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why her heart didn't trip over itself each time he looked at her, why she hadn't dissolved at the touch of his lips on hers.
    For six years Ken Howell had been preserved in her mind as she had first seen him, a dashing student leader on the Tulane campus, a stunning basketball star. He was from a good family, in solid with New Orleans society. He was a business administration major; his future had held nothing but bright promise. And he had chosen Schyler Crandall, die reigning belle of Laurent Parish, to pin his fraternity pin on.
    They went together for two years. As soon as both had graduated, marriage seemed a natural progression. Then they had had a silly falling out, a misunderstanding over something so trivial as to be insignificant. They didn't date each other for several months.
    Schyler never considered the break irrevocable and she had viewed the temporary separation as healthy for the relationship. It gave them time to date others and make certain that they wanted each other for life.
    When Ken finally relented and called her, he wanted desperately to see her. Their reconciliation was tender and passionate by turns. He was impatient to get married; she felt the same. They set a tentative date for their wedding and asked both families to gather at Belle Terre for a party.
    But Tricia stole the show.
    She wore blue that day, a shade exactly the color of her eyes. Schyler had told her earlier how pretty she looked. Schyler had loved the entire world that day. Everybody and everything was beautiful.
    In the midst of all the gaiety, Tricia had sidled up to Ken and taken his hand. "Everybody, everybody, can I please have your attention?" When the laughter and conversation died down, she smiled up at Ken and said, "Honey, I suppose I should have told you first and in private, but it seems so appropriate to tell you now, when the people we love most dearly are here with us." Then she had drawn a deep breath and, with a jubilant smile, announced, "I'm going to have your baby."
    According to his facial expression, Ken was as stunned as anyone there. He looked flabbergasted, embarrassed, ill. But he didn't deny his responsibility, not even when Schyler turned to him with disbelief and silently begged him to.
    Any solution other than marriage was out of the question. Within days and with very little fanfare, Tricia and Ken were married in a civil ceremony. Eight weeks later Tricia miscarried.
    But by that time, Schyler had left for Europe. When news of the miscarriage reached her, she felt nothing. Her heart had been as empty as Tricia's womb. Their betrayal had left her numb.
    In many ways, she still was. So when the bad memories darkly obscured the good ones, Ken's kiss evoked nothing but revulsion.
    Stepping off the elevator on the second floor of the hospital, Schyler thought that if Cotton didn't pull out of this, that if he died as a result of the massive heart attack, at least he would die in the knowledge that his life had amounted to something. So far, the same could not be said of her.
    Before she returned to England, she must come to terms with her feelings for Tricia and Ken and their treachery. If she didn't, she might remain stagnant forever. Until her mind and heart had finally closed the door on the past, she would be like a stalled engine, going nowhere, accomplishing nothing.
    "Good evening," she said to the nurse she met in the hallway. "How is my father?"
    "Hello, Miss Crandall. There's no change. The doctor asked earlier if you had come in. He wants to see you."
    "He can find me outside my father's room."
    "I'll tell him."
    The nurse moved away to find the doctor. Schyler continued down the corridor toward the last ICU. Through a narrow window she saw Cotton lying in a bed, connected to machines that bleeped and blinked his discouraging vital signs.
    Schyler's own heart ached to see the man she adored in this condition. Cotton, if he was aware of it, would hate being helpless. He had never been dependent