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  “Meet me tonight at seven o'clock to discuss the job.”

  The one night Nina had restrictions. “The kids and I are serving dinner at my grandmother's senior center, and I can't cancel.”

  The pause on the other end of the line was brief. “Give me an address and a time, and I'll meet you there. You can ask your questions or watch me wash dishes.”

  After hanging up, Nina amended her opinion of David Hanson. He was wily and persistent and surprisingly skilled at getting his way. She wasn't sure what else she was going to discover about David tonight or how it would affect her decision to take the job. But suddenly that was not her greatest worry.

  She was far more concerned with all the things she was discovering about herself when David was around.

  Dear Reader,

  Well, if there were ever a month that screamed for a good love story—make that six!—February would be it. So here are our Valentine's Day gifts to you from Silhouette Special Edition. Let's start with The Road to Reunion by Gina Wilkins, next up in her FAMILY FOUND series. When the beautiful daughter of the couple who raised him tries to get a taciturn cowboy to come home for a family reunion, Kyle Reeves is determined to turn her down. But try getting Molly Walker to take no for an answer! In Marie Ferrarella's Husbands and Other Strangers, a woman in a boating accident finds her head injury left her with no permanent effects—except for the fact that she can't seem to recall her husband. In the next installment of our FAMILY BUSINESS continuity, The Boss and Miss Baxter by Wendy Warren, an unemployed single mother is offered a job—not to mention a place to live for her and her children—with the grumpy, if gorgeous, man who fired her!

  “Who's Your Daddy?” is a question that takes on new meaning when a young woman learns that a rock star is her biological father, that her mother is really in love with his brother—and that she herself can't resist her new father's protégé. Read all about it in It Runs in the Family by Patricia Kay, the second in her CALLIE'S CORNER CAFÉ miniseries. Vermont Valentine, the conclusion to Kristin Hardy's HOLIDAY HEARTS miniseries, tells the story of the last single Trask brother, Jacob—he's been alone for thirty-six years. But that's about to change, courtesy of the beautiful scientist now doing research on his property. And in Teresa Hill's A Little Bit Engaged, a woman who's been a bride-to-be for five years yet never saw fit to actually set a wedding date finds true love where she least expects it—with a pastor.

  So keep warm, stay romantic, and we'll see you next month….

  Gail Chasan

  Senior Editor

  THE BOSS AND MISS BAXTER

  WENDY WARREN

  Books by Wendy Warren

  Silhouette Romance

  Mr. Wright #936

  Romantics Anonymous #981

  Oh, Baby! #1033

  Her Very Own Husband #1148

  Just Say I Do #1236

  The Drifter's Gift #1268

  The Oldest Virgin in Oakdale #1609

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Dakota Bride #1463

  Making Babies #1644

  Undercover Nanny #1710

  The Boss and Miss Baxter #1737

  WENDY WARREN

  lives with her husband, Tim, a dog, a cat and their recent-and most exciting!-addition, baby daughter Elisabeth, near the Pacific Northwest's beautiful Willamette River. Their house was previously owned by a woman named Cinderella, who bequeathed them a gardenful of flowers they try desperately (and occasionally successfully) not to kill, and a pink General Electric oven, circa 1958, that makes the kitchen look like an I Love Lucy rerun.

  A two-time recipient of the Romance Writers of America's RITA® Award for Best Traditional Romance, Wendy loves to read and write the kind of books that remind her of the old movies she grew up watching with her mom-stories about decent people looking for the love that can make an ordinary life heroic. Wendy was an Affaire de Coeur finalist for Best Up and Coming Romance Author of 1997. When not writing, she likes to take long walks with her dog, settle in for cozy chats with good friends and sneak tofu into her husband's dinner. She always enjoys hearing from readers, and may be reached at P.O. Box 1208, Ashland, OR 97520.

  For Patricia Giacolini, as beautiful a friend as she is a poet. With all my heart, thank you for being Libbi's auntie and playmate so I could finish this book! And thank you for gifting your friends with the grace and wisdom of your elegant words.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter One

  “Tell no one that I did this.”

  “It's between us. I swear.” Nina Baxter smiled at her friend and former co-worker. The smile felt forced and phony, but at least the words were sincere.

  Burying her bunched fists more deeply into the pockets of her jacket, Nina stood by as Carolyn Ahearn fitted her master key into a polished brass doorknob and unlocked the heavy oak doors protecting Hanson Media from the rest of the world.

  Nina felt her stomach clench as the door eased open. She'd crossed this threshold countless times over the past thirteen years-five days a week, Mon day through Friday-but couldn't remember ever being here on a Sunday.

  Nor could she recall ever being this nauseous when she'd come to work, and that included the months she'd slogged through morning sickness.

  “I'm going to make a run to Noah's for a bagel and latte,” Carolyn said, pocketing the key. “It'll probably take twenty minutes. Is that enough time?”

