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  The child looked up at her gloomily. "Can I stop now?"

  "Almost done, Katie. You're doing super." Mimi motioned for an attendant to take her place before walking over.

  "New patient?" Chelsea asked.

  "Hm. Brand new." Mimi's lips tightened.

  "She sure is cute."

  "If you ignore her fascination with four-letter words and a bite to shame a rottweiler."

  "Her? She looks like Shirley Temple, for heaven's sake! She can't be any older than six or seven."

  Mimi nodded indignantly. "That's right. Seven." Slowly her smile returned, easing out the scowl, and when she murmured, "Poor lamb," her voice was soft with compassion.

  Chelsea watched the little girl struggling to press the pedals of her machine, her small full mouth pursed in a pout, her blond curls bouncing around her dimpled face—and mutiny simmering in her blue eyes.

  "What's her problem? Anything serious?"

  "Not anymore. Her right leg was injured in an accident three years ago. She's had several operations to correct the damage, but she's still left with thin muscles that need strengthening, and a limp, which may or may not disappear with time, we aren't certain."

  "Any more surgery down the road?"

  Mimi shook her head. "Just therapy. But she's been through so much already I'm afraid she's had her fill of hospitals. She wants no part of doctors or nurses or…" She paused and a light went on behind her eyes. "Say…"

  Chelsea's gaze skittered around the room, searching for an exit. She recognized that look. "Mimi, you know I've taken on too many kids as it is. I'm barely making any money now."

  "But she's so tiny. You could slip her in with a group of paying passengers, and nobody'd even notice."

  "I'll have to think about it."

  "Look at her, Chelsea."

  Purposely, Chelsea did not look. She knew she'd be a dead duck if she did. "I said I'll think about it."

  "Please do. I have a feeling she's the type who'd really benefit from your attention."

  Chelsea had been taking children from the hospital up in her balloon for years. The idea occurred to her after a couple chartered a flight to celebrate their son's eighth birthday. Only after the child died four weeks later did Chelsea learn that he had had cancer. His parents, who were fairly well-off, had let him make up a "wish list," and taking a balloon ride was the thing he wanted to do most. After his death they'd called to thank Chelsea again. Their son, they said, had talked about his ride right up to the end.

  Chelsea had felt gratified, knowing she'd created a moment of happiness for the boy, but she'd also felt shaken and angry because of his death. She'd called Mimi, hoping some of her professional objectivity would rub off, but Mimi was no help that night. If anything, she'd made Chelsea feel worse, opening her eyes to the numbers of children in the area who were seriously ill, children whose parents, for the most part, couldn't afford the luxury of granting dying wishes.

  Chelsea had lain awake that night, the cogs of her mind whirring away. If an hour's balloon ride had meant so much to one sick child, maybe it would mean something to others. The next morning she'd called Mimi again and with her help began to make connections at the hospital.

  At first Chelsea gave rides only to seriously ill children, for no other reason than to get their minds off their situation. Then she came up with the idea of using rides as a reward for the children enduring chemotherapy or other painful treatments. Finally, unable to exclude anyone, she'd extended her rides to the children's ward in general. She found her program worked especially well with the kids in physical therapy. That promise of a balloon ride really motivated them to exercise hard. She even had a system of "tickets" that they earned at therapy and presented to her the day of their flight.

  "Is her mother here?" Chelsea asked. "You know I'll have to talk to her first."

  "Uh, no. According to Katie's records, her mother is deceased."

  "Oh, that poor—"

  "Hey, does that mean you're taking Katie on?"

  Chelsea sighed, disgusted with her lack of backbone. "Looks like."

  "Great." Mimi took Chelsea by the arm. "Come on. I'll introduce you to her father."

  Something shot through Chelsea at that moment, a jet of improbable anticipation. Waiting by the reception desk, she held her breath while Mimi ventured into the sitting area. When Mimi touched the arm of the man she'd bumped into earlier, her sense of anticipation exploded into a million arrows of fire.

  Mimi's words hit with a delayed reaction: Katie's mother was deceased—which meant this man was a widower. Chelsea tried to feel sorry for his loss, but all her emotions seemed momentarily occupied with the knowledge that he was single.

