Free His Perfect Woman (Harlequin Superromance) by Kay Stockham

parent again.
    She wanted her ex to be happy. He deserved to be happy after all he’d been through because of her and the town that had judged him so unjustly—but wanting him happy and dealing with it while oohing and aahing over tiny diapers and baby outfits was just too much. Or maybe just punishment?
    After coming to the house with Bryan to tell her the truth about Josie’s death, Ashley had periodically called to check on her. Short conversations about nothing and everything. AsMelissa’s recovery had progressed so had their relationship. Now she considered Ashley a friend, but still… Did Ashley realize what kind of attention and gossip Melissa’s attendance would bring?
    Melissa stepped onto the carefully laid stepping-stone path leading around the house and pulled at the neckline of her dress. Several women passed, touring the grounds, and Melissa managed a strained smile in response to their polite nods. Realizing she still tugged at her dress, she forced her hand to her side as she approached the bricked patio off the back porch of the B and B, noticing her reflection in a nearby window. She grimaced when she saw how her wide-brimmed hat covered her short hair and made her look bald. Compared to the tiny, ribboned concoctions the other women wore, her hat was close kin to a sombrero.
    Panicked, Melissa yanked the hat from her head. Short hair did have some advantages after all—it didn’t mess easily. Hat in hand, she discreetly checked her reflection again. Her loose, A-line dress looked more matronly and old-fashioned than anything the other guests wore. Filmy, halter-style sheaths with cleavage-baring Vs and split hems were the items of choice. Unease filled her and she struggled to maintain her composure. This was such a mistake. Maybe she could go in, leave her gift and sneak out the front?
    â€œMelissa! Hello, dear! I just heard your wonderful news.”
    Mrs. Hilliard, known as Mrs. H. by most everyone under the age of forty due to the woman’s many years of teaching high school English, held out both her hands in greeting. Smiling shakily, Melissa allowed the woman to draw her close for a hug.
    â€œWhat news?” she asked, smiling at the older woman’s cherry-red hat and fifties-style purple dress. On Mrs. H. the look was perfect.
    â€œYour job, dear. Working for Dr. Booker will put you on the right track for earning some money to go back to college. You’ll finish your teaching degree in no time.”
    Melissa blinked. “Oh, but I’m not going back to school.”
    Mrs. H.’s gaze narrowed shrewdly. “I see. And why not?”
    Melissa faltered beneath the other woman’s stare. “Um…”
    â€œYou had nearly completed your course work when you got sick, correct?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œThen you must return and get your degree.” The older woman peered intensely through the wide black rims of her glasses. “My dear, you were a wonderful student and one of the brightest, most courageous young women I know.”
    â€œI’m no one special, Mrs. H.”
    She patted her hand. “Nonsense. You are a fighter, child. The fact you’re standing here proves it, and that ability and insight is something children need. Now I insist you go to the college the very next chance you get and pick up a course listing.”
    Melissa stared at her, wondering why everyone seemed to have more faith in her and her recovery than she did. “Mrs. H., the cancer might come back.”
    â€œOf course it might,” Mrs. H. confirmed, “but it might not, and then what will you have to show for yourself? You won’t have lived up to your potential.” Mrs. H. patted her hand again and nodded firmly before she walked away to greet another guest.
    Melissa mulled over her former teacher’s comments during the next hour as the party moved inside out of the heat. She’d always dreamed of