  Nina nodded. “I'll meet you back here.” She reached out to take her friend's hand. “I can't thank you enough, Carolyn. I'm sorry you had to interrupt your weekend for me. I just couldn't face-”

  “I know.” Giving Nina's cold fingers a reassuring squeeze, Carolyn shrugged. “It could have been you opening the door for me, kiddo. It was just the luck of the draw. Layoffs bite.”

  Nina's laugh sounded watery. “Big-time.” She'd been laid off on Friday, told she could come back to collect her things on Monday if she needed to, but she wanted to wave goodbye with a modicum of grace-not stumble to the elevators with her arms full of items from her desk, and her eyes bloodshot and teary.

  Even now, as tears gathered at the back of her throat, she clung to her stiff upper lip like a drowning man to a life preserver. “Go eat a bagel,” she told Carolyn. “Extra cream cheese.”

  “Oh, sure,” Carolyn mumbled as she turned back toward the elevators that had carried them to the offices of Hanson Media Group. “Easy for you to say. You can't eat when you're stressed. I devour my weight in carbs.” She walked down the lushly carpeted hallway without looking back, and Nina quietly shut the door, listening for the click that locked her in.

  With what she hoped was poetic dignity, she made her way past the imposing reception desk against the wall that sported a huge gold H in a circle, and continued round to the circular bank of desks where the secretaries worked.

  Hanson Media Group had been her home away from home since she'd first walked through the doors at nineteen-newly married, delighted to start her first “real” job and pregnant with her first child. The clerical position she'd applied for had required office skills she hadn't possessed at the time and formal business attire she hadn't owned. She should have been daunted by the opulent surroundings and by co-workers who had made her look like a junior high intern. But Nina had needed the job too much to let
a little intimidation thwart her. And she had been naive then. Wonderfully, happily naive.

  Arriving at the desk that had become hers the day she'd been promoted to secretary, Nina trailed her fingers mournfully over the nubby back of her ergonomically correct chair. Monday through Friday, no matter what insanity had pervaded her personal life, she'd had this chair to sit down on, this desk to work at. She'd had self-respect-a single mom making a living and securing the future for herself and her kids.

  All gone. All the security, everything she'd worked for-gone in one lightning-swift chop of the corporate guillotine.

  A rush of anxiety made Nina feel as if she were about to internally combust. Her nausea intensified. Trying to cool off, she discarded her coat, pulled a knitted purple hat off her head and got down to business.

  Opening the large shoulder bag she'd brought with her, she began to stuff personal items inside. Two pictures of her kids…her favorite pens…the lavender notepad in the shape of a hippo… She moved rapidly, packing her purse at random until she came to the plastic gold trophy cup her daughter had given her last year after the annual Take Your Daughter to Work Day. World's Best Secretary.

  Perusing the packed in-box and watching her mother's fingers fly across the computer keyboard, Isabella had looked at Nina with such respect that Nina had thought she could have been standing atop an Olympic podium-she'd felt that triumphant, that proud.

  Suddenly her hands began to shake. She pushed the trophy into the depths of her bag and kept packing, but she couldn't stop shaking. Nor could she halt the anger that sparked like flash fire in her belly.

  It wasn't her fault that Hanson Media was in trouble. It wasn't the fault of anyone who'd been laid off. The trouble had started at the top, but did the big dogs care about that? No. Even when they dug their own holes, it was the little guy who wound up with a mouthful of dirt.

  And what had Nina done on Friday after being let go? She'd hugged her supervisor. That's right. She'd felt sorry for her obviously stressed supervisor, told her not to worry then brought her two aspirins and a glass of water.

  Such a faithful employee; such a thoughtful person.

  “Such a doormat!” Nina growled, feeling a surge of power that came from resentment, pure and simple. Who at Hanson would bring her an aspirin when she got a headache from searching the classifieds? Who would care whether she got a job before she had to move her kids' bedroom to the back seat of their Toyota?

  “No one!” Nina answered her own question. And even though it was not nice, even though it was downright wrong, she picked up the first thing she spied-a plastic container filled with multicolored paper clips-and threw it as hard as she could against the solid oak door of David Hanson's office.

  He was a big dog-emphasis on dog. He was a Hanson. Would he skip even one steak while his laid-off employees stocked up on Cup-a-Soup?

  The paper-clip container made a satisfying ping against the door, but it wasn't nearly satisfying enough. So Nina picked up her Strunk and White's The Elements of Style and threw that against the door as well. Then she reached for her Pocket Roget's Thesaurus.

  With each article she grabbed-and hurled-she said a naughty, naughty word she'd never used before.

  And began to feel a little bit better.

  “What the-”

  David Hanson looked up from the paperwork covering his desk and stared at his closed office door. At first he'd thought someone was knocking-strange enough on a Sunday-but when he heard thwack after thwack against the solid wood, he realized he'd heard not a knock but a smack.

  There was someone in the outer office, and that someone was throwing things at his door.

  David didn't take long to think, and he didn't pause to consider calling reinforcements, like someone from building security. He rose, strode to the door and stood by, waiting for a lull in the assault. When it came, he jerked open the door….

  And was almost decapitated by a stainless-steel travel mug.

