By Appointment Only Read Free Page A

of somebody, and that poor sap had just been nominated.
    Hannah held her hand up to the light and admired the way the brilliant stone nestled in a platinum band sparkled and danced. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever seen, much less owned. Unfortunately, she knew she had accepted it under false pretenses. She wasn’t ready to get married.
    But Morgan’s dear face had been so boyishly jubilant when he popped open that damn velvet box, she hadn’t been able to do more than smile weakly and allow him to slide the costly bauble onto the appropriate finger of her left hand.
    She studied the ring carefully and curled her fingers into a fist. Now that it was on her hand, it was hard to think about giving it up. Surely it couldn’t hurt to wear it for a bit. She might not be as naive or as idealistic as some women, but even so . . . she had dreams.
    And Morgan was definitely the man to play the hero. She loved him passionately, though she was always careful to curb her adoration when they were together. He deserved someone far less screwed up than she was, and even though she might indulge herself in the short term . . . pretending they had a future . . . she knew the truth.
    He was hers only temporarily.
    But good Lord, it was hard to say no to that man. He was a steamroller, an affectionate, handsome, rugged steamroller. Everything about him from the dark wavy hair he kept cut short to the breadth of his powerful shoulders and the predatory gleam in his gray eyes, made her knees weak.
    And in bed. She swallowed hard and her thighs tightened involuntarily. Just mentally reliving the first time they made love was enough to make her skin damp and to hitch her breath in a jerky gasp of remembrance. He was the most focused man she had ever met.
    And whether that meant bullying his crew and the elements into submission or wooing a woman so sweetly she thought she might actually melt from longing, he made things happen. His way. On his terms. And the results were so satisfying, she couldn’t find it in her heart to protest.
    Her phone rang suddenly, and she snatched it up with a guilty look at the clock. She’d been dithering in front of her closet, and now she was about to be late. She spoke briefly to the caller on the other end, hung up, and dressed rapidly.
    Engagement ring or no engagement ring, life went on.
    Thirty minutes later, she pulled into her customary parking place at the grocery store and headed inside armed with seven different shopping lists. Mr. Potter wanted salt substitute and dried apricots. Mrs. Petersen had listed and underscored a bottle of chain-brand cologne. Two others wanted beer and cigarettes.
    All of her clients had access to the cafeterias on site where they lived, but even so, they liked knowing they could have the little odds and ends they had enjoyed before their infirmities made them dependent on others. And it made Hannah feel good to know that she provided a service.
    Several years ago, she had dropped by the various retirement centers on a volunteer basis. At the time she’d been working in a real estate office, later earning her license. But after completing only a handful of deals, she realized that she wasn’t cut out for the hard sell. She wanted to spend more time with the feisty, garrulous, oftentimes stubborn men and women who reminded her so vividly of her beloved Grammy and Papaw.
    Both of her maternal grandparents were gone now, one to heart disease and the other to cancer. She missed them daily, and it eased the pain to be close to others of their generation. She fell into the habit of helping out by shopping for clothing, gifts, food, or any other items that weren’t readily available to those with limited mobility or simply the disinclination to brave the roads.
    After a while, several of her elderly friends urged her to make her service a legitimate business. Between them they found her enough tasks to keep her gainfully employed from week to week. Several