Forever...Again
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Maureen Child
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Chapter One
Lily Cunningham laughed to herself as she swiped a paper towel along the counter in one of the birthing rooms. If her friends in New York could see her now, she thought. They’d never believe it. But then who would?
A woman of forty-five who’d hit the top of her profession, made tons of money and lived in a plush apartment in Manhattan would appear to have everything she’d ever wanted. Right?
Wrong.
Lily crumpled the paper towel, stepped on the pedal of the gleaming stainless steel trash can and dropped the used paper inside. Smiling to herself, she left the birthing room, turning the light out behind her.
Stepping into the hall, she breathed deeply, enjoying the cool, soothing pastel tones on the walls and the scent of fresh flowers drifting through the women’s clinic. The sound of the three-inch heels of her scarlet pumps were muffled on the carpeted hallway as she made her way to her office. Smiling and nodding at the people she passed, she heard the indignant cry of a newborn from one room, and from behind the closed door of another, she heard a midwife calmly saying, “You have to remember to breathe, Shelley.”
Lily smiled and kept walking.
This is what made her happy, she thought.
Being here.
In Kentucky.
At the Foster Midwifery Clinic.
Doing work that meant something. That had impact on people’s lives. That required more of her than looking spectacular at a business dinner.
“Lily!”
She stopped and swung around to face Mari Bingham, the wonderful doctor who’d brought Lily on as public relations director in the first place. As usual, Mari was walking at a half run. The woman simply never slowed down.
“Where’s the fire?” Lily asked, smiling.
“Where isn’t a fire?” Mari shook her head and then jammed both hands into the pockets of her white lab coat, rummaging around in their depths. “I swear, it’s as if the whole county decided nine months ago that it would be a great time to make a baby.”
“I noticed.” And Lily liked it. She’d never had children of her own, which was just one of the small sore spots that ached in the corners of her heart. Oh, she’d learned to live with the disappointment years ago, and being here, constantly in the midst of labors and deliveries…almost made her feel a part of everything.
Working for the midwifery clinic and women’s ealth center was like having a ringside seat for a miracle, every day.
“We’ve only got the one birthing room empty at the moment.” Lily grinned. “If this keeps up, maybe you should think about expanding.”
Mari’s eyes widened. “Bite your tongue,” she said on a half laugh. “We’ve got plenty to do right now, with the clinic and the…” Her voice trailed off and a scowl tightened her expression.
Lily could have kicked herself. She hadn’t meant to give Mari any reason to think about the ridiculous accusations flying around. But judging by the tired, haunted look in Mari’s eyes, the younger woman was doing a lot of thinking lately, with or without Lily’s reminders.
Reaching out, she laid one hand on Mari’s arm, and the woman stilled. “You’re not to worry about any of this, you know,” Lily said. “It’s bull, all of it. And that sheriff will figure it out sooner or later.”
Mari sighed and at last pulled her right hand free of her pocket, a slip of paper clutched in her hand. “I’ve known Bryce practically my whole life,” she said softly. Shaking her head, she shifted her gaze from Lily’s as if she couldn’t bear to meet the sympathy and understanding she’d find there. “If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be his prime suspect in an illegal drug investigation, I’d have laughed myself sick.”
“As you should,” Lily said.
“It doesn’t sound so funny anymore.” Mari glanced over her shoulder, down the long hallway toward the waiting room. Sitting in chairs were a half-dozen women waiting to be examined. Small children sat at the miniature tables and chairs, reading books or coloring. Everything looked perfectly normal. And it really wasn’t. Nothing had been normal in months.
Turning around, Mari lifted her gaze to Lily’s. “If Bryce doesn’t clear this up soon, we may lose even more funding, and then I don’t know what we’ll do.”
“That’s for me to worry about,” Lily said firmly, making sure her voice sounded way more confident than she felt at the moment. “You’ll see. The fund-raising party will bring in bushel loads of cash. We’ll leave our important guests staggered and, hopefully, broke.”
Mari smiled and nodded, though doubt flickered in her eyes.
“Nice thought. And on that subject—” Mari held out the slip of paper “—this is why I stopped you. It’s the name and number of another possible contributor. My grandmother says, and I quote, ‘They’ve got more money than sense, honey. They should be good for a sizable donation.”’
“Your grandmother should have my job.”
“Oh, no.” Mari smiled and this time her heart was in it. “Grandmother doesn’t have the kind of tact required to part a billionaire from his wallet.”
“And that’s where I come in.” Lily grinned and winked. She snatched the piece of paper. “You’ll see, Mari. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Your mouth to God’s ear.”
“Oh,” Lily smiled and promised, “always.”