  “Holy-!”A timely duck saved him. Straightening, he locked eyes with a wild-haired blonde whose pitching arm was poised again. “Whoa!” David ordered, raising a hand to halt the action. When she froze, he turned his open hand into a warning index finger. “Excuse me. What the hell is going on out here?”

  The blonde seemed incapable of speech. Or of moving at all now that she'd been caught in the act of vandalizing his office.

  David took a quick glance around. She was definitely alone, which he supposed was a good thing: one of her, one of him. Next, he noted that she had a strong arm (stood a good thirty feet from his door and still managed impressive velocity). And finally, he saw that she needed a tissue.

  Tears filled the woman's eyes and streaked her face; her nose was red, and her cheeks were rapidly turning the same fiery shade. She looked so miserable, in fact, that he began to feel sorry for her until he reminded himself she was a vandal. He really ought to let security handle this. With all the other trouble he had right now, he didn't need a nutcase on his hands. He stepped one foot back toward his office. But then…

  David leaned forward. And squinted. “Miss Baxter?”

  With her arm still poised, the blonde blinked several times rapidly to clear her eyes. She attempted a smile that wobbled treacherously around the edges. “Yes?”

  Jeez, it was her. He'd been thrown off by the exploding-firecracker effect of kinky blond curls and clothing that was more suited to a swap meet than the office. The Miss Baxter he was used to seeing during the week wore suits or skirts and blouses, like the other secretaries, and she wore her hair…well, hell, he couldn't really recall…in a bun?

  David frowned. “What are you doing?” He was going to add here, but what are you doing seemed more apropos under the circumstances.

  To her credit, she was obviously determined to make the best of the situation and shrugged with what appeared to be a miniature potted plant in her still-raised hand. “Cleaning.”

  He looked at the floor outside his door. A small paper-clip explosion had occurred; plus, there were two books and a silver mug lying on the carpet. “Cleaning?”

  “My…desk…off. Sir.”

  After three of the most difficult and unpredictable months in his career, David should have been used to expecting the unexpected. But Nina Baxter had him knocked for a loop. Had there always been a psych case lurking behind the face of the mild-mannered secretary?

  And then David realized…

  Aw, hell.

  Nina Baxter was one of the casualties of his late brother's screwups.

  David squeezed the bridge of his nose as the headache he'd been battling for days took a sudden turn for the worse. Obviously he was not going to escape the mess his life had turned into. Not even on a Sunday.

  While David Hanson hid behind his hand, Nina thought of the job reference she'd been counting on and figured she ought to start rehearsing, “Would you like fries with that?” as soon as possible.

  Good God in heaven, what had she been thinking? Lowering her hand, she stared at the potted cactus her grandmother had given her. She was not a violent person. And yet she'd been about to smash the bit of flora into David Hanson's unsuspecting head. What if she'd already thrown the plant by the time he'd opened his door? The tiny needles could have lodged anywhere.

  “I could have killed you!” The words burst out of her.

  Obviously self-control was not her forte this morning. David Hanson's expression had already changed from anger to frowning distrust.

  Note to self: Forget leaving Hanson Media Group with grace and dignity. She wasn't even going to look sane.

  And if Mr. Hanson discovered how she'd gotten into the office, poor Carolyn might wind up in the unemployment line right behind her.

  “I'm so terribly sorry,” she said, rushing toward the scattered paper clips and other office weaponry. The closer she got to David Hanson, the more the sound of the ocean filled her ears. She had never felt comfortable in his presence, not in over a dozen years of working ar
ound him. In fact, she often avoided him when she could. He was so formal, always polite and correct and distant.

  And tall. He was a good ten inches taller than her five foot three, and she had this thing about tall men. Fear of height.

  “I'll clean up this mess and-” Realizing she still had the cactus in her hand, Nina looked for someplace to set it.

  Surprising her, David reached for the pot. When their fingers brushed, she jumped at the contact and let go. He caught the plant in a deft save and stared down at her.

  “Miss Baxter, may I suggest you sit down.” He pointed to one of the desks several feet away from him. “Over there.”

  Yep, he thought she was crazy.

  “I'm not usually like this,” she said in her own defense. “Really. I'm usually calm. It's just that today I…” She searched for the correct word, for some way to explain her change from composed and trustworthy to certifiably wacko. “I'm very…”

  Nina's mind scanned the options…tired…worried…nervous?

  All accurate, but when her exhausted brain landed on exactly the right adjective, she knew it because her chest nearly burst with the effort to contain her grief, and her stomach pitched. Perhaps she shouldn't have said anything else at that point, but her body seemed to bring the words up of its own volition.

  “It's just that I'm very…UNEMPLOYED!”

  The tears she'd thus far managed to keep at bay began spouting like geysers. Through them she spied David reaching out a hand. She pulled back before he could touch her.

  Diving to the floor, she gathered the scattered paper clips, every last one, and the books and the mug. David watched her silently. The paper-clip container had obviously broken, and she wasn't sure where the pieces were, so she held out her fist.

  “These…paper clips,” she said, trying not to do that humiliating hiccup-sob thing, “are…not… mine.”