She peered out the window, trying to discern landmarks. It was haphazard at best. At times, a ferocious gust of wind lifted the snow curtain for just a second. She saw the benches outside the railing along Grayson Park, then the big Christmas tree at the corner of Center Street and Fife, then—“Here,” she said suddenly, relieved. “Turn right here.”

He took the corner so smoothly, they might have been driving on a balmy summer evening. Caroline counted off lampposts and started to relax. Another five minutes, ten tops, and they’d be home. “The first left, the second right and it’s the fourth driveway on the right.”

The car pulled to a stop right in front of the garage. Caroline closed her eyes and breathed deeply for the first time since she’d gotten into the car.

Home. She was home.

Well, not quite yet. She stared ahead at the rusted garage door with near hatred.

Time for another apology. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely, digging in her purse for the keys, hands still shaking. “The remote doesn’t work. The door has to be opened manually. I’ll do it.”

“No.” He reached over and took the keys from her hand. “Don’t get out. I’ll take care of it.”

Her boiler was temperamental, but the garage door was utterly reliable. You could count on it not working. It took her muscle and time and many a chipped nail to turn the key in the rusty lock and lift the door.

“Are you sure? I can—”

Again, that touch from his big hand. Heat and reassurance, the punch of sensual awareness, gone when he lifted his hand. After his touch, the cold and the aftermath of panic rushed back in. “I’m sure.”

Lit by the headlights, she watched him bend and lift the door as if it were brand-new, freshly oiled and weightless. A second later, they were safely in the garage.

Home. For real, now.

Caroline got out of the car and had to order her knees to stiffen. Her legs were shaking. All of her was shaking still from the near accident, a deep, almost uncontrollable tremor. The keys were rattling in her hand. She had to clench her fist closed to stop the noise.

“Thank you,” she said again to the big man, over the roof of the car. She met his eyes, dark and inscrutable. “I owe you—”

He held up a huge hand and shook his head. “Please don’t. Let’s just get inside.” He picked up his bags and her briefcase. “Lead the way. I’ll follow you.”

Caroline opened the door to the house, fingers crossed, tense, expecting the worst.

Thank God, the worst hadn’t happened. Yet.

The air was not quite freezing, there was a low hum from somewhere under her feet and she could relax a little. The boiler hadn’t gone off today. She kept it on a minimum setting so the pipes wouldn’t freeze, which they did regularly when the boiler went on the blink. But today the gods of heating were smiling down at her, as well they should, considering the number they’d pulled on her last week.

The temperature was uncomfortably cool, but as long as the boiler was working, it was okay. She’d turn the thermostat up, and in half an hour the whole house would be warm.

Her heating bills were atrocious, but heating was not something she was prepared to skimp on. Not, certainly, with a new boarder. And definitely not in the middle of a blizzard.

She led Jack through the mudroom into the big, two-story atrium. Entering was always a delight. Designed by a disciple of Frank Lloyd Wright, every room of Greenbriars was light, spacious, perfectly proportioned. The atrium was simply spectacular. An old friend of the family had once said that Greenbriars was like a beautiful woman, and the atrium was her face. When her parents had been alive, there had been two Winslow Homers, a Ming vase, a Murano chandelier and an immense antique Baluchi carpet in the atrium.

All long gone.

The only thing left was the airiness and grace of the room itself, with its black-and-white-marble flooring, arches leading to the library, the living room and her study and the big, graceful, winding maple staircase leading to the bedrooms on the second floor.

Through all the tough years gone by, through Toby’s long, painful decline and death, through all the sadness and hardship, entering Greenbriars never failed to lift her spirits.

Greenbriars was alive to her, and was in many ways the last family member left to her. She’d fought ferociously to keep it, even when everyone—the family lawyer who’d had to tell her that there was no money in the bank, Jenna, her best friend, who thought she was nuts to stick by Greenbriars, Sanders, who quickly grew annoyed that she had to pinch pennies and eventually dumped her—everyone said to sell.

Caroline would have sold Greenbriars only to save Toby’s life, but he died before it became necessary. And now—well, now Greenbriars was her only connection with her family and her only solace. She was tied by unbreakable links of love to the place. To sell it would be to deny the people she’d loved so much. Selling was unthinkable.

As long as she had a breath in her body, Greenbriars would be hers. Cost what it might.

She watched Jack Prescott as he took in his surroundings. People reacted in different ways to the mansion. Some people’s jaws dropped. Some were blasé. Some didn’t even understand how beautiful it was and saw only a big house that needed painting and repair work and new furniture.

It was a litmus test.

His reaction was perfect. He stood in silence for a minute, dark eyes taking in the architectural details, then he turned to her. “What a beautiful place. Thank you for accepting me as a boarder.”

Yes, perfect. Caroline smiled up at him. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. The double room is on the third floor, under the eaves. I’ll show you the way.”

He shook his head. “Don’t go up two flights of stairs for my sake. Tell me how to get there, and I’ll be fine.”

Oh, God. What a relief. The worst of the trembling was over, but her legs were still shaking.

“Go up the main staircase, turn right and you’ll find another staircase at the end of the hallway that will take you up to your room. It has an en suite bathroom that’s yours alone. The sheets are clean, and you’ll find clean towels in the big white cabinet in the bathroom. You should have enough hot water for a shower. Dinner’s at seven thirty.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his head. “I’ll be down at seven thirty,” he said, then turned and took the stairs two at a time, moving fast. Caroline watched his broad back until he disappeared, hoping she’d done the right thing, knowing that she’d had no choice.

The instructions, of course, hadn’t been necessary. Jack knew his way up to the big airy room at the top of the house. He stood outside the door, his hand on the handle, and took in a big breath, still amazed that he was here. With her.

The house was as beautiful as in his memories, only bare and unadorned. Before, there had been paintings on the walls, big pieces of old furniture, soft rugs, elaborate vases. As a boy, he’d had no idea how valuable they could be. All he knew was that he’d never seen rooms as full of beautiful things as Caroline’s home.

He was no expert, but he’d learned a lot over the years. Enough to know that there had been a fortune in paintings, rugs, sculptures, antiques. Most of which were now gone.

It didn’t make any difference. The mansion was still gorgeous, like a beautiful woman without makeup. Still, it pained his heart to think of Caroline selling off her inheritance, piece by piece. It must have hurt.

The room under the eaves was exactly the same as it had been twelve years ago, only shabbier and in need of a coat of paint. The furniture was the same, too, pleasant but unexceptional. Obviously, nothing in this room had been valuable enough to sell off. The room held a big four-poster bed with a huge green-and-white quilt, an armchair in need of reupholstering, a chest of drawers and a small desk on which sat a TV set and a radio.