A Family to Call Her Own

Rebecca wrinkled her nose and gingerly touched the tender spot. “That, my friend, is a long story.”

She was saved from having to explain by the jingling bell on the door, announcing the arrival of another customer. Ben glanced toward the entrance, then poured her a cup of coffee. “This’ll wake you up. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Rebecca took a long, slow sip of the scalding liquid. Ben really did have a knack with coffee, she acknowledged. Of course, she could easily make her own at the restaurant a few doors away. But three years ago, when Ben had been one of the few people to oppose her request for a permit to open a restaurant, she’d gotten into the habit of stopping by every morning. It had taken a lot of talking on her part to convince him that she was no competition, that they would attract a different clientele. But she’d won him over in the end, and now they were the best of friends. Her early trips for coffee, once peace missions, were now simply an enjoyable way to start the day and catch up on town news.

Rebecca glanced affectionately toward the booth where Ben was conversing with another patron, gesturing emphatically over some point. With his bristly white hair framing a swatch of bald head—the fairway, he called it—he could almost pass for Santa Claus. In fact, he played that role every year at a variety of town holiday functions. And he had certainly been good to Rebecca.

By the time he ambled back to the counter, Rebecca’s cup was almost empty, and he reached for the pot to give her a refill. She started to protest, but he waved her objections aside. “I know you usually only indulge in one cup, but you’ll have a busy day today, bein’ Saturday and all. You’ll need it.” He reached into the toaster oven behind him and plopped a bagel on a plate, adding cream cheese and a pat of butter. “And have this, too. You need to keep up your energy. Running a restaurant is hard work. I know. Although how you manage to stay so skinny in this business is beyond me. Course, I went the other way.” He patted his generous stomach and grinned. “Too much sampling, I guess,” he said with a wink.

Rebecca smiled. “Thanks, Ben. What would I do without you?”

He waved her comment aside. “You’d get along just fine. You’ve got those two old busybodies dithering over you all day at the restaurant.”

“Now, Ben,” she admonished him gently. “You know I could never manage without Rose and Frances. They’re a godsend.”

With a snort he reached for a damp rag and began polishing the sparkling counter. Rebecca stifled a smile as she took a bite of the bagel. The friendly rivalry for her affections between the two camps—Ben in the diner, Rose and Frances in the restaurant—always amused her. But she was grateful to be blessed with such loyal friends.

“Well, all I can say is, you make the best coffee in town,” Rebecca declared to appease him. She knew he was mollified when he handed her the morning paper.

“Here. Take a gander,” he said gruffly. “Probably be the only time all day you sit down.”

“Thanks, Ben.” Rebecca took the peace offering and scanned the headlines, her attention caught by a story on area flooding. She didn’t even look up when the jangling bell announced a new arrival, at least not until Ben leaned down to give her an update.

“Mark’s here. Got a stranger with him, too.”

Even before she glanced up at the mirror over the grill and saw his reflection, Rebecca knew with uncanny certainty that the stranger with Mark was the man in the fog. She swallowed her last sip of coffee with difficulty, her pulse suddenly accelerating as she peeked above the paper to surreptitiously survey his image. If she’d had any doubts about his identity, the bandage at his hairline immediately confirmed her intuition. And if she’d sensed a power and virility radiating from him Thursday night when he was half-unconscious, today it was at full strength. His attire—worn jeans that sat well on his slim hips, and a dark green cotton shirt that revealed a glimpse of dark brown hair at the open neckline—only enhanced his appeal.

Suddenly Rebecca felt shaky, and though she made an attempt to control her physical reaction to his presence, it proved futile. She didn’t have much time to try, anyway, because Mark immediately walked over to her, the stranger in his wake.

“Hi, Rebecca. Can we join you?”

Rebecca turned slightly at their approach and forced herself to smile at Mark, avoiding the stranger’s eyes as she struggled to find her voice. “Of course.”

Mark climbed onto a stool and gestured toward his companion. “Rebecca, this is a buddy of mine from way back, Zach Wright. He’s a reporter—for that paper, in fact,” Mark said, leaning over to tap on the section Rebecca was clutching. “He’s here to cover the flood. Zach, Rebecca Matthews.”

Rebecca could no longer avoid looking at the stranger, so she took a deep breath and turned to face him. The last time he’d gazed at her his eyes had been glazed, unfocused and dull with pain. Now they were clear and alert and warm. And disturbing. Her pulse went into overdrive.

Zach held out his hand, and short of being rude, she had no choice but to place hers in his firm grasp. “It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca.” He had a pleasant voice, deep and mellow, with just a touch of huskiness.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” She tried to think of something else to say, anything, but her mind suddenly went blank. All she could do was stare into his compelling brown eyes.

