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wouldn't let herself fantasize about gazing out on the world from the roof with Zach.
    Zach.
    She shivered at the intimacy implied by the name. An intimacy she had no intention of exploring.
    Zach stared down from the roof at Julia below him and thanked heaven for his sure-footed instincts gained from years of climbing oil rigs.
    She looked so damned beautiful. Sun glistened off her wheat-colored curls. Her flowing dress—made out of that scrunchy fabric—swirled around her, twisted and molded to her mile-long legs.
    Except she wouldn't be exchanging pleasantries with him if she knew what topped his schedule Monday morning when he began an extensive review of her husband's flight history.
    Julia shifted under his scrutiny, her bare feet tracing a restless dance in the grass. God, he would far rather stare at her than think about what he had to do. Those surprisingly sexy painted toes had sent him vaulting off the porch before he fell into a repeat gape of the night before.
    What color polish did she wear? He hadn't allowed himself the indulgence of finding out. Now he couldn't tell for certain from such a distance and for some reason he had to know.
    Zach scaled to the ground, landing beside her. Overgrown lawn masked her toes. Damn. "You said back at the hospital you aren't my obligation. Fine. So forget I was your husband's boss. I'm your friend helping out which means you can stop calling me Colonel and start calling me Zach."
    "Okay."
    He waited. Where had the whole name request come from in the first place? Strange, but he hadn't thought much about the fact that not many people used his given name anymore. As he had climbed the ranks, his circle of familiars narrowed. And then with the divorce...
    He wanted to hear his name. From Julia.
    She shuffled, scratching her toes over the top of her other foot. Pink. The polish was pink. Soft, pretty pink—with those damned alluring sparkles. A lot like her.
    "Well, Julia?"
    "Thank you for the chili and the welcome-home smile... Zach."
    His name whispered from her mouth and right through him.
    Ah, damn.
    What the hell had he done? Drawn a dumb-ass line in the sand that she'd stepped right over. And now there was no going back.
    Julia stared at Zach, his name still warm on her tongue and swirling in her mind. Patrick stirred against her shoulder, reminding Julia of her priorities. Flirting factored way down on the list.
    Determined to climb those steps, Julia secured her hold on her baby and herself. If only she could jump straight from the porch into Patrick's farm-theme nursery, the only room in the house that didn't carry memories of living there with Lance.
    Zach's steady bootsteps followed. His shadow lengthened over her as she crossed into her living room.
    For about ninety seconds, she thought everything would be fine. The familiarity of her home embraced her. Two overstuffed sofas in slate-blues and buttercup-yellows bracketed the fireplace. Frothy sheers allowed light to filter through and caress the honey-warm tones of oak furniture, some things her own work, such as a miniature playhouse under the window. Other pieces lovingly chosen flea-market finds, like the pie safe.
    With her wedding picture on top.
    In full-dress uniform, Lance smiled out of the crystal frame.
    Her stomach gnawed on itself like the grinding tug of a saw chewing at a piece of hardwood. She was truly alone. Alone to bring up a precious child totally dependent on her for so much more than most children.
    The awesome responsibility washed over her—along with a surprise surge of anger at her husband.
    If only Lance hadn't convinced her to forgive him for doing the unforgivable, then died before she could finish reconciling her feelings. She had managed to accept that he'd had an affair. She hadn't, however, been granted time to find a way to forgive him for loving the other woman. The kind of woman he should have married.
    Knowing her feelings were unreasonable didn't stop her from shifting some of