Sam opened her door for her. His feet felt heavy as he walked around the car and let himself in. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. He wanted a family, longed for children, and he yearned for Marjorie to give them to him.

She watched him with despair. The tears that had been so close to the surface ran down her cheeks like water over a dam after an early spring thaw, and she turned her head away so he couldn’t see. At that moment she would have sold her soul to be different. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You want children, don’t you?”

Her heart cracked when he was silent, and she realized he couldn’t deny it. Sam Bretton would make a wonderful father; he was a natural.

“Yes,” he answered finally. He couldn’t deny his desire for a family. Almost from the beginning, he’d pictured Marjorie with a child in her arms—their child. For years he’d been seeking a woman who was strong enough to stand on her own, and tender enough to need and love him. These last weeks with Marjorie had led him to believe he’d found that special woman…until tonight.

“I’m no good with babies, and I’m even worse with children,” she whispered in a choked voice. “That’s not going to change.”

Eight

For the second time that morning, Marjorie checked the picnic basket. Her nerves were shot. She hadn’t heard from Sam, nor had she contacted him. For three days she’d done nothing but think about him and how wrong they were for each other. The realization didn’t do any good, though; she still loved him, still wanted him, still yearned for them to build a life together. She would give anything to be the right person for him, but she couldn’t change what she was, couldn’t become someone different.

Now it was the Fourth of July, and she wasn’t even sure he would show up to take her to the picnic and wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

She paused to take a calming breath and rubbed her hands down the thighs of her new jeans. They had been Jody’s idea. Marjorie hadn’t told her sister what happened between her and Sam, but Jody had guessed something was drastically wrong. The following morning she had insisted they go shopping, claiming there wasn’t any ailment a department store couldn’t cure. The jeans, Jody claimed, did great things for Marjorie’s legs. For all Marjorie cared, they could have been made from sackcloth.

The weather outside wasn’t promising; thick gray clouds had formed overhead. As an afterthought, she tucked a thick sweater inside the basket.