Jennifer Greene: Lucky

“A book by Jennifer Greene hums with an unbeatable combination of sexual chemistry and heartwarming emotion.”

—New York Times bestselling author

Susan Elizabeth Phillips

“Jennifer Greene’s writing possesses a modern sensibility and frankness that is vivid, fresh, and often funny.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Woman Most Likely To

“Combining expertly crafted characters with lovely prose flavored with sassy wit, Greene constructs a superb tale of love lost and found, dreams discarded and rediscovered, and the importance of family and friendship…”

—Booklist on Where Is He Now?

“A spellbinding storyteller of uncommon brilliance, the fabulous Jennifer Greene is one of the romance genre’s greatest gifts to the world of popular fiction.”

—Romantic Times magazine

“Ms. Greene lavishes her talents on every book she writes.”

—Rendezvous

Jennifer Greene sold her first novel when she had two babies in diapers. Since then, she’s become the award-winning, bestselling author of more than seventy novels. She’s known for her warm, natural characters and humor that comes from the heart. Reviewers call her love stories “unforgettable.” You can write Jennifer through her Web site at www.jennifergreene.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is in no way a true story…except for one part. Years ago, someone I love dearly had a baby born with special problems—and who was misdiagnosed. The original prognosis for that baby was so dire that it seemed impossible to believe the baby had any kind of future. Yet that prognosis was wrong.

The story nestled in my heart for years until I had to write a book about it. It wasn’t just the baby that captured my heart. It was the crisis thrown at the parents. We all seem to grow up, very sure what’s right and wrong, very sure what we’d do if we were tested. Yet life can throw us a curveball that throws everything we believe right out the window.

I write romance because I truly believe that love has power—I gave my heroine that massive “curveball” in this story, because I think women can especially understand it.

Perhaps you’ve never had a problem remotely like the situation in the story. But I’ll bet you all grew up, aspiring to be good women, striving to do the right thing, intending to play by the rules. We’re raised with an unspoken promise that things will turn out fine as long as we’re “good girls.” Only life doesn’t always keep that promise.

It’s so hard to break the rules and risk all the things that make you safe. It’s so hard to find yourself alone, bucking the tide, when all you ever wanted was to be a good person and stay out of trouble.

It’s so hard to be more than you ever thought you could be.

This one’s for you, ladies.

Jennifer Greene

For STEPHANIE

No, sweetheart, this isn’t about you, because

I only write about pretend people. But I did

write it because I love you, and because

sometimes we all need someone to believe in us.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

D amned if her hands weren’t shaking.

Kasey sighed in exasperation. A year ago, she could never have imagined this moment—but then, a year ago, she’d believed she was the luckiest woman alive.

Thunder grumbled in the west as she hurried into the baby’s dark bedroom. Tess was lying in her crib, gnawing on a teething ring, wearing nothing but a diaper. Michigan in August was often hot, but this intense, smothering heat just kept coming. Normally Tess would have long been asleep by now, but the looming storm must have wakened her.

Curtains billowed wildly in the hot, nervous wind. Clouds hurtled across the sky, bringing pitchforks of sterling-silver lightning and a hiss of ozone. When the first fat raindrops smacked against the windows, lights flickered on and off—not that Kasey cared. She wasn’t worried whether the house lost power. She was worried whether she might.

She was born gutless. Pulling enough courage together to leave tonight was taking everything she had, everything she was—and she was still afraid that might not be enough.

“But you’re up for a little adventure, aren’t you, love bug?”

The baby kicked joyfully at the sound of her mother’s voice.

“That’s it. We’re just going to be calm and quiet, okay?” Well, one of them was. The baby softly babbled as Kasey swiftly changed her diaper and threaded on a lightweight sleeper.

A short time before, she’d stashed suitcases in the back of the Volvo, but she couldn’t leave quite yet. Quickly she packed a last bag with critical items—not diapers or clothes or money—but the things that mattered, like the jewel-colored mobile, the handmade quilt, and of course, the red velvet ball.

She juggled Tess and the bag, taking the back stairs, her heart slamming so hard she could hardly think. She grabbed rain gear on the way out. The garage was darker than a dungeon, yet Tess—who should have been tired enough to pull off a good, cranky tantrum—settled contentedly in her car seat. Kasey tossed in the rest of their debris and plunked down in the front.

It bit, taking the six-year-old Volvo. It wasn’t a car she’d paid for. It wasn’t a car she’d chosen. But compared to the new Mercedes and the sleek black Lotus and the Lexus SUV, it was the cheapest vehicle in the fleet, and God knew, the Volvo was built like a tanker.

A sturdy car wasn’t going to do her much good if she couldn’t get it moving, yet initially her fingers refused to cooperate. Yanking and snapping on the seat belt seemed to present an epic challenge. Then the key refused to fit in the lock. Finally she started the engine—which sounded like a sonic boom to her frantic ears—and then she almost forgot to push the garage door opener before backing out.

Her gaze kept shooting to the back door. Waiting for it to open. Afraid it would open. No matter how well she’d planned, no matter what she’d said, she was still afraid something or someone would find a way to stop her from leaving, stop her from taking Tess.

In an ideal world, she’d have made contingency plans—but she hadn’t been living in an ideal world for a long time now. She had no alternate plans, no contingency ideas.

This was it. Her one shot to tear apart her entire life in one fell swoop.

That thought was so monumentally intimidating that she considered having a full-scale nervous breakdown—but darn it, she didn’t have time. Her hand coiled on the gearshift and jerked it in reverse. The instant the car cleared the driveway, she gunned the accelerator.

Rain slooshed down in torrents, blurring her vision of the house and neighborhood. For so long she’d thought of Grosse Pointe as her personal Camelot. It struck her with a flash of irony that it really had been. She was the one who’d goofed up the happy-ever-after ending. She’d not only failed to follow the fairy-tale script, she’d somehow turned into the wicked character in the story.