As Mari hurried back down the long, well-lit hall, Lily stared after her. Despite waving her pom-poms for Mari’s sake, Lily was a little worried. Things had just been so darn strange lately. She never would have expected to run into a drug scandal in a small town in Kentucky. But then, she thought wearily, some things know no boundaries.
Turning back toward her office, she walked inside, sat down behind her desk and took a moment to admire her surroundings. Always a woman who preferred beauty whenever possible, she’d painted her office walls a soft, dreamy blue, and had hung white, lacy curtains at the windows. Framed watercolors—some by local artists—hung on the walls, and two crystal vases held cheerful bouquets of simple flowers. The daisies, carnations and peonies brightened the room, and their combined fragrance scented the air like summer perfume. A Bokhara rug in shades of crimson and gold covered the plain, serviceable carpet and was the perfect backdrop for her Queen Anne desk.
Naturally, most of the other offices at the clinic weren’t quite so lavishly appointed. But Lily was a big believer in making your workspace comfortable. If she enjoyed pretty things, why shouldn’t she bring them in to brighten up her office?
A china tea service sat on the library table beneath the window, where sunlight dazzled through the lacy sheers to form dainty patterns across the carpet. Easing back in her maroon leather chair, Lily toed her heels off, lifted her legs and propped her feet on the corner of her desk. She wiggled her toes and nearly sighed at the relief. Fashion could be a killer, she mused.
Lifting one hand to push her hair back from her face, she set the charms on her heavy, platinum bracelet jangling.
“I always know when you’re around,” a deep voice said from the open doorway, “you’re like a cat with a bell around its neck.”
Lily’s stomach jumped and she almost pulled her feet down off the desk, but just managed to stop herself. What would be the point of pretending dignity when the man had already seen her?
Ron Bingham, Mari’s father, and currently the thorn in Lily’s side, took up most of the doorway. Leaning his right shoulder against the jamb, he stared at her as if he had all the time in the world.
Sharp, blue-green eyes bored into hers from across the room. His neat black hair was lightly sprinkled with gray at the temples, and he wore a flawlessly groomed beard and mustache. She’d never been a fan of beards, but as beards went, she had to admit Ron’s was handsome. He wore a pair of neatly pressed khaki slacks, dark-brown dress shoes and a starched-within-an-inch-of-its-life white, long-sleeved shirt. His tan jacket actually had suede patches at the elbows, and his solemn brown tie finished off the image of successful and yet somehow boring business man.
Although, she thought, despite his dismal taste in clothing, Ron Bingham could never actually be considered boring. He was far too irritating for that.
Lily propped her elbows on the arms of her chair and hoped her sleek, red skirt wasn’t drooping enough to give him a view of anything interesting. “So, you knew I’d be here because of the sound of my charm bracelet?”
“Yep.”
One-word answers.
So caveman.
So annoying.
And why, in this man, so attractive?
“Well,” Lily said, smiling, “aren’t you the world-class detective? Most people would have assumed I was here because of my name on the door.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t look any too happy about it.
“Clever woman.”
“Thank you.”
“Never cared for clever women.”
“Well,” Lily said, “color me crushed.”
He sighed and pushed away from the door. Folding his arms across an impressively broad chest, he tipped his head to one side and stared at her. “Is there any reason in particular we seem to swipe at each other all the time?”
“Because it’s fun?” Lily smiled, enjoying his discomfort. She supposed she should feel badly about that, but really, the man was so stuffy, he probably just stood his suits up in the corner every night rather than bothering with a closet. How he ever could have fathered a daughter as charming and sweet natured as Mari was simply beyond her. His late wife must have had all the charisma in the family gene pool.
Ron Bingham stared down at her and wondered why the hell he bothered. Why was it he always felt compelled to stop by this woman’s office when he was at the clinic? Why did he always allow himself to be drawn into a baiting contest?
Lillith, Lily, Cunningham was exactly the kind of woman he’d always avoided. Born into a wealthy family and living the kind of privileged life most people could only dream about, she appeared to trip through life with a studied indifference that simply confounded him. She had no plan. She had no work ethic. She had no…she had no business wearing bright red suits with short skirts and high heels that totally distracted a perfectly sane man.
When Mari first hired Lily as the new PR director for the clinic, Ron had expected to dislike the woman on sight. He’d assumed she’d roar into this tiny corner of Kentucky and proclaim it backwoodsy. Instead, she was dropping seamlessly into life here and, damn it, doing a good job with the clinic as well. Which only served to heighten his confusion.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” she asked, and he hated that he noticed the deep timbre of her voice.
