Roxanne Rustand - A Man She Can Trust

Had she moved the rocker to the room’s front window last weekend? Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at it.

Almost imperceptibly, it appeared to be moving…as in those moments after someone has gotten up and walked away.

You really need more sleep. Next you’ll be seeing apparitions in the hallway and bogeymen in your closet.

It was only the wind, of course. Drafts found their way into the old house whenever the wind blew outside.

A faint sound echoed down the shotgun hallway leading to the front entry. Jill looked down, surprised to see her hands clenched.

It’s only my imagination.

Or Sheriff Johnson, here to give her a logical explanation for the lights at Warren’s house.

She strode to the front door, already forming an apology, and pulled it open.

“I suppose it was n-nothing…”

She stammered to a halt, her hand at her throat, and stared into the face of the man who’d sworn he’d never set foot on Chapel Hill again.

Dear Reader,

Beautiful northern Wisconsin…just the words make me think of pine-scented breezes, sparkling sapphire lakes and blazing fall colors. But even the loveliest places have their darker side, and that’s definitely true for the little town of Blackberry Hill.

Blackberry Hill Memorial is a small, struggling hospital facing serious challenges, and the residents of this town face them, as well. For Dr. Jill Edwards and her husband, Grant, their troubled marriage may provide a perfect opportunity for an old enemy to seek revenge…and for an old ghost to find peace at last. For Grace Fisher, retirement is just ahead—only now she finds herself with a troubled teenage nephew to raise and a chance for her own once-in-a-lifetime love. Who knew life could change so quickly?

I love writing stories that touch on the lives of families of every generation and the problems so many of us face. But above all, I love writing about men and women who must overcome nearly insurmountable obstacles in search of love and commitment.

I hope you enjoy Jill and Grant’s story, and that you’ll come back to the third in the BLACKBERRY HILL MEMORIAL series in August. If you missed the first book in the series, Almost a Family, you can find it at www.eHarlequin.com.

I love hearing from readers at www.roxannerustand.com, www.booksbyrustand.com or at P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52406-2550. Send a SASE and I’ll send you bookmarks or other promotional material.

Wishing you all the best for your own happily ever after!

Roxanne Rustand

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With love to Larry, Andy, Brian and Emily.

I am so proud of all of you!

With many thanks to Rene Miller for her research assistance

into small-town law practices, Michelle Klosterman, R.N.

CEN (Certified in Emergency Nursing), whose expertise in

the operation of small-town hospitals has been invaluable,

and to Lyn Cote for your friendship and your assistance with

details of life in northern Wisconsin!

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

HE WAS LATE again…and this time, she knew why.

Jill dropped her gaze from the mantel clock to the dying embers in the fireplace, her fingers pressed deep into the back of her husband’s leather recliner.

Her stomach pitched at the sound of a car door slamming outside. She nearly turned away and headed for the open staircase, knowing there’d still be a measure of security and comfort in feigning ignorance.

Dreading the confrontation to come.

Knowing that it was long overdue.

And well-aware that she deserved better than evenings alone and whispered conjecture among the people she passed on the streets of Blackberry Hill.

Some of her patients at the clinic knew. She’d seen the nervous darting of their eyes and their tentative, sympathetic smiles.

She’d even caught some of the rumors in the aisles of Crupper’s Family Grocery on Main, when the gossips hadn’t realized she was one aisle over. Sad, isn’t it? A handsome couple like that. Goes to show money and fancy degrees don’t guarantee happiness.

But it wasn’t just the rumors and sympathy. It was everything else over the past two years that had undermined what they’d once had, until now they were strangers living under the same roof.

Grant’s keys jingled outside the front entryway. The door swung open and he walked inside, dropped his briefcase on the antique settee and started down the wide central hallway leading past the parlor and dining room to the kitchen and den.

“Grant.”

He faltered and turned, one brow raised in surprise. “You’re up late,” he said.

“Or early. It’s already two-thirty, Grant. Where have you been?”

“It was my day to be at the Kendrick office.” Irritation flickered in his dark, handsome face. “You know how far that is.”

“Two hours.” She took a deep breath. “And you’re usually back by seven-thirty. I was worried about you, so I called your brother. He said you were both done at the courthouse by five, but you didn’t go back to his office.”

“As if he knew.” Grant lowered his voice. “He sure as hell wasn’t there. He took off for the golf course.”

Before, she’d just felt anxiety over this inevitable meeting. Now, anger gnawed at her and her heart beat at a dizzying pace. “He was there, at seven. You weren’t. He forgot his billfold.”

Grant spun on his heel and strode into the parlor to within a few feet of her, a muscle ticking at the side of his jaw. “So, Detective Jill on the case. Assuming the worst.”

“It’s a little hard to ignore the rumors flying around this town. It’s even harder to ignore the way people glance at me and look away, as if they’re wondering when the poor, stupid wife is going to catch on.”

His dark brown eyes glittered. “To what, Jill? Say it.”

“You’ve been late five nights out of seven the past week. When you’re here, you may as well not be—you’re a million miles away. You’ve been seen with that red-haired woman in your car on back country roads. And,” Jill added bitterly, “this entire town seemed to know what was going on weeks before I ever caught on.”

His voice dropped another level—a sure sign of his anger. “So you’ve accused, tried and convicted me. Without saying a word. Without asking me a thing.”

“It doesn’t take much imagination. I sit in this house alone, night after night after night.”

“Then you ought to be happy. You sure put yourself and this heap of rubble above anything I want.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He cursed under his breath. “It’s all about you, Jill. Always. We moved three times to accommodate med school, your internship and your residency. I was glad to do it, if it made you happy. Then we moved here so I could help my dad, and I wanted a nice place in town. One that wouldn’t consume every last second of my time just trying to make it livable. I want a family. Except it’s still just all about you.”

Afraid to say a word, she felt as if she was teetering at the edge of a precipice with jagged glass waiting far below.

“You got what you wanted,” he continued, the absence of emotion and the cold, flat expression in his eyes more chilling than outright anger. “In every way. You got your career. You got this damned house—a place that’s done nothing but drive us further apart. And that little inconvenience of an unexpected pregnancy? Gone.”