Because he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted her far away, Barbie took an empty seat on the aisle five rows back from the wheelchair section. She made a determined effort to focus her attention on the movie, which had started about ten minutes earlier.

It was a comedy, just as she’d requested, only now she wasn’t in any mood to laugh. Instead, she tapped her foot compulsively, scowling at the unfriendly man seated below her. When she saw that her tapping was irritating others, she crossed her legs and allowed her foot to swing. In all her life she’d never met anyone so incredibly rude. He deserved to have that soda dumped in his lap!

The rest of the audience laughed at the antics on the screen. Barbie might have, too, if she’d been able to concentrate. Almost against her will, her eyes kept traveling to the man in the wheelchair. The little girl in her wanted to stick her tongue out at him.

He’d asked her to move and yet no one sat next to him. In fact, the entire row was empty. He hadn’t come with anyone; he just didn’t want her sitting next to him.

What exactly was wrong with her? Lots of men would have welcomed her company. And they would’ve been more polite about that little accident, too. She was tempted to give that…that Neanderthal a piece of her mind. He had a lot of nerve asking her to leave. It was a free country and she could sit anywhere she darn well pleased.

Barbie left halfway through the movie, pacing the lobby in her exasperation. Where did he get off acting like such a jerk—and worse, making her feel like one? The teenager who’d sold her the ticket watched her for several minutes.

“Is everything okay?” she called out.

Barbie whirled around, her agitation mounting. “I was just insulted,” she said, although there wasn’t anything the girl could do about it. “Without realizing it, I sat in the wheelchair seating and this man told me to move.”

The girl looked down, but not before Barbie caught her smiling.

“Do you think that’s funny?” she asked.

“No, no, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to move if you didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t know that at the time. I assumed there was someone with him and I’d taken his or her spot.”

“He was alone.”

“So it seems. Furthermore, I didn’t mean to spill my drink on him. It was an accident.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You spilled your drink? On him?”

“In his lap.”

The teenager giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. “Did he get mad?”

“Well, yes, but it was an accident. The popcorn, too.”

Another giggle escaped. “Oh, my gosh.”

Barbie raised her eyebrows at this girl’s amusement. “I have never met a more unreasonable or ruder man in my entire life,” she said pointedly.

“That’s my uncle Mark,” the girl explained, grinning openly now.

“He’s your…uncle.” Barbie seemed to leap from one fire into another. Every word she’d said was likely to be repeated to “Uncle Mark.” Well, good. Someone should give that arrogant, supercilious hothead a real talking-to. Who did he think he was, anyway?

“Unfortunately, he can be a bit unreasonable,” the girl said.

“Tell me about it.”

“You shouldn’t let him bother you.”

Barbie opened her mouth to argue and then decided the girl was right. She’d paid for her ticket, the same as he had, and could sit wherever she pleased. If she chose to sit in the wheelchair area, that was her business, as long as no one legitimately needed the seat. And no one did.

“Why don’t you go back in?” the girl suggested. “It’s a very funny movie, you know.”

“Thanks—I will.” Barbie marched into the theater, determined to sit where she wanted.

And lost her nerve.

It just wasn’t in her to create a scene. Instead she walked over to her previous seat. She slipped into it, balancing her purse on her lap, and stared at the screen. Whatever was happening in the movie bypassed her completely.

Giving up on the film, she studied the back of the man’s head. He must’ve sensed her watching him because he shifted his position, as though he felt uncomfortable. Fine with her.

In another thirty minutes, the movie ended and the lights came on. The theater emptied, but Barbie remained in her seat. Mark whatever-his-name stayed where he was, too. When the last person had walked out, he wheeled his chair toward the exit.

“Are you always so rude?” she asked, striding after him.

He wheeled around and for an instant seemed surprised to see her.

“I’m rude when the situation calls for it,” Mark informed her.

In the darkened theater Barbie hadn’t gotten a good look at him. She did now and almost did a double take. The man was gorgeous. Mean as a snake, though. Gary would never have talked to a woman the way this man did. He’d always been respectful. Polite.

“I wish I hadn’t apologized,” she muttered. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“Listen, you do whatever you want. All I ask is that you stay out of my way.”

“Gladly.” She marched ahead with all the righteousness she could muster. But before she left the building, Barbie decided to stop at the ladies’ room.

She’d just emerged when she saw Mark wheel himself into the theater lobby.

“He was pretty annoyed,” his niece said in a low voice, joining Barbie.

“I told him exactly what I thought of him.”

The girl smiled gleefully. “Did you really?”

Barbie nodded. “And then some.” Although she was beginning to suspect she’d overreacted.

