduct the search for a donor with the perfect qualities to give her child?

She could make that decision about creating her own family in the way all the best choices were made. She would be measured and rational. She hadn’t got far in her research about how to choose a donor, but she hoped she would get to review photos. She would make sure the father of her child was nothing like her own devastatingly handsome father had been, or her immensely charming, but ultimately fickle fiancé.

The man would, especially, be nothing like Turner.

Who could turn those silvery eyes on a woman and enchant her entirely.

No, better to look for brilliance and gentleness, physical health and even features.

Really, she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it sooner—that science could provide her with a perfect father for her children!

When she thought back on it, she was a totally different woman than she had been in those few long-ago days with Turner.

She’d experienced nothing but heartache at the caprice of love. She’d buried her father, lost her fiancé to another woman and her mother to the church, attended the heartbreaking funeral of one of her best friends. She’d seen Andrea devastated by the death of her husband, and Emily by a struggling marriage. It was enough! Casey’s heart was in armor.

She was glad that Emily and Andrea had found love. She really was. But she was concluding her mission. The rejection of romantic love would make her a better mother to her future child, devoted and not distracted. Their lives wouldn’t be in a constant jumble of men moving in and out.

If the gods were throwing down a gauntlet in the face of her decision, she was accepting the challenge!

And with that firmly in mind, Casey grasped the handle of her suitcase and turned back to the inn with a certain grim determination. She plowed through the growing mounds of snow and marched up the steps onto the covered porch.

Something wet and cold brushed the hand that held her car keys. Casey dropped them with a little shriek of surprise, then looked down to see Harper thrust a wet snout into her palm.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked the dog.

A deep voice, as sensual as the snow-filled night, came out of a darkened corner of the porch.

“Keeping me company.”

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