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  Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, Erin thought of another night, another hospital. Only then, she'd been waiting for news of her father.

  Sometimes it seemed as if a million years had passed since Pop's attack. Other times, it seemed as if it had happened only yesterday. She could still hear his pleading. "Take me home, Erin," he'd said in a broken voice."I can't rest in this place if I die. I need to go home." And Erin had vowed to herself she would take him home, all right, but not to bury him; she'd promised herself that she would see him completely recuperated in the tiny Oklahoma town where he and his wife had grown up.

  It was the least Erin could do. She was an only child, born late in her parents' lives after countless years of attempting to conceive. She'd been the center of their existence, showered with love and blessed with a sense of security that few of her friends had ever known. And she'd be damned if she would see those two beloved people spend their golden years in a city where they'd become afraid to walk the streets. Every time she recalled the image of her father lying in that hospital bed, and her mother wringing her hands as she stood by, Erin knew that she would give up anything and everything to see to their happiness.

  So she had made some sacrifices. She'd left behind good friends, an exciting job and an active social life in Detroit, not to mention a man whom she'd almost been convinced was "the one." But if Brian had been, he would have understood, and would have waited for her instead of becoming engaged to someone else. She'd quickly realized she was better off without him.

  "Erin... ? Why, it is you."

  Erin sat up, shoving thoughts of Brian away to smile at the short, matronly nurse. Her tightly permed hair was pulled back in a banana clip behind a cluster of curls at her forehead that bounced with every step she took. "Hi, Janeen."

  "You can't be pulling a double shift," she said, grinning at Erin as she walked behind the desk. "No such thing as doubles in little old Munro."

  "You're right," Erin replied with a chuckle as she walked toward her. "I'm just here to check on J.B."

  Janeen's grin faded, and she shook her head slowly. "We did everything we could, but the poor old guy didn't make it."

  Erin couldn't find her voice for a moment. She felt cold inside—a deep, hollow sense of loss she couldn't explain. "He... died?"

  Janeen nodded. "Had another attack, hon. Massive, this time."

  The chill deepened, and Erin frowned, not understanding why she felt such intense sadness. She had spent less than an hour of her life with J. B. Munro. There was no logical reason for Erin to feel anything but simple regret. Still, tears pooled in her eyes, then streaked down her face.

  "Oh, hon..." Janeen said, blinking with surprise. She circled the desk and placed a comforting arm around Erin's shoulder, her curly bangs tickling Erin's chin. "You're taking this awfully hard, aren't you?"

  How could she explain to Janeen what she couldn't explain to herself? "I think it's— Well, I think it must be because he reminded me of my father. I don't know if you'd heard about my pop's heart attack in Detroit—"

  "Munro's a small town. We all knew his complete medical history about five minutes after you hit town." Janeen smiled kindly and gave Erin's shoulders another squeeze. "But old J.B. lived a long, full life. Goodness, he was a hundred and seven, did you know that? Much older than your daddy."

  Erin dashed the backs of her hands across her cheeks. "I know, and I feel so...silly, crying for someone I don't even know."

  "You shouldn't." Janeen blinked back a few tears herself. "I think it's touching, in fact. And I'll tell you what else I think. It's a bunch of baloney, all that 'maintain a professional distance' stuff. If we didn't care, we would have chosen another sort of career. Besides, even though the whole town will make a big to-do about J.B.'s passing, there's no one left who'll shed real tears, is there, now?"

  Erin sniffed. Her throat felt raw and her eyes swollen and hot, as though she'd been crying for hours. "No family, you mean?"

  "No family. No friends. Unless you count the man who let you and Chuck in this morning. And he's just a paid employee, from what I understand." Janeen patted her arm, then walked back behind the desk, still eyeing Erin with concern. "And don't you think J.B. wasn't grateful for the compassion you showed him on his last day, Erin. He must have sensed how much you cared, hon."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, he mentioned your name to me. They moved him to the cardiac-care unit, of course, but it was slow down here so I checked on him a few times. He was conscious on one of my visits." A melancholy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, and she reached for the phone that had begun to ring. Picking up the receiver, her index finger hovered over the lighted-up button for a moment. "I think he plans to thank you again.. .if you wind up in the same place," she said with a wink. "He told me to tell you someday you'd know why he was so grateful."

