"She's a delightful young woman. Very quiet and refined, exactly what I think you would like. And she loves children. Why don't you give my great-niece a call?" Mary Goldwin urged. "I'm sure you'll like her."

   Tyler made no effort to be tactful. "I'm really not interested."

   Ignoring the people milling around them in the bank lobby where they'd met by accident, Mary shook a finger at him. "You should listen to me, Tyler. You need a wife and those children need a mother. As interesting as Jane Doherty is, I'm sure you realize she's hardly—"

   Tyler didn't want to hear the end of gay sentence. "I have to go. Goodbye, Mrs. Goldwin."

   "Now, Tyler, I haven't finished talking to you."

   Yes, she had. Tyler had no intention of waiting around for more. Ever since word had gotten out that he and Jane weren't seeing each other anymore, he'd been besieged by elderly women trying to fix him up. Apparently, they had taken his interest in Jane as sign that he was ready to date again.

   It was hard enough dealing with his own problems without having to put himself at the mercy of the local matchmakers. And he didn't want to meet another woman. Jane was the only woman he wanted—so badly he wasn't sure he would survive another night without her. And yet he still hadn't found the courage to go after her. To risk hearing her say that she had finally gotten him out of her system, once and for all.

   It was a relief to have even the fifteen minutes of solitude he got during the drive across town. It had been two weeks since he and Jane had split up, and he had reacted to the breakup the same way he'd handled Stephanie's death. He's withdrawn, hiding behind work and his children, trying to keep himself too busy to think. Except in the middle of the night, of course, where there had been nothing left to do except sit in his living room and brood.

   He missed her. He missed her quirky observations on life, her near-blinding smiled, her contagious sense of humor. Her generous affection—too generous, he feared. But when it had been focused solely on him, it had been great. She'd been able to make him laugh, to make him forget. To make him feel alive again. And he missed her.

   Even if he could ever convince her to give him another chance—and that was a huge 'if,' considering the things he'd said to her—did he really have the courage to try again? For the children's sake—for his own—should he take a risk again?

   He was almost overwhelmed by the urge to say yes. He was fully, angrily aware that it was pure fear that held him back.