

Heartfire

Search For Love Series

Book 5

Karen Rose Smith

Published by Karen Rose Smith at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Karen Rose Smith

Revised and Updated Edition

Original Copyright 1993 Karen Rose Smith

Original Title: Heartfire, Homefire

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

www.karenrosesmith.com

Prologue

The May breeze wafting through the kitchen window ruffled Tessa Kahill's brown curls as she stared at Max Winthrop's broad back. He peered out the back door, watching his son play on the swing set in the yard. His shoulders were so straight and stiff, so stoic as he kept all of his emotion tucked securely inside.

Tessa didn't know whether to go to him or not. Long ago she'd blocked out the memories of the summer they'd spent together before she'd taken off for New York, before he'd gotten to know Leslie. All these years, Tessa had relegated him to being her best friend's husband. And for the most part, she'd stayed away. That had been best.

Now Leslie was gone. During the past month since Leslie's death, Tessa had been in Jenkins, Connecticut, staying with her best friend's parents, trying to give them comfort. Throughout her college friendship with their daughter, they'd been kind and supportive of her. She would have tried to give Max comfort, too, but he'd isolated himself during her stay, though she'd tried to help with Ryan. He was a proud man, insisting on handling his responsibilities himself. She wished he didn't disapprove of her lifestyle so. She also wished he could accept more of her help.

Crossing to the door, she stood beside him. "Max?"

He stared straight ahead. "Ryan's only four. What's he going to do without her? What am I going to do without her?"

Tessa couldn't keep from reaching out to him. She couldn't keep from laying her hand gently on his arm. "You're strong, and Ryan's resilient. You'll get through this. You'll go on with your lives."

Max turned to her then, his whiskey-brown eyes moist. "I miss her."

His unexpected openness and sadness released Tessa's grief, and her throat tightened. At one time, she and Leslie had depended on each other. Tessa had been closer to Leslie than she'd ever been to anyone. "I do, too."

Tessa didn't know how it happened, but suddenly Max's arms surrounded her and she held him tight. As her hand rested on the warm skin of his neck, as she felt his heart beating under hers, as she felt his strength and comfort, she unexpectedly felt something else, too. She tried to push it away, but it came back.

Max needed her comfort so she didn't pull away. But she held perfectly still and didn't breathe in his male scent. She shut out the sound of his heart. She blocked out the wonderful feel of his muscled arms surrounding her. And she told herself she was just lonely, grieving, missing the one person in the world she'd felt closest to. This moment would never happen again.

She had to get back to work. The assignment waiting for her in Italy would help her heal. Traveling around the world had made her a person who belonged everywhere rather than someone who belonged nowhere.

Max would heal, too. All he needed was time.

Chapter One

Three Years Later

Tessa stood at the bottom of the ladder, looking up. "Max?"

A shingle came sliding down the garage roof and landed on bushy stalks of yellow pincushion mums. Max's voice carried over the edge with it. "Tessa! I thought you were arriving next week."

"I finished my assignment and decided I could use some R and R now."

"I'll be down in a minute."

Tessa never waited if she could help it. Her sneakers made no sound as she climbed the ladder tilted against the detached garage. Her jeans rubbed the rungs while her oversized red-striped shirt blew away from her back and puffed behind her as she reached the top rung. She stopped. Max was shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips.

When he saw her, he shook his head and gave her a wry smile. "I thought I told you I'd be down."

No one had answered the front door to Max's Cape Cod. On an Indian summer Saturday afternoon in Connecticut, she'd known Max and Ryan wouldn't be cooped up inside. "I wanted to see the view. Look at the orange, red and yellow trees against the blue sky! Don't you wish you could take a picture in your mind and keep it forever?" She started to climb the slight incline to reach the peak where he stood.

Max gave her one of his penetrating looks. "You might be used to mountains, but I don't want you falling from my roof."

He was referring to her trip covering the latest women's team who'd climbed Mt. Everest. "Max, you worry too much."

