here's Meredith?" Matt asked Julie when he came home from work the next afternoon.

She looked up from the dining room table, where she was doing her homework. "She went riding. She said she'd be back before you got home, but you're two hours early." With a grin, she added, "I wonder what the attraction could be here?"

"Brat," Matt said, rumpling her dark hair as he headed for the back door.

Meredith had told Matt yesterday that she enjoyed riding, so Matt had called their neighbor that morning and arranged for Meredith to ride one of Dale's horses.

Outside, he walked across the yard, past the overgrown patch that had been his mother's vegetable garden, while he searched the fields off to the right for a sign of her. He was halfway to the fence when he saw Meredith coming, and the sight sent fear curling up his spine. The chestnut horse was at a smooth, ground-eating gallop, running along the fence line, and Meredith was leaning low over its neck, her hair tossing wildly about her shoulders. As she came nearer, he realized she was going to turn and head the horse toward their barn. Matt changed direction, heading there, too, watching her while his pulse rate slowed to a more even tempo and his fear receded. Meredith Bancroft rode like the aristocrat she was— light and lovely in the saddle and in complete control.

"Hi!" she called, her face flushed and glowing as she brought the horse to a stop in the barnyard beside a bale of rotted hay. "I'll have to cool him down," she said as Matt reached for the horse's bridle, and then everything happened at once: Matt's heel clipped the tines of an old rake left lying on the ground just as Meredith started to swing her leg over the horse's back, and the handle of the rake flew up and hit the horse in the nose. With an outraged snort, the horse lurched and reared. Matt let go of the bridle and made a futile grab for Meredith, and she slid backward, landing on her rump on the hay, then sliding to the ground.

"Goddammit!" he burst out, crouching down and clutching her shoulders. "Are you hurt?"

The bale of hay had broken Meredith's short fall, and she wasn't hurt, she was just mortified and confused about what had happened. "Am I hurt?" she repeated with a look of comic shock as she pushed herself to her feet. "My pride is worse than hurt. It's demolished— destroyed—"

He watched her, his eyes narrowed with concern. "What about the baby?"

Meredith paused in the act of brushing hay and dirt off the seat of Julie's borrowed jeans. "Matt," she informed him with a wry, superior look, letting her hands rest on the seat of her pants, "this is not where the baby is."

He finally realized where her hands were and where she'd fallen. Amusement and relief washed through him, and he feigned a perplexed look. "It isn't?"

For several minutes Meredith sat contentedly, watching him cool the horse, then she remembered something and grinned. "I finished crocheting your sweater today," she called.

He stopped short and stared at her, his expression dubious. "You... made that long ropy thing into a sweater? For me?"

"Of course not," Meredith said, managing to look hurt. "That long ropy thing was only a practice project. I made the actual sweater today. It's a vest, though, not a sweater. Want to see it?"

He said he did, but he looked so uneasy that Meredith had to bite down on her lip to stop from laughing. When she emerged from the house several minutes later, she was carrying a bulky-knit beige vest with her crochet hook stuck into it, and the skein of beige yarn from yesterday.

Matt was just walking out of the barn, and they converged near the bale of hay. "Here it is," she said, producing everything from behind her back. "What do you think?"

His eyes shifted with unconcealed dread to her hands, riveted on the sweater, then rose to her innocent face. He was stunned, and he was impressed. He was also visibly touched that she'd made it for him. Meredith hadn't expected that, and she felt a little uneasy about her joke. "That's amazing," he said. "Do you think it will fit?"

Meredith was certain it would. She'd checked the sweaters in his drawers to make sure she bought the right size. When she brought this one home, she'd carefully removed the labels. "I think so."

"Let me try it on."

"Right here?" she asked, and when he nodded, she tugged the crochet hook loose, fighting down her increasing guilt. Slowly and with infinite care, he lifted it from her hands and put it on, smoothing it over his striped shirt, tugging his collar into the right position. "How do I look?" he asked, posing with his hands on his hips and his feet planted slightly apart.

He looked absolutely wonderful—broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, ruggedly handsome, and lethally sexy, even in faded jeans and an inexpensive sweater.

"I like it, especially because you made it for me yourself."

"Matt," she said uneasily, prepared to confess.

"Yes?"

"About the sweater..."

"No, sweetheart," he interrupted, "don't apologize because you didn't have time to make more of them for me. You can do that tomorrow."

Meredith was still reeling from the heady thrill of hearing his deep voice call her "sweetheart" when his words registered, and she saw the amusement gleaming in his eyes. In a deliberately threatening gesture, he bent down and grabbed a stick from the ground, then he started toward her and Meredith started backing up, laughing helplessly. "Don't you dare!" she giggled, scooting around the hay bales and backing toward the barn. Her shoulders collided with the side of the building and she made a wild sideways lunge, but Matt caught her wrist, jerking her up short and pressing his body against the full length of hers.

Cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with laughter, she looked up at his grinning face. "Now that you've caught me," she teased, "what are you going to do with me?"

"Now, there's a question," he said in a husky voice. His gaze fixed on her lips, and he bent his head, kissing her with deliberate, lazy sensuality until Meredith was responding, then he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his own, his tongue probing. And Meredith forgot they were standing in plain sight of the house in broad daylight. She curved her hand around his nape, holding him close, and fed his hunger with her own, welcoming the deliberately suggestive rhythm of his tongue. By the time he finally lifted his head, they were both breathing fast and hard and his aroused body had left an invisible imprint on hers.