  Chelsea watched his lean body tense. He asked if his daughter was all right, then jumped to his feet, apparently still not convinced that she was, and followed Mimi to the reception station. Puzzlement compounded worry when he saw Chelsea waiting there.

  "Are you sure Katie's okay?" he asked again.

  "She's doing great, Mr. Tanner. I'm sorry if I alarmed you," Mimi went on soothingly. "I merely wanted to introduce you to someone, my sister-in-law, Chelsea Lawton."

  The lines between his eyes deepened as his assessing gaze swept over Chelsea. After the way she'd been checking him out earlier, he probably thought she'd arranged this introduction. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks until she was sure they were glowing bright pink.

  "Hi," he ventured warily, extending his hand. "I'm Nick Tanner."

  She shook his hand. It conveyed a sense warmth and solid strength the way no handshake ever had before.

  "Well, I should be getting back to Katie," Mimi interjected. "See you in a few minutes."

  Nick Tanner watched Mimi's retreating figure as if trying to figure out a puzzle, then he turned that perplexed gaze on Chelsea.

  "What's this all about?" he asked guardedly.

  With his undivided attention on her, Chelsea found it hard to breathe. Concentrate, you idiot! she reprimanded herself sharply. Stop imagining this man sailing off into the sunset with you in your balloon.

  She cleared her throat. "Mr. Tanner," she began.

  "Miss Lawton," he replied with a hint of amusement. One eyebrow cocked as his glittering hazel eyes traveled from her hair, which she imagined was an unruly mop by now, down her unlikely-green poncho, to her maroon boots.

  She cleared her throat again. "I run a business called Balloon the Berkshires…"

  His expression changed at the edges, subtly, like a quick flash of heat lightning in summer. "Balloon… ?"

  "Yes. Manned. I'm the owner of a hot-air balloon business. People charter flights with me, I give lessons, do promotions. Occasionally I… I also take up children who are patients here." She wet her lips nervously. His eyes were narrowing, a coolness straightening his spine.

  "Go on," he said.

  Chelsea had liked his voice before, but those two short words positively frosted the air. She blinked in confusion. What was happening here? What was she doing wrong? Usually, people became fascinated when she told them what she did for a living.

  "We've f-found that most children really love the experience of ballooning, and it can often be used as leverage during the course of their therapy."

  "I don't understand." As if to punctuate the point, he folded his arms across his black sweater.

  Summoning all her courage, she continued, "We don't like using the word 'bribe,' but, in essence, that's what it is. The promise of a balloon ride helps get young patients through boring or painful therapy."

  "We? Who's we?" he said in a sudden burst of irritation. "Are you affiliated with this hospital?"

  She gulped. "No. But I'm in close touch with each child's doctor and—"

  "And obviously you've taken a notion to foist Katie into your… your balloon program." He was visibly upset now, his voice grating with sarcasm.

  "Mimi, the nurse who introduced us…she thinks Katie's the sort of case who'd really benefit—"

&nbs
p; "Case! You make my daughter sound like a guinea pig in some damn experiment." The receptionist looked over, embarrassed for Chelsea.

  "I'm sorry. I phrased that poorly. I certainly didn't mean—"

  "And I'd really prefer my daughter didn't learn to make her way through life on bribes."

  "Rewards, Mr. Tanner. Think of them as rewards." Chelsea ran an unsteady hand across her forehead. She'd never received a reaction like this from a parent before. Usually they were thankful and appreciative of her efforts.

  "Sometimes," she stumbled on, "these kids have been through so much they've lost patience with their treatment. They lose hope, even their sense of joy. Occasionally, ballooning can help them get it back."

  He listened, his eyes running over her with disconcerting thoroughness. Then, "I'm not interested, Miss Lawton." He started to move away.

  Impulsively, Chelsea clutched his arm. He tensed and looked at her hand in disdain. She pulled it back, growing hot with humiliation. "Sorry. I've explained myself quite badly, I'm afraid. The first thing I should've told you is that I don't charge for these rides. They're free."