Zach was equally captivated by the hazel eyes locked on his. Rebecca Matthews was a beautiful woman, with classic high cheekbones accentuated by the French twist hairstyle of her russet-colored hair. Beautiful and, surprisingly, familiar. He somehow sensed that their paths had crossed before. He had a good memory for names and faces—a skill that was essential in his business—and it rarely failed him. But he came up empty on the woman across from him. Although how he could forget someone who looked like Rebecca Matthews was beyond him.

As the seconds lengthened, Zach realized that they were beginning to draw curious glances, and he reluctantly released her delicate hand with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry…I don’t mean to stare, but…have we met before?” he asked, his eyes probing, quizzical.

Rebecca debated her answer. Originally she’d planned to keep her role in the stranger’s rescue a secret because he was a stranger. But now that she knew he was a friend of Mark’s, remaining anonymous was less important. She’d known Mark for several years, and if this man was a friend of his, he was okay.

She smiled faintly, and a becoming flush tinted her cheeks. “Sort of. Although given the circumstances I’m not surprised you’re having a hard time placing me. Between the fog and the accident, I’m amazed you remember anything.”

Zach stared at her, the puzzlement in his eyes rapidly giving way to comprehension. “You mean…it was you on the road Thursday night? You were the one who stopped to help and drove me to the hospital?” he asked incredulously.

She nodded and glanced away, reaching for her coffee cup. “Yes.”

Mark stared at Rebecca, then at Zach. “Are you telling me that Rebecca is the angel of mercy you’ve been raving about?”

Rebecca’s startled gaze flew to Zach’s, and he felt his neck redden. But before he could speak, Mark leaned over to examine Rebecca’s chin.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “I just noticed the bruise! What happened? It looks like somebody slugged you.”

Rebecca’s gaze flickered to Zach, then skittered away. “It was an accident,” she said with a shrug, dismissing his question.

There was a moment of silence, and when Zach spoke his voice was troubled. “Why do I have a feeling I’m responsible for that?” he said slowly.

Rebecca turned to find him frowning as he studied the purple bruise shading the delicate line of her jaw. She shrugged again, flushing in embarrassment. “It was an accident,” she repeated. “You were hurt. You lost your balance, and I was in the way.”

He expelled a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “I think I owe you a very big thank-you—and a sincere apology,” he said quietly, his intense eyes holding hers captive.

Rebecca dismissed his thanks with a shrug. “I’m glad I could help. And this is nothing,” she assured him, gesturing vaguely toward her jaw. “So how are you?” she inquired, feeling increasingly self-conscious under Zach’s speculative gaze.

“Doing better. Thanks.”

“Twelve stitches and a concussion,” Mark elaborated. “Go ahead, Zach. Sit down,” he suggested, indicating the stool next to Rebecca.

Zach hesitated, sensing that for some reason his presence was disruptive to the woman beside him, but she smiled politely.

“Please do,” she seconded. “I have to leave, anyway.” She drained her cup in one long gulp and slid to the ground. “I hope you recover quickly,” she said, forcing herself to meet his magnetic eyes.

“Thanks.” He grinned disarmingly, once more extending his hand, and again she was left with no choice but to take it. As he enfolded her slender fingers in his firm grip, her heart began to bang painfully against her chest, so strongly she was almost afraid he would be able to feel it through the vibrating tips of her fingers. His eyes held hers—curious, questioning, warm…and interested. Which did nothing to slow her metabolism.

“Thanks again for Thursday night.” His voice was still shaded by that appealing, husky timbre. “I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. I’m just sorry about that.” His gaze flickered down to her jaw, and he started to reach up as if to touch the bruise. Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped, but suddenly he dropped his hand, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans instead. Rebecca’s pulse kicked back in, then raced on.

“Anyway, I just want you to know that I don’t usually go around hitting women,” he assured her, his voice even more husky than before.

She cleared her throat, hoping her own voice wouldn’t desert her. “I’m sure you don’t. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Carefully she withdrew her hand, and with an effort she tore her gaze from his to look at Mark. “See you later.”

“You bet.”

“Ben, thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime.”

And then she fled.

Zach planted his hands on his hips and watched her leave, a slight frown marring his brow. Clearly she’d wanted to escape from his presence as quickly as possible. But why? It wasn’t that she was unfriendly. She just seemed…well, skittish. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone quite like Rebecca Matthews. She was poised and polished, yet she seemed somehow…untouched. Vulnerable. Fragile. Without hard edges or pretense. She radiated an almost innate goodness, an old-fashioned air of shy sweetness. Those weren’t qualities he’d run into often, and he was intrigued—and captivated.

He turned thoughtfully and straddled the stool next to Mark, who was watching him with amused interest.

“Forget it, pal,” Mark warned with a grin.