Matt drew a long breath and tipped his head back, sensing instinctively that now was an ideal moment to urge her to come to South America with him. He debated about how to do it and, because he was so damned afraid she'd refuse, he decided to tip the scales in his favor with a form of coercion. "I think the time has come for our talk," he stated as he straightened and looked at her. "I told you when I agreed to get married that I was probably going to have some stipulations. I wasn't certain then what they were going to be. Now I am."

"What are they?"

"I want you to join me in South America." Having made that pronouncement, Matt waited.

Torn between shock at his stipulation, extreme pleasure at what that stipulation was, and exasperation at the dictatorial tone he'd used, she said, "I'd like to understand something. Are you telling me that the marriage is off if I don't agree to what you're asking?"

"I'd rather you answer my question before I answer yours."

It took several moments before Meredith finally realized that after pressuring her by implying he might refuse to marry her, Matt was now trying to see if she'd agree without his use of an actual threat. With an inner smile at the unnecessary and arbitrary way he was going about achieving his goal, Meredith appeared to consider the matter very carefully. "You want me to go off to South America with you?"

He nodded. "I talked to Sommers today. He said the housing and medical facilities are adequate. I need to see them for myself and make sure of it. If they're acceptable, I want you to join me there."

"I don't think it's a very fair offer," she said, straightfaced, shoving away from the barn and deliberately repaying him for his methods by making him wait for her answer.

He stiffened a little. "Right now it's the best I can do."

"I don't think you're doing very well," Meredith said, strolling toward the house to hide her smile. "I get a husband, a baby, and a house of my very own, plus the excitement of going off to South America. You get a wife who will probably cook your shirts, starch your food, and misplace your—"

She yelped in laughing surprise as his hand landed on her backside, and when she spun around she collided with his body, but Matt wasn't smiling. He was looking down at her with an indescribable expression on his face, pulling her tightly against his chest.

In the kitchen, Julie stood at the window and watched Matt kiss Meredith and then reluctantly let go of her. When she walked away, he stood with his hands on his hips, watching her and grinning. "Dad," she said, tossing an awed, beaming grin over her shoulder at her father, "Matt's falling in love!"

"God help him if he is."

She turned in surprise. "Don't you like Meredith?"

"I saw the way she looked at this house the first time she walked into it. She was looking down her nose at it and everything in it."

Julie's face fell, then she shook her head. "She was scared that day. I could tell she was."

"Matt's the one who ought to be scared. If he doesn't make it as big as he plans to, she'll dump him on his ass for some rich bastard and he won't end up with anything, not even visiting rights with my grandchild."

"I don't believe that."

"He hasn't got a chance in a million of being happy with her," Patrick said harshly. "Do you know what it does to a man to be married to a woman he loves, and to want to give her the best of everything—or at least better than what she had before she married him, and then not to be able to do it? Can you imagine how it feels to look in a mirror every day and know you're failing and, because you are, that you're a failure?"

"You're thinking about Mom," Julie said, searching his haggard face. "Mom never thought you were a failure. She told Matt and me both a hundred times how happy you made her."

"Too bad I didn't make her less happy and keep her more alive," he said bitterly, turning to walk away. The faulty logic and signs of depression weren't lost on Julie. Working double shifts this week was wearing him down, she knew. She knew it as surely as she knew that soon, maybe tomorrow, he was going to drink himself into a stupor. "Mom lived five years longer than the doctors said she could," Julie reminded him. "And if Matt wants Meredith to stay with him, he'll find a way to make it happen. He's like Mom. He's a fighter."

Patrick Farrell turned and looked at her, his smile grim. "Was that a pointed reminder to me to fight temptation?"

"No," she said, "it's my way of begging you to stop blaming yourself because you couldn't do more. Mom fought hard and you and Matt fought right along with her. You two finally paid off the last of her hospital bills this summer. Don't you honestly think it's time to forget?"

Patrick Farrell reached out and tipped her chin up. "Some people feel love in their hearts, Julie. Some of us feel it all the way into our souls. We're the ones who can't forget." He took his hand away and glanced out the window, and his face took on a harsh look. "For Matt's sake, I hope to God he isn't like that. He's got big plans for the future, but it's going to mean sacrifices, and that girl has never made a sacrifice in her life. She won't have the courage to stick by him, and she'll bolt on him the minute the going gets rough."

Meredith stood in the doorway, shocked into immobility by what she'd heard him say. He turned to walk out and they came face-to-face. Patrick had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, but he stood his ground. "You heard that, and I'm sorry, Meredith. It's still the way I feel."

She was hurt and he could see it, but she looked him straight in the eye. With quiet dignity she said, "I hope you'll be just as eager to say you were wrong about me when you realize you are, Mr. Farrell."

She turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Patrick staring after her in stunned silence. Behind him, Julie said smugly, "You sure scared her to death, Dad. I see what you mean about Meredith having no courage."

Patrick frowned at her, but as he headed off to work he stopped and looked up the stairway. Meredith was on her way down with a sweater, but she hesitated on the top step. Without a great deal of hope that she would, he said, "If you prove me wrong, Meredith, you'll make me a very happy man."

It was a tentative offer of a truce, and she accepted it with a nod.

"You're carrying my grandchild," he added. "I'd like to see him grow up with two parents who are still married to each other when he finishes college."

"So would I, Mr. Farrell."

That almost startled a smile from him.