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  "Don't take my word for it." Jonas slashed a curing look over his shoulder.

  "I—" Bridget was about to deny the need for that.

  But Jonas interrupted, "I mean it, Bridget. Don't accept what I say. Ask your parents. As a suggestion, if I were you, I'd ask your father: I'm not certain your mother would be capable of giving you an unbiased answer."

  "But I—"

  "Go home," he said firmly. "Go home and ask them."

  Bridget stared at his wide shoulders. Her heart was filled with an aching love that was boundless. She wanted to touch him, to somehow show him how deeply she cared.

  "I believe you, Jonas," she said in a soft, throbbing whisper. "I don't need my parents to confirm your story."

  "I want them to confirm it." He pivoted to face her. The line of his jaw revealed his unyielding stand. "When you come to me, Bridget, when you marry me, I don't want there to be any room in your heart for doubts. None. Not about you and not about me."

  She wanted to protest, to argue, but his hard, short kiss silenced the attempt. She swayed toward him. He broke it off, but he held her firmly at arm's length.

  "Go home, Bridget," he ordered and gave her a little push toward the rear door.

  Bridget left, not because Jonas had ordered her to leave, but because he was right. No matter how much faith she had in his word, there would always be the chance of doubts surfacing some time later unless she rid herself of them now, for good.

  The instant she walked into the chalet, she went straight to the telephone and dialed her parents' number. Jonas had been right about another thing: her father could be trusted to give her an unvarnished account, without prejudice.

  If she had stopped at the house, the chances were that she would not have been able to speak to her father in private. By telephone, she could persuade him to come to the chalet under one pretext or another.

  Her mother answered the telephone. "Is dad there?" Bridget asked.

  "No, he's gone to an auction. He probably won't be home until late. Why? Is something wrong?"

  "No, nothing," she assured her mother quickly.

  "Why are you calling?"

  "I heard about a used horse van that was for sale," Bridget lied. "The price sounded reasonable and I was going to ask dad if he would mind looking at it for me. I'll talk to him tomorrow about it."

  "I'll mention it to him. Molly does have her heart set on one, doesn't she?" her mother commented.

  "Yes, she does," she agreed.

  It was nearly twenty minutes later before Bridget was able to end the conversation with her talkative mother.

  With getting Molly off to school in the mornings, working at the shop all day herself and trying to elude both her daughter and her mother in the evenings, it was four days later before Bridget had a chance to speak to her father. He confirmed everything Jonas had told her, as she had guessed.

  After trying three times unsuccessfully to reach Jonas at his home, Bridget finally gave up and waited until the following day to call him at his office from her shop. The phone rang several times before his nurse answered.

  "I'd like to speak to Dr. Concannon" Bridget requested.

  "Did you wish to make an appointment?" was the crisply professional reply.

  "No, I would just like to speak to the doctor."

  "Regarding what? Are you one of our patients?"

  "No. It's s a personal matter," Bridget explained.

  "He's with a patient. Let me see if he can take your call now. Who's calling, please?"

  "Bridget O'Shea."

  "Oh!" The nurse's voice immediately became bright and cheerful. "Of course he'll take your call. Just give me a minute to pull the stethoscope out of his ear and hand him the phone. He'll be right with you. Hold the line."

  Bridget waited, anxiously watching the shop door, hoping she would have no customers until she had spoken to Jonas. There was a vague fluttering of her heart as she realized that nothing stood between her and Jonas any longer. They could be together.

  "Hello, Bridget."

  His voice, when he answered the phone, was calm and level, as though he saw nothing momentous in the occasion, while Bridget was suddenly all nervous and jittery.

  "Jonas!" she spoke his name in glad relief. "I phoned to tell you I talked to my father last night in private."

  "And?"

  "And he told me exactly what you had."

  "Good," Jonas said decisively.

  "When I think of the things I said to you and what I thought all these years, I—"

  "There's no need to apologize," he interrupted smoothly. "You weren't in possession of all the facts. I should have put you straight in the beginning. You aren't to be blamed for misunderstanding the situation."

