What she wasn’t expecting was the polite missive saying that her services wouldn’t be required, after all. She didn’t even rate a thank-you for the past two years.

She read it through twice, sure she’d misunderstood. She’d been teaching at Benderhoff steadily. Her work had always been more than satisfactory, or so she’d been told at each review period. Telling herself not to panic, she went into the kitchen and yanked out her telephone directory. She found the home number of Emil Craddock, the headmaster of Benderhoff and dialed it with a shaking finger. They wouldn’t do this to her. They couldn’t.

But five minutes later she hung up again, knowing that they had. She paced. She added numbers in her head. She thought of ways she could get by without the money—the rather good money—she’d earned at Benderhoff.

She finally pulled out her sofa bed, lay down with Chandler beside her and tried to make herself sleep while he slept. But sleep didn’t come. All she could remember was growing up in Dooley, getting her clothing secondhand from the rummage sales at church, doing the grocery shopping with her two older sisters, following their mama’s list to the letter because they had to pay with food stamps and only certain things were eligible.

At four o’clock in the morning Emma finally climbed out of bed and retrieved the business card from the table. She turned on the light in the kitchen and, heedless of the hour, reached for the phone, dialing hurriedly, before she lost her nerve. It rang only twice. Then Kyle’s voice, husky and deep, answered.

She swallowed, but the enormous knot in her throat didn’t go away. “Is your offer still on the table?”

“You know it is, Emma.”

She drew in a short breath. “Then I accept. I’ll pretend to be your wife until your business deal goes through.”

“I’ll be at your place in a couple of hours.”

A tear leaked from the corner of her tightly closed eyes. She was grateful that he didn’t express any undue pleasure or satisfaction. That his voice was as steady and sure as ever. “We’ll be ready,” she said.

Then she hung up and went to pack her clothes and Chandler’s stretchy little sleepers and diapers. They were the easy things.

She couldn’t help thinking, though, that she was also packing away her honesty. And that wasn’t easy at all.

“This is everything?”

Emma rubbed her hand over Chandler’s back. She focused on the suitcases she’d left sitting in the center of her apartment. Kyle was picking them up with ease. “For now,” she replied.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, one eyebrow raised. “If there’s more, we might as well take them.”

“It’s just winter clothes and things that won’t fit Chandler for months yet.” By then, Kyle’s need for a wife would be past and she and her son would be back home. Her life would return to normal, and all that would remain to remind her of this time would be the knowledge that she’d had a price, after all.

“If you’re sure.”

She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure of anything, particularly with Kyle standing there with her discount-store suitcases tucked under his arms. They surely did clash with his Rolex watch, she thought.

Chandler squirmed and made a noise, and she pressed her lips to his head, cradling him closely. She stepped out of the way so that Kyle could go out the doorway, then she followed him, picking up Chandler’s diaper bag.

“Leave it,” Kyle said. “I’ll come back for it.”

The bag was stuffed to the gills with diapers and wipes and powder and lotion. It shouldn’t have weighed a ton, but it felt as if it did. She reluctantly left it sitting on the end table by the daisies and carefully descended the stairs. Kyle had stored the suitcases in the trunk and was waiting by the open passenger door.

Emma looked from his sleek black car to her sturdy orange sedan—ancient and built like a tank. “I should follow you. Then I’ll have my car and—”

“It would be better if you left your car here,” he said smoothly. “I’ve got a second vehicle at home that you can use to your heart’s content.”

Her stomach clenched uncomfortably, and she kept the rest of her suggestion to herself: that she could fit Chandler’s bassinet easily into her back seat. He probably figured her old car was too much of an eyesore for the rarefied atmosphere of his neighborhood.

Well, Emma Valentine, you’ve made your bed… She could almost hear her mother’s voice.

“I’ve already moved Chandler’s seat into the back seat of my car. Can you get him into it, or would you like me to?”

“I will.” She didn’t look at him as he placed his hand on the top of the open door, waiting. But she couldn’t help noticing the sprinkling of dark hair on burnished skin, taut tendons and strong, well-groomed hands.