  "That hardly affects my decision. I can afford your rides, and I still don't want Katie up in one of those damn things." People in the waiting room were staring at them now.

  "One of those damn things?" she repeated incredulously. "Mr. Tanner, hot-air balloons are perfectly safe, and I'm a fully qualified, licensed pilot."

  "Excuse me. I'm just not interested," he said, brushing past her.

  "I'm sorry."

  He stopped. "Sorry? That seems to be a popular word in your vocabulary. And what would you do if you got into an accident with one of these kids? Say you're sorry?"

  "An accident? I don't have accidents, Mr. Tanner," she bit out crisply. "You obviously don't understand."

  "I understand perfectly. Do you?" His stare was daunting.

  Her shoulders slumped. "I understand." She could cross Katie's name off her passenger list. But she knew she was disappointed on a deeper level. Absurdly, she regretted having lost the opportunity to get to know this man better.

  No, she amended. Not this man, but the fantasy she'd concocted. Apparently, the two were not the same.

  "Well, let me give you my card, in case you change your mind," she said. "I can be reached at my office on Pine Ridge Road. The phone number's there."

  Nick Tanner's dark head swung up, an odd stillness in his eyes. "Of course."

  "What? Are you familiar with my business?"

  The silence spun out as he stared at her, and for once, he seemed the one who was feeling uneasy.

  "Something wrong, Mr. Tanner?"

  He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "Well, I guess we were bound to meet eventually, anyway."

  The afternoon was quickly taking on a surreal quality. "I don't understand."

  "I've just bought into the Pine Ridge ski area up the road from you. I'm Chet Lockwood's new business partner and, I suppose, your new landlord."

  Chelsea's trembling started at her scalp and ended with her toes. Nick Tanner was the mysterious "state of flux" at Pine Ridge? She was too stunned to say anything and fortunately didn't have to, because at that moment Katie came bounding down the corridor.

  "All done, Daddy," she announced.

  Nick seemed to forget Chelsea immediately. Smiling, he held out his arms, and his daughter leapt into them.

  "Now let's go," the child said adamantly.

  He squeezed her tight and kissed her blond curls. "Anything you say, boss." He set her down, took her coat from Mimi and carefully slipped it on her.

  "Let's go!"

  "Wait a sec, Spud. We've got to button up first."

  As shaken as Chelsea was, there was no missing the love that burned in his eyes.

  "See you next week, Katie," Mimi called, but the child refused to turn around. She undoubtedly had no intention of returning to this hospital.

  With feelings too muddled to understand anymore, Chelsea watched father and daughter leave. In spite of her pronounced limp, Katie carried herself as aloof as a queen, defiant as a devil. Chelsea also noticed she was clinging to her father's hand as if it was a lifeline.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "What a morning, Kate! Isn't it terrific?" Nick stood on the front steps of the Lockwood home, took a deep breath and expelled it with a slow, satisfied "ahhh."

  Behind him, Katie yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Why can't I stay here?"

  His shoulders sagged. He'd thought they were done arguing. "I already told you, Grace can't watch you today. She has to go to a wedding with her father."

  "I can stay alone."

  "Oh, no, you can't." Nick knew what his daughter was up to. She wanted to sit in front of the TV and watch cartoons. Since moving into this house ten days ago, Katie had been doing a lot of that. Nick hadn't been aware so many cartoon shows even existed, and he was beginning to think that Grace, in a misguided effort to please Katie, was helping her search them out. That was the main reason he wanted her to come along today. Besides, the weather was too nice to waste indoors. That sleet a couple of days ago had been winter's last gasp. The temperature was now a balmy seventy degrees, even at seven in the morning, and flowers and leaves were bursting out everywhere.

  "I thought you were looking forward to going to work with me, Spud."

  "I am, I am." Katie didn't sound very eager, though.

  Nick sympathized. It was early and it was Saturday. But his new computer had arrived, and twenty years of jumbled financial data needed to be sorted and entered. The job was formidable, and Nick wondered again how Pine Ridge had managed to stay open so long. Chet Lockwood had no business sense at all. Fortunately, he knew skiing, knew the sport better than anyone Nick had ever met. Together they'd make a good team.