  "Maybe not, but I—" But that wasn't important anymore. "When will I see you, Jonas?" she asked boldly.

  "I'll be attending a convention this weekend, so I'll be out of town." He sounded so distant, "Let's make it a week from Saturday."

  "So long?" Bridget frowned. "Jonas, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing is wrong." Then he hesitated. "Bridget, I want to have time to think—very seriously about us. We've waited more than ten years. We can wait more than a week."

  "I love you, Jonas," she said.

  "Tell me that next Saturday."

  Bridget could almost hear the half-smile in his voice as he rang off. It was only after the line was dead that she remembered it was Molly's birthday a week from Saturday and she had promised her a party.

  It was hardly the circumstances Bridget would have chosen for their final reunion, but she let the arrangement stand. After all, Molly and her friends wouldn't require constant chaperons on the scene at all times.

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  Chapter Ten

  "THE CAKE is going to be beautiful, mom!" Molly declared in a loud stage whisper as she bent over the counter to get a better look.

  "It won't be if you don't get out of my light," Bridget warned.

  Dutifully Molly leaned back as Bridget added the finishing touches, outlining the circumference of the cake with blue frosting. There was only the outside base left. Bridget paused to add more blue frosting to the decorator tube.

  "Can I put the candles on now?" Molly asked.

  "Wait until I'm through," Bridget answered, hiding a smile at the impatience of her daughter.

  She had barely begun squeezing the blue spiral from the tube when there was a loud knock at the door. The suddenness of it made Bridget squeeze the tube too hard, sending out a glob of frosting. She cursed beneath her breath and reached for the knife.

  "See who it is, Molly," Bridget ordered and started to repair the damage to the cake.

  "It might be Kathy. She was going to bring over some records for the party." Molly skipped to the rear-entrance door in the kitchen.

  "Why would she bring them now?" Bridget frowned.

  "Kathy and Vicki were going to come early so they could help make the pizza," Molly informed her as she opened the back door. "Jonas!" she cried in delight.

  Bridget pivoted sharply to the door as he walked in. He looked rugged and manly, fresh from the mountains in a dark suede parka lined with fleece.

  Her stomach somersaulted and she felt terribly weak at the knees. Then she became conscious of Molly eyeing her apprehensively, nibbling at her lower lip as if uncertain whether Jonas would be welcome.

  "It feels like snow outside," Jonas declared, shutting the door behind him.

  Bridget's gaze flickered to the gray sky outdoors. She tried to respond calmly. "This is the first week of October. The snow probably won't be too far away."

  "That's true." His gaze ran over her from head to toe.

  "I didn't expect you so soon." Bridget became conscious of her appearance.

  She had wanted to change and put on fresh makeup before he arrived. She brushed the hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand, forgetting about the frosting-coated knife she held and smearing the blue icing
on her cheek.

  "You were expecting Jonas?" Molly breathed in surprise.

  "Didn't I mention to you that he was coming over?" Bridget set the knife down, knowing very well she hadn't said anything to Molly because she hadn't wanted to make a lot of explanations yet. Taking a damp towel, she wiped the frosting from her cheek that was not slightly tinged with embarrassed pink. "Although I had thought it would be later tonight. I haven't had a chance to clean up."

  "You look fine," Jonas assured her, yet there was a certain reserve in his voice as if he was masking his feelings.

  "You always look great, mom," Molly added her endorsement, but it didn't carry the same weight as his.

  "I suppose I should apologize for coming early, but I remembered Molly mentioning that today was her birthday." His arm moved to reveal the ribbon-wrapped package he had been holding behind his back.

  "For me!" Molly shrieked.

  "Do you know anybody else in this house who has a birthday today?" Jonas teased and handed it to her.

  "Can I open it now?" Molly asked Bridget, clutching the package excitedly.

  "Go ahead," Jonas said, and Bridget nodded her agreement with his answer.