Telling himself to stop acting like a dumbstruck teenager, Ron got a grip on his roving thoughts and spoke up. “I’m here to pick up the list of people you’re inviting to the fund-raiser.”
One blond eyebrow lifted into a delicate arch over her steady brown eyes. “You’re a messenger now?”
He scowled at her. “Simply doing a favor.”
Lily smiled then, and he tried not to notice the wattage in that simple act. But when the woman turned on the juice, her whole face lit up and her eyes seemed to sparkle.
“I know,” she said. “Just teasing. Actually, I spoke to your mother this morning. I already sent a copy of the list to her.”
Ron frowned and wondered why in the hell his mother hadn’t bothered to tell him that this trip to the clinic was unnecessary. If he’d known, he could have stayed away and saved both himself and Lily the bother of yet another round in their game of one-upmanship.
She swung her legs off the edge of the desk in a graceful sweep that caught his attention despite his better judgment. But hell, he was male, wasn’t he? Only natural that he should notice a pair of shapely legs. And as she slid her feet into the high heels that did absolutely amazing things for her calves, he told himself there was nothing unusual about looking. It was touching that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow himself.
Not that he wanted to touch.
He groaned inwardly and focused his gaze on her big brown eyes instead. He wasn’t entirely sure which view was safer.
She stood up and her bold red suit seemed to cling to every curve. And, God help him, she had plenty of curves. She wasn’t very tall, no more than five-six or -seven, but every inch of her was solidly packed.
“I can give you another copy if you like…”
“Not necessary,” he said, already backing toward the door. Coward his brain whispered.
Damn right, he countered silently.
“If you’re worried about the clinic, you needn’t be,” she said.
Instantly Ron’s attention shifted to where it should, hopefully, remain. On business.
“You’ll forgive me if I go ahead and worry anyway.”
“Of course you will.”
The sigh behind her words had him asking, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She eased one hip onto the corner of her desk, perching gingerly against the antique furniture. “I only meant that people like you will worry whether there’s cause or not.”
“People like me?”
She lifted her left hand into a brief wave, and that bracelet of hers chimed musically. “You know, stuffy, stalwart types.”
Stalwart he could live with. Stuffy seemed a little…insulting.
“And you figure you know my ‘type’ quite well, do you?”
“Not hard to guess.”
Leave now, he thought. Leave before you get drawn into yet another contest of wills with a woman who had absolutely no “back-up gear” in her. Naturally though, he couldn’t do that.
“I’m fascinated,” he said dryly.
She smiled briefly. “Oh, I can see that.”
“Please, explain my ‘type.”’
She paused, watching him, and even the air between them hummed with expectation. Then she started talking.
“Okay…” She pushed off the desk and walked across her ridiculously expensive and out-of-place rug to stop just inches in front of him. “I grew up around people as sturdy as you, you know. So I speak from experience.”
“Can’t wait.”
One corner of her mouth twitched, and his gaze fastened on the curve of her lip, damn it.
“You always do what’s expected of you.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Just boring.”
“And boring is a crime?”
“Just tedious.”
“Oh,” he said, giving her a slow nod, “do go on.”
“All right.” She walked a slow circle around him, and Ron could have sworn he felt her gaze sweep him up and down as if he were an interesting slide show in a biology class. “You make decisions based on what’s best for ‘the family.’ Never any side trip into interesting…just a long, slow trip on the main highway. Go where you’re supposed to be and get there in the prescribed manner.”
He shifted position uncomfortably. She managed to make him sound like an automaton.
“And you prefer the side roads?”
“Of course.” She shrugged.
“Don’t you get lost?”
“See new territory, discover new things.”
“And you don’t believe in maps, then, either?”
“Maps.” She shook her head. “They’re for outlining the road, and what fun is that? You might as well stay at home and draw red lines on an atlas. If you’re not open to discovery, why go at all?”
“Are we still talking about stodgy, stalwart lives or have we moved on to summer road trips?”
“I said ‘stuffy’ not ‘stodgy’,” she corrected. “And isn’t life the same thing as a good road trip?”
“How do you figure?” Somehow he’d lost control of this conversation. That happened all too often around Lily Cunningham. She seemed to have her own sort of logic that defied description.
She stopped in front of him again and tipped her head back so that she was looking directly into his eyes. The soft scent of jasmine lifted from her hair, and before he could remind himself not to notice…he had.
“Everyone starts out on the same road. Some of us stay on the highway—some of us take the back roads.” She smiled again. “Just like life. Some of us never look away from the goal long enough to be sure there isn’t some other goal that would be just as good if not better. You miss a lot when you never get off the highway.”
“Maybe,” Ron said. “But you don’t run into many dead ends that way, either.”