  "Got your toys?" he asked.

  "Yup." Katie nudged her canvas bag with a sneakered foot.

  Nick made a thumbs-up gesture before opening the car door for her. Besides the storybooks, crayons and Legos that usually kept her entertained, he'd made sure to include a jump rope and a ball. She'd spent too much of her young life in hospital beds and plaster casts. She needed to get out in the sunshine and exercise. Any movement would do, and if it was fun, all the better.

  As he was about to drive off, the front door opened, and Grace Lockwood waved to get his attention. She was still in her bathrobe, the long pink quilted thing with the large pearl buttons that looked like the one his mother used to wear.

  "Nickie!" she called. He rolled down the car window. "What would you like for dinner tonight?"

  Nick rubbed his hand over his clean-shaven jaw and thought. Dinner. He wasn't used to thinking about dinner with the taste of orange juice still on his tongue. Fresh-squeezed orange juice, at that.

  "I don't care. Anything."

  "Oh, come on, give me some help. Pot roast? Chicken? I make a nice Chicken Kiev."

  Nick rubbed his jaw again. Every evening so far, she'd prepared them a great dinner. Having kept house for her father since her mother died five years ago, Grace was one terrific cook. But sometimes her meals were a bit too exotic for Katie's palate. He hated to admit it, but the formality of her dining room was beginning to wear on him, too. Besides, preparing these elaborate meals took so much time.

  "How about if we go out to eat, Grace? After being at a wedding all day, I'm sure you won't feel like cooking."

  "I don't mind." She patted her smooth page boy, which looked remarkably the same now as it had last night.

  "But even Julia Child must step out once in a while."

  She giggled. "Oh, all right. If you insist."

  Nick waved, threw the car into gear and set off down the quiet street of the quiet Berkshire town. Beside him, securely strapped into her seat, Katie sighed with relief and said, "Thanks, Dad. And let's make it McDonald's, okay?"

  Nick threw back his head and laughed. "What's the matter? Don't you like Grace's cooking?"

  Katie averted her gaze out the side window.
"When are we gonna get our own house?"

  "Soon, baby. Soon. I'm going to look at a few apartments this week." Nick drove on, past the other dignified colonial homes that rimmed the village green, by the graceful white church with its five-tiered spire catching the early sun.

  He knew Grace was doing her best to please his daughter, but for some reason, Katie refused to warm to her, and he wondered what her reaction would be if he told her he was thinking of marrying Grace.

  Of course, Katie realized he and Grace were dating, but he didn't think she suspected he was considering marriage. Why should she? He'd dated other women and hadn't married them. Just a couple of women, actually. But then, Laura had been dead for only three years.

  Laura. He'd been thinking about her a lot these past few days. It had been a surprisingly long time since he had, too. What surprised him even more was finding his pain and sorrow nearly gone. Only the emptiness remained. And the anger, of course. But he suspected that would never completely go away.

  Oddly, it was that girl with the hot-air balloon business who'd triggered this current rash of memories. Chelsea Lawton.

  Chelsea. Nice name. Different, like her. She'd caught his eye as soon as she'd dashed out of her Jeep, that bright green poncho flapping in the wind, the determined way she'd fought the sleet…

  Nick really couldn't say why she reminded him of Laura. Physically, they were completely different. Laura's hair had been long and blond, while Chelsea's was short, springy, and so dark a brown it was nearly black. Laura had been tall and willow-slender, whereas Chelsea barely cleared his chin, and every inch of her was soft and curved. There was no earthly reason for him to connect the two, but he did nonetheless.

  Maybe it had something to do with the uneasiness he'd been feeling since meeting her, the uncertainty, as if the ground beneath his feet had suddenly begun to pitch and roll—which, of course, was completely intolerable. He'd worked too hard these past three years to take rational control of his life, sweating over choices, eliminating anything that threatened his well-being or Katie's.

  But every time he thought of Chelsea Lawton, his carefully ordered life seemed about to be upended. She projected a raw energy, a vitality—a something—that made him feel oddly vulnerable. Perhaps that was the connection.