  With painstaking care, Molly slid the bright ribbons from around the gift-wrapped box, her hazel eyes sparkling with ecstatic pleasure. Bridget's were nearly misted over with tears. The paper was removed with equal care before Molly lifted the lid of the box to see what was inside.

  "A saddle blanket!'" she cried with delight.

  "Careful," Jonas warned when she started to lift it out. "There might be something else wrapped up in it."

  Molly's eyes widened curiously before she set about unfolding the bright blue blanket. The thick material kept Bridget from seeing what was inside, but she did see the frown that suddenly appeared on her daughter's face. Just as suddenly Molly started laughing.

  "What is it?" Bridget asked, overcome with curiosity.

  "A doll!" Molly declared, lifting a china-faced doll from the blanket's folds.

  "I thought every girl should have one whether she was too old to play with them or not," Jonas stated, his mouth twitching in a smile.

  "It's terrific!" Molly grinned. "Both presents are terrific! Thank you, Jonas."

  "You're welcome." He inclined his head briefly, smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

  The telephone rang. "I'll get it!" said Molly.

  "Answer it in the living room," Bridget told her and Molly darted into the other room.

  A second later the ringing stopped and Molly called back, "It's for me!"

  Slowly Jonas crossed the room to where Bridget stood. His gaze flicked briefly to the nearly decorated cake. "It looks nice," he observed.

  "I forgot to tell you Molly is having a party tonight. A half a dozen of her school friends are coming over," she explained, wishing he would discard that mask so she could see what he was thinking.

  "For how long?"

  "All night. Molly is having a slumber party. I've been promising her she could have them over for a long time."

  "You're kidding." Laughter gleamed in his eyes.

  "No, I'm not," Bridget smiled faintly.

  He was standing close to her. She had to move only slightly to touch him, but somehow it didn't seem necessary. Bridget had the deliriously warm sensation that he was already holding her in his arms and loving her.

  "Have you changed your mind?" he murmured, his compelling gray green eyes holding her gaze.

  "About what?" she asked, feeling the sensual pull of his attraction.

  "About me," he answered. "You've had over a week to think about whether or not you want to marry me. Whether you really love me."

  "I've loved you for more than ten years, Jonas," Bridget answered with amazing call. "A week hasn't changed that."

  His hands spanned the sides of her waist to draw her to him. Bridget melted willingly into his arms, lifting her head for his kiss. It was a searing sweet promise of love, laced with passion and stamped with a hint of possession.

  More than at any other time that Jonas had held her, Bridget felt that she had come home. She was safe and secure. He loved and needed her as much as she did him.

  "I love you, Bridget." Jonas made the declaration in a hoarsely fervent tone, lifting his head only inches above hers.

  "I love you." She returned the vow. Her hands were resting on his shoulders. She was about to wind them around his neck when she noticed the cake decorating tube she still held and the swirling glob of blue frosting on the dark suede of his jacket. "Look what I've done to your coat!" she exclaimed with a rueful laugh. "I'll clean it off."

  Twisting out of his arms, she set the decorating tube on the counter where it couldn't do any more damage and reached for the damp hand towel. Jonas watched her with a lazy smile as she vigorously wiped at the blue mark.

  "That's enough," he stated after a few seconds and shrugged out of his coat to toss it on the nearest kitchen chair.

  "I didn't get it all," Bridget protested.

  "I don't care." Jonas shook his head briefly and curved his arms around her, locking them together at the small of her back. "Besides, I feel like a birthday cake—all gay and bright and on fire."

  The light in his eyes gave Bridget the same feeling. He bent his head toward hers, brushing his lips over her cheek and temple. The musky fragrance of his aftershave lotion combined with his male scent to fill her senses with heady results. His body heat made her think she was standing in front of a roaring fire.

  "We'll be married next week," he told her, his mouth moving against her smooth skin as he spoke. "As soon as I can arrange it with the minister. Is that all right?"

  "Yes," she breathed.

