No One But You

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

“Mariah Evans. Is that you?” The deep baritone rumbled above the noise of the crowd, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Strange, the power that one voice had out of the many rising around her. Recognition streaked down her spine and kicked up her pulse as a tall, powerful man broke away from the crowd. Although it had been nearly eighteen years since high school, Mariah knew the confident gait, the always-in-charge manner and deep blue eyes that touched her heart.

Wyatt Royce. Her old boyfriend. Shock rocked her back on her heels. She blinked, but he kept coming, weaving coolly around the volunteers hurrying to take donations of cash, checks and diapers from the cars driving up. He was a calm island in a sea of activity. When his dazzling gaze latched on to hers, the banner flapping in the March wind advertising the diaper drive, the bustle and noise of a local television crew setting up, and the squeal of kids running to the booth ahead of their parents all faded into the background.

Run? Panic? Escape? Why was that her first instinct? Probably because things hadn’t ended well between her and Wyatt in their high school days. What a shock to see him again. “I’m Mariah Duncan now. What are you doing in Buffalo?”

“Working.” He approached the booth like the calm in a storm, poised, masculine, impeccable in a tailored suit.

“On a Saturday afternoon?” She nodded toward his attire, definitely out of place at this casual event. “Why am I not surprised you’re a workaholic?”

“Type A personality. That’s me. I guess some things don’t change.” His grin hadn’t changed, either. Wide and open and honest, it softened the rugged planes of his face and reminded her of the high school boy who’d asked her out on her first date. That smile could still make her fingertips tingle.

Not that she was letting it. She would never be interested in a man like Wyatt. They’d broken up for a reason.

“You certainly haven’t changed.” He pulled a checkbook out of his jacket pocket. “You’re still pretty. Let me guess. You’re in charge here?”

“I’m the executive director.”

“Oh, I saw your name on the shelter’s letterhead, but I had no idea you were that Mariah.” Wyatt clicked a pen—an expensive one. When he bent forward to fill out his check, dark locks of hair fell over his forehead, just like they had in those innocent days when she’d been in love with him.

How trusting she’d been before marriage changed her. She sighed, remembering. She’d never known true sadness or loneliness before those dark days as Jasper Duncan’s wife. If Wyatt knew about her past, would he pity her? Or had he simply been a Jasper in the making? And what was he talking about? “Where exactly have you seen my name? I don’t understand.”

“You and I have been sort of corresponding. How’s that for irony?” He signed the check with a flourish and handed it over.

“Corresponding? You and me? No way.” She would have recognized his name. She could never forget the man who’d given her her first kiss and first heartbreak. “You and I haven’t—“

“We have.” Amusement drew dimples beside his mouth and mellowed the chiseled angles of his face, and her heart caught again. Just like old times. All her experience and hard learned lessons vanished like fog in the sun as he splayed his hands on the booth’s counter. “I’m Flagstone Properties.”

“What?” No. She couldn’t believe it. That was a hugely successful company worth billions. Flagstone Properties owned several impressive buildings in downtown Buffalo, as well as a chunk of Manhattan real estate. The organization was so wealthy it could afford to give property away. “I deal with Ella Jean there. She’s handling the final paperwork on the land the company is donating for our new shelter site.”

“Ella Jean works for me. I’m the ‘W.R.’ in the cc line of every letter and email she’s sent you. You wrote her about your fund-raiser today and that’s why I dropped by.” He shook his head, scattering that thick dark hair, so good-looking that her volunteers and employees were starting to notice. Who wouldn’t? He was a striking man.

“Take over for me, Sunni. Please.” Mariah handed Wyatt’s five-figure check—her knees buckled when she noticed the amount—to her coworker.

“Gladly.” The Asian woman flashed a knowing smile. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Royce.”

“Good to meet you.” Wyatt nodded politely. When he stepped back, he didn’t seem aware of the half-dozen women who watched him. He cut a fine figure in his perfectly fitted suit. Personally, Mariah didn’t notice the bunch and ripple of his muscles beneath the cloth as she slipped out of the booth and into the spring sunshine.

“You’re sure this is really a coincidence?” She narrowed her eyes. Honestly, she didn’t know what to think. “You must have researched our organization before Ella Jean chose us.”

“It was her project, not mine. She’s in charge. I just approved her decision.” His brow furrowed. “Why? You aren’t going to change your mind about accepting the property, are you? Let’s face it, things didn’t end well between us.”

“That was a long time ago, and besides, the shelter has outgrown our building. With this new property, Mary’s Place can finally be what the board and I have imagined it. I’m very grateful for your donation, Wyatt.”

“I’m glad we can make a difference.” Wyatt shrugged, caught between wanting to know more about her and wanting to walk away. She’d been his first failed relationship. “You run an impressive organization. After seeing your shelter through this expansion, you could have your pick of executive positions.”

“I would never leave. Mary’s Place is my heart and soul. I’m not looking for advancement and stock options.” Her expression grew shuttered. “You’re still the same Wyatt, trying to plan my life, aren’t you?”

“Not planning, just suggesting. I’m trying to make conversation and obviously failing badly.” He was terrible at relationships. Always had been. “I’m rattled. I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I know exactly how you feel.” Her eyes, as verdant as a spring meadow, glimmered as she glanced at him. There was guarded, as if she’d known great sadness, but in them the compassion shining in them was undeniable. What he’d always loved about Mariah was her big heart.

At least he wasn’t alone in his nervousness now. He cleared his throat, relaxing a little. “I should have apologized back then. I didn’t mean to make you unhappy when we were together.”

“Perhaps we were young and just too much alike.”

“No, there were differences. I wasn’t pretty, for one thing. I didn’t wear my hair in curls.” He chose humor because it was safer. Feelings weren’t his forte. Intimacy wasn’t his strength. “I never tried out for the dance team.”

“Funny, but I was talking about being stubborn. Headstrong.”

“I’ll admit to those traits. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“Me, too. I’m glad to see you’ve done well, Wyatt. Success looks good on you.”

“Not as good as it does on you.” He couldn’t help noticing the gold ring glinting on her right hand. No ring on her left. Had she divorced, too? He winced, knowing that pain. He still bore the scars. He squared his shoulders, trying to figure out the best way to end this and walk away before she figured out his history. Say “nice to see you, good luck with the shelter, hope the donation helps.”

“Mom!” A strapping teenager trotted in their direction. He had Mariah’s cinnamon-brown hair and shimmering green eyes.

Mariah, a mother? Wyatt couldn’t say why that threw him. He took a step back. “It was good seeing you, Mariah.”

“Wait, don’t go. Not until you meet my son.” Pride lit her up. “Wyatt, this is Jake.”

“Hey, I know you.” The kid in jeans and a gray sweatshirt with Mary’s Place emblazoned across it had to be in his midteens. A tall, athletic looking boy, he almost matched Wyatt’s six-three.

Hard to believe Mariah had a teenager. She must have married young, right out of high school.

“You’re the dude in the pictures.”

“What pictures?” Okay, call him curious, Wyatt had to know. Did Mariah keep any evidence from their old days?

“The pics in her yearbook.” The kid danced, light on his feet, like a basketball player waiting for an opening. “Plus there’s that old photo in her desk drawer. You are him. My mom’s old boyfriend.”