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE HEARD HER MOTHER'S BUICK pull into the drive. Two car doors opened, then closed. The muffled sounds of her mother's and Aunt Shirley's voices drifted through the screen door. Erin looked up from her magazine, smiling at the women's chatter. Her father shifted in the rented hospital bed.

  "Wonder how many antique shops they wiped out this time," he grumbled good-naturedly.

  "Well, good morning," Erin said with a chuckle, since it was actually late afternoon. She set down her magazine and crossed the room. It had been two months since his second heart attack, the one he'd suffered shortly after Mr. Munro's death, and Hank Sawyer was still recuperating. His sleep cycle was still irregular. He tossed and turned at night, then slept during the day. Nor had he regained enough strength, in Erin's opinion.

  "Don't know why you aren't out there helping bolster the economy with them."

  Erin laughed, lifting her father's arm to take his pulse. "Can't keep up with them. Those two take their shopping seriously."

  He grinned again. "You ought to be out doing something, though. Young woman like you shouldn't have to waste your time sitting in a sickroom all day."

  "Stop that," she said gently. "If I wanted to be anywhere else, do anything else, I'd be out doing it, wouldn't I?"

  "Don't know about that."

  Erin ignored his comment like she always did. Lately he'd been complaining a lot about her spending so much time with him.

  The screen door opened. Her mother and Aunt Shirley bustled in, loaded down with sacks and packages. At her father's groan, Erin smiled.

  "Do the words fixed income mean nothing to you, woman?" Hank said to his wife.

  Shirley laughed and Dorothea Sawyer gave her husband a look of mock annoyance. "You always were tighter than the bark on a tree," she chided, setting down her haul on the living room sofa and making her way over to the bed. She dropped a kiss on his cheek. "Your color's better than usual," she stated, then looked up at Erin. "You going to let him up and around soon?"

  "I think so." Although his restlessness at night still bothered Erin, her mother needed reassurance. The stress would begin to affect her health soon, and Erin didn't want both her parents in a fragile state. "But no power shopping with you," she added. "Not for another year, at least."

  Her mother grinned and reached for her husband's hand, lacing her fingers through his. "I'll give up the binges the minute he's out of this bed."

  Hank's laugh was spirited. "There's incentive!"

  Dorothea patted his arm. "He's getting better, all right." She turned to Erin. "Are you gonna love what I bought you! I found the most beautiful locket for you in an antique shop. Come over here and see—"

  "Can't that wait, Dorothea?" Aunt Shirley interrupted. "I was hoping Erin would take a break. Maybe go with me to Braum's for a cup of coffee or something."

  "Oh, yes, that's a good idea. Shirley, make sure you talk to her about getting back to Detroit soon. You weren't supposed to have been here this long in the first place, child. We're taking advantage, I think-"

  "Mom, you're not," Erin argued, struggling not to show
her impatience. Her parents had broached this particular subject too many times already. Now her mother had brought Aunt Shirley into it.

  "Have you ever known me to do something I didn't want to do? If Pop hadn't had the second attack, I would have left sooner. You know that."

  "Oh, we know it, all right. You've been an independent little cuss since the day you were born," Hank said, a thread of pride in his voice."But you were also born to take care of people. You've always jumped at the chance to nurse every stray animal in the vicinity, every sick friend. It's no wonder you chose to go into medicine."

  "Pop," she protested, shaking her head, "you're hardly a stray, and I think you can see it's my place to-"

  "Well, that's just it, honey." Hank took her hand in his. "We think you're taking your responsibility to us too far. It's not that we don't appreciate it, but it's time you got on with your own life."

