by Holly Jacobs
“Kissing you is addictive, Libby,”
Josh admitted. “But the rest of it—being with you, being with Meg—it feels right.”
Right for now, Libby was sure, though she didn’t say it. She didn’t want to argue with Josh. As a matter of fact, she didn’t really want to talk at all. Because talking made her worry about how much it would hurt after Christmas, when Josh was gone.
No, she didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think. She just wanted to kiss him.
When she was kissing Josh, she could forget the inner voice that kept whispering that she and her daughter would be heartbroken when he left. While she was in his arms, she could think of nothing but him.
And, for the moment, that had to be enough….
Dear Reader,
Although it will be archived by now, I’ve been writing to readers on our www.eHarlequin.com community bulletin boards about Silhouette Romance and what makes it so special. Readers like the emotion, the strength of the heroines, the truly heroic nature of the men and a quick, yet satisfying, read. I’m delighted that Silhouette Romance is able to fulfill a few of your fantasies! Be sure to stop by our site. :)
I hope you had a chance to revisit Lion on the Prowl by Kasey Michaels when it was out last month in a special collection with Heather Graham’s Lucia in Love. Be sure not to miss a glimpse into those characters’ lives with this month’s lively spin-off called Bachelor on the Prowl. Elizabeth Harbison gives us A Pregnant Proposal from our continuity HAVING THE BOSS’S BABY. Look out next month for The Makeover Takeover by Sandra Paul.
Other stories this month include the second title in Lilian Darcy’s THE CINDERELLA CONSPIRACY. Be assured that Saving Cinderella has the heartwarming emotion and strong heroes that Lilian Darcy delivers every time! And Carol Grace has spun off a title from Fit for a Sheik. This month, look for Taming the Sheik.
And we’ve got a Christmas treat to get you in the mood for the holidays. Carolyn Greene has Her Mistletoe Man while new-to-the-line author Holly Jacobs asks Do You Hear What I Hear?
I hope that you enjoy these stories, and keep in touch.
Mary-Theresa Hussey,
Senior Editor
Do You Hear What I Hear?
HOLLY JACOBS
For Miss Mac, Joan McLaughlin, who saw more in me than I saw in myself. You are sorely missed.
And for Allison Lyons
whose input and insight so enriched this story.
HOLLY JACOBS
can’t remember a time when she didn’t read…and read a lot. Writing her own stories just seemed a natural outgrowth of that love. Reading, writing and chauffeuring kids to and from activities makes for a busy life. But it’s one she wouldn’t trade for any other.
Holly lives in Erie, Pennsylvania, with her husband, four children and a two-hundred-pound Old English mastiff. In her “spare” time, Holly loves hearing from her fans. You can write to her at P.O. Box 11102, Erie, PA 16514-1102.
Dear Reader,
This is my first Silhouette Romance novel, and I’m so pleased to be a part of this great line. Writing stories about love and family is a perfect niche for me. I married my high school sweetheart and we have four wonderful children ranging from college age to grade school. Add to that a two-hundred-pound mastiff, and you may guess that there’s never a dull moment at our house!
Reading has always been a part of my life. When I was in the third grade I read a biography of Helen Keller and knew I’d found a role model. She was a woman who faced hurdles in her life, but she didn’t let them trip her up. No, she overcame them all and triumphed. I can’t tell you how much she inspired me. Incorporating a hearing-impaired character in my first Silhouette Romance novel is a small tribute to her, and to every family who has ever overcome tremendous obstacles.
I hope you enjoy Do You Hear What I Hear? and that you’ll look for my upcoming Silhouette and Harlequin titles.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter One
“Have you met him?”
“Him who?” Libby McGuiness asked as she measured a section of Mabel’s gray hair on the right side against its counterpart on the left side.
“Your new neighbor,” Mabel said, her exasperation evident in her tone.
“No, I haven’t met him yet, though I met his receptionist and she seemed nice enough.”
“Well, nice isn’t the word I’d use to describe Dr. Gardner. Hunk—now that’s a good description.”
Libby chuckled. Mabel might be a widow pushing seventy, but she had the vitality of someone in her twenties. An acupuncturist who vowed never to retire, Mabel was a vital part of the downtown Erie small business community; more than that, she was a friend—a friend whose main goal in life was finding Libby a man.
“You could use a hunk,” Mabel added.
“A hunk of money, that’s for sure.” Owning her own salon, Snips and Snaps, might be satisfying, but it wasn’t always overly lucrative.
Libby turned the chair a full one hundred and eighty degrees. Satisfied that everything was even and in place, she turned Mabel to the mirror. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” the older woman said, fluffing her new cut. “But then, it always is when you cut my hair. Maybe you should take a look at your new neighbor. He might be perfect, as well.”
“I’m glad you think your hair is perfect, and thanks for the suggestion about the doctor, but I’ll pass. There may be such a thing as a perfect haircut, but there’s no such thing as a perfect man.”
Libby whipped off the cape that covered Mabel, and led her to the register. “Do you want to make your next appointment now?”
“You’re sure about the doctor? I could introduce you.”
