Free Dreams of Her Own by Rebecca Heflin Page A

you coming to tell me?” Darcy asked, her head tilted.
    “The new bookcase is finished if you want to take a look.”
    “Ooh! Definitely.”
    Millie gingerly opened the bedroom door. She’d heard Darcy and Ian talking in the nurseryearlier, but it had been quiet the last twenty minutes. No bangs, no thuds, so Ian must have left. She climbed a few stairs to the third floor where Darcy’s office was and called out, “Is he gone for the day?”
    “No,” Ian said from behind her, making her yelp. “He’s still here.”
    She froze, closing her eyes, feeling yet another flush creep up her neck. Will she ever stop embarrassing herself in front of him?
    “Darcy, however, is not here.”
    This snapped her out of her mortification, and she spun to face him. “Where’d she go?”
    “She mentioned something about Red Velvet Cake and Aunt Butchies.”
    “Cheese and crackers! I forgot!” Running down the stairs, she remembered to grab her coat before heading out.
    “Where are you going?” Ian called.
    “To catch up to her.” She slammed the door in her haste.
    Millie practically ran down the sidewalk, buttoning her coat as she went. How could she have forgotten? Darcy had a luncheon tomorrow to benefit the Readers for Life Literacy Program, and several women who’d bid on and won lunch with the best-selling author were coming. She’d ordered the cake just yesterday, and with all the humiliation hullabaloo, she’d forgotten to pick it up.
    Ian needed to finish his job and leave her in peace. Ever since he’d started working in the house, she couldn’t keep her mind on her own work. Or, apparently, eat or prepare soup without endangering her own health and well-being. And it was all his fault with his well-worn jeans, tool belt that pulled those jeans precariously low on his hips revealing the band of his underwear—blue today—and his size thirteen feet.
    He made her nervous and all too aware of his presence. He didn’t even need to be in the same room with her, and she could feel him. Except just now when she’d needed to most. She closed her eyes again in mortification at her latest humiliation.
    And nearly ran into a street sign.
    Note to self: Don’t close your eyes while running down a sidewalk.
    Who was she kidding? She didn’t need Ian to make her a klutz. She’d done just fine on her own the twenty-nine years prior to meeting him. Like the time she’d been reading The Kadin and tripped over a skateboard in the middle of the walkway. In her defense, it had been a very juicy part. She’d since forsaken reading and walking at the same time. Or at her high school graduation when she’d walked up to receive her diploma and almost did a face plant on the stage. To this day, she had no idea what she’d tripped over.
    No. Ian couldn’t take all the blame for her mishaps. But his shoulders were more than broad enough to carry some of them.
    Ian shook his head. Millie was a strange one. But he couldn’t help but notice her body in what were obviouslyDarcy’s jeans and sweater. She looked good in something besides brown. The curve of her breasts, a trim waist. And her ass. Well, it was worth seeing, especially in those snug jeans and fitted sweater. Who would’ve thought she hid such treasures?
    He also couldn’t help but notice how she took care of Darcy. Granted she got paid for it. Well, most of it anyway. But she clearly went above and beyond, preparing lunch, picking up muffins every morning on her way there, fussing over Darcy’s stair-climbing. He doubted any other author’s assistants, which he’d recently learned from Darcy was her job, took their occupation that seriously.
    He’d just picked up the sander when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. He frowned at the number—Maimonides Medical Center—then got a sick feeling.
    “This is Ian.”
    “Mr. Brand?”
    “Yes.”
    “This is Dr. Ackerman from Maimonides Medical Center. Mrs. Ruby Sinclair has you listed as her next of