  Her mom spoke up. "Your father's right. You've always been a caregiver, but maybe we've depended on you more than we should. And this past year, well, you've given up far too much to care for us. We know you did it out of love, but we want you to be happy, too."

  Erin looked from parent to parent, her frown marring her smooth brow. "I haven't given up all that much. I'm still a paramedic, and I plan to return to Detroit once Pop's health improves."

  "It's not the same, Erin," her mother said, "being a paramedic here rather than in Detroit. We know that. Much as we didn't like you being in dangerous situations from time to time, we knew you thrived on the excitement. And we accepted it."

  "Okay, granted...if s not the same." Erin moved away from her father's bed, dragging a hand through her hair in frustration. "But you've given me so much over the years. Why won't you let me help you now? It'll be easy enough to pick up my life in Detroit again, once you're better," she assured them.

  "We think you should do it now, Erin."

  Erin shook her head. "No, Pop. I'll know when the time is right for me to leave. If you hadn't had the second attack—"

  "But I did," he said. "And I could have another one, and one after that. But if I take care of myself and take it easy, I probably won't. Even if I do, I won't have you postponing your life indefinitely. It's just not right, girl!"

  "Pop, calm down," she said, alarmed at the bright flush in his cheeks. She strode back to the bed, and reached for his wrist to check his pulse.

  "Cut that out." He pulled his arm back. "I'm still your father, not just your patient. And you're going to listen to me."

  Erin blinked. She couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken in such a forceful tone. She was glad to hear it in a way, glad he was showing strength. But it also disconcerted her. And hurt. She only had her parents' best interests at heart.

  She was even more surprised by her father's next statement. "You're not going to get your way this time, honey. Your mother and I have discussed this and come to the decision that we're throwing you out... for your own good."

  "Throwing me out!" Erin sputtered. "But I don't want— And you're not well enough to—"

  "Oh, yes, I am. And Shirley and your mother," he went on, his tone unyielding, "will help you pack."

  "Help me pack?"

  "That's what I said."

  Erin's mother touched her arm, her eyes sympathetic. "Honey, don't take this the wrong way. We love having you here, but this is no good for you. You're young and vital, and until your father's health problems, you had a life."

  "Mom!" Erin gave an incredulous laugh. "I have a life now!" She glanced over at her aunt. "Aunt Shirley, he's your brother. Talk some sense into them. You know this is only tena srary. Just because I've taken some time to help out doesn't mean I've become some... some old maid who's still living with her parents!"

  Shirley cleared her throat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Actually, hon, I was the one who brought this to their attention in the first place."

  "What!"

  "Well, sweetie, you've started to resemble your cousin, Beth Ann. Thirty-six and never lived a day away from Chester and Louise, and... Well, it worried me. So I spoke up."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake! I am nothing like Beth Ann." To Erin it was laughable. Her cousin was attached at the hip to her parents.

  "But you have to admit, Erin, you rarely take a night out to spend time with friends or even go shopping with your mom and me," Shirley put in quietly.

  Erin threw her hands in the air and groaned. "Okay, okay. I'll get out more," she declared. "In fact, I'll go today, all right? I'll take in a movie or something. Would that make you all happy?"

  But it appeared that it wouldn't. Her father's features showed he wasn't about to bend.

  "Good idea. You could use a breather. But your mother and Shirley will be packing your belongings while you're out, sweetheart."

  ERIN FUMED AS SHE DROVE up and down the tiny town's main drag a short time later. She cursed under her breath and smacked the steering wheel for good measure. They were all too stubborn for then-own good.

  She turned down Munro Boulevard, knowing she would need at least another thirty minutes of solitude in order to cool down enough to face them again.

  Okay, she told herself, so they were only thinking of her own good. She realized that. They were unselfish, caring people, and Erin had always appreciated that fact, but she knew what was best for them. She was simply going to take a firmer stand.

  Congratulations... very parental of you, a small voice in her brain piped in, irritating her further.

  She wasn't playing the parent here! she argued. She only wanted what was best for them.