Libby chuckled. “I’m absolutely positive.”
Mabel sighed. “Do you have any openings for a wash and style before Thanksgiving?”
Libby checked her appointment book. “I can squeeze you in Wednesday at four-thirty. You’ll be it for the week.”
“You’re a dear. All the kids are coming home for the holiday, and Stacy is bringing her new boyfriend, so I want to look my best.” She handed Libby a twenty. “And speaking of best, maybe you should do something new with your hair before you meet Dr. Hunk.”
“I’m sure I’ll meet our new neighbor, but I don’t plan on meeting him, if you know what I mean. And I know you know what I mean. I like my hair just the way it is,” she said, fingering her long braid. “And I like my life just the way it is, as well. But thanks for the advice.”
Libby pulled Mabel’s change out of the drawer, but the older woman just waved it away. “You keep it, dear. You did a lovely job.”
Mabel’s matchmaking might be blatant, but it was hard to stay annoyed with such a generous, sweet spirit. “Thanks, Mabel. I’ll see you for that wash and style.”
“See you then. And think about what I said.”
Libby tucked the bills into her pocket. The only thinking she planned on thinking about was Meg’s new computer. She’d been saving tips since the beginning of the year for this one special Christmas present. Not just any computer, but something big and fast—something that would put the world at her daughter’s fingertips.
Meg. Yes, that’s all she was going to think about. Meg and Libby were a team, and they didn’t need any man messing up their lives. So Mabel could just keep her hunk.
Libby glanced at her watch. Just another hour until she was home and with Meg. As much as sh
e loved Snips and Snaps, she loved going home to her daughter even more.
Home? Just how was she supposed to get there, Libby thought an hour later as she eyed the green truck with Ohio plates that was butted up against the bumper of her Neon.
How was she supposed to get out of the parallel parking space with no room to maneuver? The idiot who had parked that truck was clearly encroaching on her parking space. It wasn’t her fault that he drove a truck the size of a small tank and had to take up more than his fair share of the parking space.
And look at that—he had about two feet of free space behind him. Couldn’t he at least have given some of it to her?
Libby realized she was mentally referring to her bumper-pusher as a male. Maybe it was sexist, but she’d bet a week’s pay it was a guy. A big-truck-driving, thinks-he’s-macho, parking-space-hogging man.
Libby glanced nervously at her watch. She was going to be late picking Meg up from the Hendersons. Where was a cop when she needed one? The police station was just across the square. There should be one of Erie’s finest somewhere about. This green-truck jerk deserved a ticket.
Better yet, forget the cop. Where was a tow truck?
No one was going to ride to her rescue. She’d just have to call the Hendersons and explain she was trapped until the driver of the red Jeep in front of her, or the idiot green-truck’s driver came out. She hoped it was the truck’s driver. She really wanted to give him a piece of her mind, not that she had much to spare, Meg would have added.
Thinking of her daughter’s occasional wisecracks made Libby smile, despite her annoyance. Then a cold gust of wind made her remember why she was annoyed in the first place.
Well, she might have to wait, but she wasn’t waiting outside. November’s Canadian wind blew off Lake Erie and made things far too cold to do much more than hurry from one warm place to another. She crawled into her Neon and started it, cranking the heat up to the highest setting. She might as well be comfortable while she waited. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long. At five o’clock the city pretty much shut down, so one of the cars would probably be leaving soon.
Just as she reached for her cell phone, she spotted a man coming out of Gardner’s Ophthalmology and headed for the green truck. She jumped from her car. “Hey, you.”
The man looked up. He was gorgeous. Drop-dead-drag-your-tongue-on-the-street gorgeous.
“Yes?” he asked with a smile—a smile that made him even better looking, though it shouldn’t be possible.
Good-looking or not, Libby’s anger didn’t fade.
“I don’t know how you park in Ohio, but here in Pennsylvania we at least give the other person a foot or so to maneuver.”
“Really?” he asked blandly.
“Really.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He opened the truck door and started to climb in.
“That’s all? No I’m sorry. No I won’t let it happen again?”
He sighed and stood beside his open door. “Listen, I’ve had a very long day and don’t need to have some shrew—”
“Shrew?”
“—yapping at me because she doesn’t know how to parallel park.”
“My car was here first. You’re the one crawling up my bumper, and yet you have the nerve to say I don’t know how to park?”
“Well, I don’t know how you do it here in Pennsylvania, but in Ohio we try to come within a foot of the curb.”
“I’m within a foot of the curb. Heck, I’m practically on the curb. And how close I am to the curb doesn’t affect how others park and, more importantly, get out of their parking spaces.”
He climbed into the truck. “So maybe next time you should park on the parking ramp at the corner of Eighth and Peach. It’s only a couple of blocks.”
Libby knocked on the window, and reluctantly the parking idiot rolled the glass down. “Or, maybe,” she said, “next time you should park there when you visit the doctor’s.”
“That’s a heck of a hike to walk to the office every day.”
“You need to see the ophthalmologist every day?” Right. The man didn’t have glasses; she’d wager not even contacts. No, Mr. Perfect’s eyes were probably twenty-twenty. Who did he think he was fooling?”