“People tiptoe around him.”

“Not me.” She and Gary had believed in treating people equally. Anything else was a form of discrimination, of seeing the disability and not the person.

“It’s because everyone in the family feels sorry for him and he hates that.”

“Oh.” Well, she certainly hadn’t shown him any pity—but maybe she’d been somewhat rude herself.

“I don’t, though,” the girl went on, “which is one reason he stops in here on the evenings I’m working.”

“Does he come to the movies often?” Barbie wasn’t sure what had prompted the question.

“Uncle Mark comes to the movies every Monday night.” The girl held Barbie’s look for an extra-long moment. “I’m Tessa, by the way, and Mark Bassett is my uncle’s name.” She thrust out her hand.

Barbie shook it. “And I’m Barbie.”

“You’ll come again, won’t you?” Tessa asked.

“I live in the neighborhood.” Well, sort of. It was a twenty-minute drive, but this theater was the closest multiplex in her vicinity.

“I wish you would,” Tessa said, walking her to the glass doors that led to the parking lot. She held one open. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“You will,” Barbie said, removing the car keys from her purse. Sitting inside her vehicle, she let the conversation with Tessa run through her mind. Tessa was basically asking her to return the following Monday—and she’d more or less agreed. She’d need to give that some thought. She felt an undeniable attraction to this man, not to mention a sense of challenge and the exhilaration that came with it. In fact, she hadn’t reacted that strongly to anyone in…years. She didn’t understand the intensity of her own response.

As she always did when she was upset or confused, Barbie phoned her mother. Lillie answered right away.

“Sweetheart, where were you?”

“I decided to go to the movies. I’m on my cell.”

“I left you a message,” her mother said. “I was hoping you’d come by the house and have dinner with me.”

Suddenly ravenous, Barbie remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything more than some toast and a few handfuls of popcorn all day.

“Thanks,” she said. “Do you want me to pick anything up?”

“No, I got groceries earlier today.”

“Do you have your car yet?” Barbie asked. The red-hot convertible had gone back to the dealership for the same problem as before. The shop had worked on the steering mechanism twice now.

“No, but I’m not worried.”

“You’re so calm about all this.” Barbie marveled at her mother’s patience. She hadn’t complained even once.

“Is everything all right, dear?” her mother asked. “You sound agitated.”

“I am, a little.” Barbie went on to explain what had happened—without, for some reason, mentioning that the man was in a wheelchair. To her dismay, her mother laughed.

“Mother!” she protested. “This isn’t funny.”

“I know…. It’s just that I can’t imagine you being so clumsy.”

“It was his fault,” Barbie insisted. “He’s just fortunate I didn’t land in his lap.”

Instantly a picture appeared in her mind, and to her shock, it wasn’t an unpleasant one. Barbie saw herself sitting on Mark’s lap, her arms around his neck, their eyes meeting, their lips…She shook her head. She didn’t know where that vision had come from because the man was so…unpleasant.

“You can tell me all about it once you’re here,” Lillie said.

“See you in a few minutes, then.” Barbie was about to snap her cell phone shut when her mother’s voice stopped her. “Barbie, listen, I almost forgot. Jacqueline Donovan invited us to a small gathering next Monday. You’ll be able to attend, won’t you?”

“Monday?” she repeated. “What time?”

“Around six.”

“Sorry, Mom,” she said, making her decision. “I’m afraid I’ve already got plans.”

Mark Bassett wasn’t going to get rid of her as easily as he no doubt hoped.

Chapter 6

Anne Marie had been in emotional free fall ever since her Friday-night dinner with Melissa. She’d tried to push the conversation from her mind but hadn’t succeeded. Robert’s unfaithfulness hung over her every minute of every day—the betrayal, the pain, the anger. It would n’t hurt as much if she hadn’t so desperately wanted her husband’s child. For him to adamantly refuse her and then fall into bed with another woman, a woman who now had a child that might be his, bordered on cruelty.

Another complication was her stepdaughter. Anne Marie didn’t want to believe that Melissa had purposely set out to hurt and humiliate her, and yet she was suspicious. Still, she felt that Robert’s daughter was distressed by her father’s actions and had told the truth when she said she wasn’t sure where else to turn. Anne Marie didn’t understand, though, why Melissa hadn’t confided in her brother. Surely Brandon would’ve been a more natural choice. Had she come to Anne Marie because she wanted to talk to another woman? Because she knew that no one else had loved Robert as much? One thing was certain; the instant Melissa had seen how badly she’d hurt Anne Marie, she was genuinely regretful. In the end, Melissa had been the one comforting her.