  So true, the voice commiserated. What in the world came over them? The nerve of them—looking out for your welfare over their own!

  She grimaced, not enjoying this debate with her conscience. She fingered the locket her mother had given her just before she'd stormed out, guilt washing in and dousing her ire. Stopping for a traffic light, she sighed. What a predicament. She loved her parents, and wanted them healthy and whole . . .

  Exactly what they wanted for her.

  A car horn behind her sounded lightly, and Erin moved through the intersection, hating the indecision that had crept in to shake her resolve. As she approached the Munro estate, which had been opened recently for tours, Erin found herself turning down its long, tree-lined drive. No use continuing aimlessly through town, stewing over the whole thing, she decided. Maybe if she just got her mind off the matter for an hour or so, she could think it through more clearly. Besides, she'd been curious about J. B. Munro and his mansion ever since she'd first come here.

  THE FEROCIOUS-LOOKING stone griffins that stood watch at the two front corners of the house clasped a huge red vinyl banner in their claws that read: Munro Mansion Now Open to the Public.

  Erin tucked her wallet into the pocket of her jeans and locked up her car. Approaching the mansion, she noted that landscapers were restoring the grounds.

  Three 1920s-vintage cars that were parked beneath the portico caught Erin's attention. So did the teenage boy who hovered nearby, wearing his baseball cap backward on his head, and an earring in one ear. The teenager trailed his fingers reverently over the driver's side door of the mint-condition Packard, then popped his head inside the window. Erin glanced in the other side.

  "These are cool old cars, aren't they?" he said.

  "Yes." She found herself trying to picture J.B. as a young man, tooling along in this beauty. It wasn't easy. The image of J.B. as he'd been two months ago was a powerful one.

  "Man, this one is killer," the boy said, opening the car door and sliding onto the leather seat. He gripped the oversize steering wheel, then ran his hand over the dashboard, inspecting the numerous gauges with awe. "Look at this," he said, pointing at a button on the floor next to his sneakered foot. "My dad says these old buttons on the floor are dimmer switches for the headlights."

  "No," Erin said, "don't push it. That's the starter."

  "No lie? Cool. A button instead of keys. You know a lot about these old
cars, huh?" he asked, looking up with sudden admiration in his eyes.

  "Well...no, not a lot." In fact, she knew next to nothing about cars from this era. So why had she known that button was the starter?

  She was distracted by members of a tour group trailing out the open front doors of the mansion.

  "Ostentatious, or what?"

  "Naw. I think he had style. Knew how to live, if you ask me."

  "Well, you can't convince me it was his partner who killed the wife. He did it, then bought off the police..."

  Della. They were referring to her murder, Erin realized with sudden insight.

  Della, I never meant to hurt you. Della, still so beautiful. J.B.'s words came back to her, and Erin was compelled to move up the steps toward the front doors. The inexplicable sense of deja vu returned, this time even stronger, and she put a hand to her chest. Through the placket of her denim shirt, Erin felt the locket her mother had given her.

  She frowned, feeling the odd sensation that she'd been here before—long before—intensify. Then her head began to swim, and, without warning, a vision burst into Erin's mind with such force and vibrancy that the exterior of the house seemed to vanish and her inner world became her only reality.

  She found herself in a ballroom amid a crush of people. Loud, high-spirited jazz music competed with drunken laughter, and smoke swirled up from cigarettes held in long, jeweled holders. Chandeliers drizzled diamonds of light over revelers dressed in costumes from the roaring twenties, the same as the clothes she was wearing. In the center of the ballroom, couples moved with wild abandon to the jaunty rhythm of the music.

  Seemingly from out of nowhere, a man appeared and stepped up to Erin's side. She caught her breath at the intensity of his stare. Did she know him? She'd never laid eyes on the man before, but there was a familiarity about him— No, it was more than that. They'd shared a past—confidences ... secrets... intimacy. His look communicated that. And somehow she would have known it without the look, because she saw and felt more from this encounter than she had with any other man.