“I am the ophthalmologist.”
“Dr. Gardner?” This was Mabel’s Dr. Hunk? Well, he might be eye candy, but he certainly left a bitter aftertaste.
He nodded. “And you are?”
“Your new neighbor, Libby McGuiness.”
“You have an apartment here?” He nodded toward the apartments that topped a number of the square’s businesses.
“No, I own Snips and Snaps, the beauty salon right next door to you. And since it appears we’ll both be parking here frequently, maybe you should invest in some parking lessons.”
“Only if you join me,” he said pleasantly.
Libby resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at the man and attempted to sound mature. “Listen, sparring with you hasn’t been much of an exercise in wits, since you’ve only got half of yours, but I have to go. If you wouldn’t mind moving your truck…?”
“And I have to confess, this is the nicest welcome to the neighborhood I’ve had to date.”
A small shot of guilt coursed through her. After all, she might not want to go after Dr. Gardner in a romantic way, but she also didn’t want to alienate a neighbor.
Libby’s guilt totally evaporated when the parking-failure doctor shot her a snotty grin.
“With manners like yours, I’m sure you’re in store for even better ones,” Libby said before she stormed to her car.
Mabel wanted her to change her hair for hunky Dr. Gardner? Libby slammed the car door shut. The only thing she’d change was her parking space. She had a daughter to pick up and couldn’t wait on a daily basis for Dr. Gardner to move his truck.
The green truck slipped smoothly into Reverse then, and with the two feet of free space behind it, angled out of the parking space. Finally able to back up, Libby followed suit. It was time to go home.
A half hour later she stood in her kitchen with Meg, and the parking-idiot was all but forgotten.
“And then Jenny barfed, right there in the class. The janitor had to come clean it up. We had class in the cafeteria then because the room still smelled, but the cafeteria smelled almost as bad.”
Some things never changed. Bad cafeteria food was one of those things.
Libby glanced at her daughter’s brunette curls. Another thing that never changed, and never would, was the delight she got watching Meg. Every year she just seemed more wonderful. Her baby was ten years old. Where had the time gone?
“Do you have homework?” Libby asked to cover up the fact she was suddenly feeling nostalgic. Ten-year-olds didn’t appreciate being sighed over.
Meg frowned. “You ask me that every night. Maybe I did it at the Hendersons?”
Libby stirred the sauce and smiled. Her daughter was a normal ten-year-old girl in every sense of the word. She put the spoon down and said, “And maybe you didn’t. Which is it?”
“Fine. I’ll do my homework.” Meg’s hands moved much slower than when they recited Jenny’s barf experience.
“Dinner’s on in about fifteen minutes, so get to it,” Libby said as she signed.
Moving fingers. Dancing hands. Those signs were the only indication that there was something different about Meg.
She watched her daughter stomp away and couldn’t help but smile again. Meg groused about homework, had a room that resembled a pigsty and spent as much time as she could manage chatting with her friends on the Internet. Libby wouldn’t allow her to use public chat rooms, but they’d set up a private one where all Meg’s friends could meet. And meet they did whenever Meg could sneak some computer time on their antiquated model.
She’d be thrilled with the new model Libby planned to buy her for Christmas. Computers, sign language, lip reading—Libby encouraged anything that opened communication for her daughter.
She started slicing the Italian bread, visions of modems and mouses floating through her head. Like any other fifth grader, Meg would love a faster model.
Like any other fifth grader. That phrase summed up Meggie to a T. Well, maybe not just like any other fifth grader. Meg was special, and it wasn’t her hearing impairment that made her that way. She was just a very special little girl.
Too bad her father, Mitch, hadn’t stuck around long enough to see that he was right—their daughter wasn’t normal. No, Meg was spectacular.
Mitch’s loss was Libby’s gain. Raising Meg was probably the most wonderful thing she’d ever do. Getting dinner with her, nagging her about homework, seeing the world through her daughter’s baby blue eyes was a gift. And Libby tried not to let a day go by without reminding herself how blessed she was.
Fifteen minutes later the two of them sat down to their spaghetti and meatballs. In between bites Meg bubbled about her score on some new computer game she was playing with Jackie Henderson. “I beat her, big-time.”
“I suppose she’ll want a rematch, and she might win, so don’t get too cocky.”
“No way. My fingers are quicker than hers will ever be.”
After nine years of signing, Libby’s fingers were fast, but not nearly as fast as Meg’s. She was probably right—Jackie didn’t stand a chance.
The kitchen light flashed at the same moment the doorbell buzzer sounded.
“I’ll get it,” Meg signed even as she flew out of her chair before Libby could protest. She didn’t like Meg answering the door after dark, and evenings came early in November. She hastily trailed after her daughter.
“Flowers!” Meg signed before she took the arrangement of fall foliage from the deliveryman.
The dark-haired deliveryman flashed a lopsided smile as he checked his clipboard. “Libby McGuiness, right?”
“Right.” Libby fished in her back pocket and pulled out a couple dollars. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bills at him. “Thank you.”