  "Will you have time to do everything? We're going to have a real wedding, Bridget, with as many trimmings as time will permit. It isn't going to be any rushed, hole-in-the-corner ceremony. I love you and I want everyone to know it."

  "Of course there'll be enough time." Every second hectic and frantic, but Bridget knew she wouldn't want to change it. The smile faded from her lips as other, more serious thoughts crowded their way to the front. "Jonas, I want to tell you about Brian and my mar—"

  "No." His hand covered her mouth to stop the words and stayed there. "This last week I've had time to do some soul-searching. During the ten years, nearly eleven, that we've been apart, a lot happened to each of us. I don't want you to explain anything to me about your late husband or your marriage. It's none of my business. Our life together starts from this moment, and that's all that counts."

  "But, Jonas, there's—"

  "I know," he interrupted. "There's Molly to be considered. I like her, Bridget. She's an amazing person." Bridget noticed that he didn't make any comparisons, likening Molly to her or her father. After we're married, I'd like to legally adopt her if you and Molly agree."

  "I think both Molly and I would," Bridget nodded, "but, Jonas, I want to tell—"

  "We aren't going to talk about the past any more, only our future," he insisted firmly.

  "Jonas," she declared with an indulgent and faintly exasperated smile, "count the candles Molly had laid out for her cake, there, on the counter."

  "What?" he frowned bewilderedly at the request.

  "Count them," Bridget repeated.

  Still frowning, Jonas glanced at the candles laid out in a row beside the cake. "Ten white ones and one blue one." The furrow across his forehead deepened ash is questioning swung back to Bridget. "What's the point?"

  "Molly is ten years old today. The blue candle is to grow on," she explained.

  "Ten?" His gaze narrowed on her smiling face.

  "Molly is your daughter, Jonas." Bridget stated the obvious with loving patience.

  "What?" He stared at her uncertainly.

  "Do you remember—" her fingers began smoothing the collar of his shirt, a caressing quality in their movement "—that Saturday we started out to go skiing cross country and happened across that abandoned logging cam
p? We went inside one of the huts to get warm and—"

  His arms tightened fiercely around her. "Do you honestly think I've forgotten the first time we made love?" he demanded huskily. "We spent the whole day there. The sun was going down when we left. We barely got back before dark."

  "Less than a month later, you left. A couple of weeks after you had gone, I realized I was going to have your baby."

  "Why didn't you let me know?" he groaned.

  "How?" Bridget reasoned without any bitterness. "You never told me where you were going or how I could reach you. As far as I was concerned, you'd deserted me. When you took my parents' money and left, I was convinced you'd sold out your right to know about our baby. She was mine alone."

  Jonas turned away from her in agitation, raking a hand through his hair. "I should have considered the possibilities," he growled in self-accusation. "I should have known. No wonder you hated me when I came back!"

  "It wasn't easy, because I still loved you," she told him quietly.

  "Your pregnancy was the reason you left Vermont after I did," he concluded.

  "Yes. When I told my parents, mother arranged for me to stay with her sister in Pennsylvania," Bridget explained.

  "This Brian, your late husband, I remember you told me that he was gentle and understanding. He must have been to marry you and be the father to another man's child. I understand why you cared for him so much," Jonas sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck.

  "Brian—" she hesitated "—Brian O'Shea didn't exist."

  "What?" Pivoting, Jonas confronted her with a piercing look.

  "He was a figment of my mother's imagination. She wanted me to give the baby up for adoption once it was born, but I couldn't do it. And my mother—well, she didn't want it known that I had a baby out of marriage. So she came up with phony papers and marriage certificates to prove I was married. I went along with it because I felt a certain amount of shame, too." She breathed in deeply, staring at the gold wedding ring on her finger, another symbol of the farce that had been perpetuated. "And I didn't want you to know about Molly. I wanted to be able to say she was another man's baby if you ever came back. I was afraid you would feel responsible or want to marry me because of her. I didn't want you that way."