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out of your way and I won’t stay past tomorrow. Do you have a guest bedroom?"
    "No." His eyes flickered. "I never have guests who require sleeping quarters separate from mine."
    She flushed at the feelings such a statement aroused in her and said the first thing that popped into her mind. "What about when your mother comes to stay?"
    "No mother."
    She looked at him oddly. She hadn’t heard that particular tone from him before. It was almost defensive. "I’ll sleep on the couch, then."
    "Now, that you won’t do," he stated definitely, and got up. "I have one bedroom, and it’s where you’ll be sleeping—for the next few nights. I’ll take the couch."
    Stubbornly Jennifer shook her head and rose to stand beside him. "I refuse to put you out any more than I already have. I said I’ll be no trouble, and I meant it. I insist. I’ll take the couch."
    Jerome stared at the woman in front of him somewhat surprised. One minute she was a crying bit of feminine fragileness. The next she was issuing orders with the authority of a drill sergeant. He had a feeling that trying to figure out Jennifer White could take a long time. "Okay, have it your way," he muttered. "I’ll be back in a minute with the bedding."
    She called his name before she could stop herself. "Jerome?"
    "Yes?"
    She knew that what she was about to ask was totally inappropriate, but something was pushing her. "Your home. . . well, it’s very nice, and it’s beautifully decorated." She hesitated. "I especially like the rocking horse, although it does seem a little out of place. Did you choose it or did your decorator?"
    He gave her a strange look. "I did my own decorating, and the rocking horse was a gift from a friend."
    A friend? Jennifer couldn’t help but speculate about the person who had given it to him. It would have had to be a very close friend for Jerome to have accepted it and keep it in a place of such prominence in his living room. And it must have been a woman, for surely that wasn’t the type of gift a man would give to a man. And why did it matter to her anyway?
    But it drew her.
    She walked over to the horse and, just as if it were a real animal, ran her hand over its smooth wooden finish. Its head was slightly taller than she was, and she could tell that it was sturdily made. Its body was painted cream, its swirling mane and flying tail were brown, and both were carved in such a way that it appeared as if the horse were in full gallop. A muted-red saddle covered its back, and a braided golden rope formed its halter. Its two rockers were a soft blue.
    Jerome joined her, standing at the horse’s head. His arm curved naturally around its neck.
    "It’s wonderful!" Jennifer said sincerely. "Why did your friend give it to you?"
    He looked at her. "Considering your abysmal record of answering personal questions, that’s a very personal question, isn’t it?"
    She flushed. "I know. I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to."
    He unbent a little. "My friend decided I needed a bit of whimsy in my life."
    His lips turned upward into a smile, and although Jennifer knew his smile had nothing to do with her, she found herself wishing that it did. She watched his face closely, enjoying the softer lights in his blue eyes.
    "I guess everyone needs a little."
    "She’d love to hear you say that." Jerome said dryly. "She’s a great promoter of whimsy."
    So she had been right, Jennifer mused. A woman had given it to him. It wasn’t your average gift; therefore, the woman must be quite special. Her deductions didn’t leave her feeling very happy.
    She turned back to the horse. "I’ve never seen such a big rocking horse. How could a child possibly get on it?"
    Almost instantly his smile vanished. "It wasn’t made for a child."
    "I don’t understand. Who was it made for, then?"
    There was silence for a moment, then he said quite without inflection, "It was made for a man who, as a boy, had no toys." Then he looked at her and she