She couldn't keep from staring at his bronze shoulders gleaming with sweat in the late-afternoon sun. Since the day when she and Max had comforted each other, Tessa had kept her distance from him, though not from Ryan. She loved her godson, and as she had every September since he'd been born, she'd come back to Jenkins for his birthday.

Suddenly, a zooming ball of motion sped into the yard from alongside of the house. "Tessa! Tessa!" Ryan shouted as he saw her travel bag and laptop computer on the ground and her on the roof. "You're here! My birthday's not till next Saturday. Hey, Dad, did you know she was coming today?"

At the sound of Ryan's voice, Tessa spun around and her foot slipped. Before she could take a breath, Max caught her around the waist. Suddenly she smelled hot musky male, and she knew if she turned her head, her nose would brush the soft dark brown curls on Max's chest. The roof whirled, colors blurred, and she put her hands on his arms to steady herself.

"Will you get off the roof now?" he asked in a low, controlled tone.

She didn't think it was the roof that was making her shaky. "All right." She called to Ryan. "I'll be down in a minute."

Max took his arm from around her waist. "Let me go down first so I can hold the ladder."

She smiled and teased to cover the disturbing sensations that lingered. "I'll let your macho tendencies dictate...this time."

He returned a slow, reluctant smile. "But I'll pay for it in the future?"

"You bet."

Max inhaled a deep breath and climbed over the top rung of the ladder, feeling as if he'd been caught up in a whirlwind. Tessa always demanded notice. It was her verve, her energy, her intensity. Yes, he'd been attracted to her once...before she'd left him for her career. Before he'd become involved with Leslie. He'd always been thankful Leslie had worked at the resort with Tessa that summer in the Poconos, thankful for his marriage, thankful for the wonderful result—Ryan.

Tessa didn't wait until Max was on the ground before she started down the ladder, and he shook his head with exasperation. She was almost in front of him, almost between his arms, before he could move away. He felt the backs of her thighs against his chest and momentarily lost the urge to step aside.

She paused to look at him over her shoulder. "I'm okay now."

Startled by his unexpected reaction to her, Max moved to the left and held the ladder with one hand.

When Tessa was finally on the ground, seven-year-old Ryan wrapped his arms around her legs and squeezed so hard she almost lost her balance. Smiling, she squeezed him back. "Hi there, pancake. I've missed you. What have you been up to?"

"I was nex' door playing with Scruffy. Flo says she can't throw the ball as good as she used to. You are gonna stay 'til my birthday, aren't you?"

His next-door neighbor was in her sixties and owned a mutt Ryan loved to play with. But Max forgot about Flo and her dog to listen to Tessa's answer to his son's question.

"I sure am. But I have to call a motel so I don't have to camp in your backyard tonight."

"Aw, Dad, can't she stay here? It'll be great. Like a sleepover. I can't go with her like I used to and stay at Nana's house anymore."

Max thought of Leslie's parents—the only caring family Tessa had ever experienced. Five months ago they'd moved to Arizona to find relief for Ryan's grandfather's arthritis. They'd hated leaving their grandson, but he and Ryan were supposed to visit them next summer. Max wondered if they could also somehow manage a visit to his parents' farm in Nebraska. It was important for Ryan to stay in touch with his extended family.

"I don't want to put your dad out," Tessa said softly.

"But we can't make pancakes in the morning if you're at a motel," Ryan wailed.

"We could go out for breakfast instead," she offered.

"Dad..."

Max met Tessa's gaze. She'd never stayed in his house before. But it would be stupid for her to rent a motel room. After all, she'd been Leslie's best friend, especially during those months before his wife died. Tessa had called or e-mailed every day and visited whenever she could. More than once, he'd overheard Leslie pouring out her fears to Tessa, her concern about her son. Why shouldn't Tessa stay?

Grabbing the ladder, he shifted it sideways to prop it against the garage. "You're welcome to stay with us, Tessa."

She glanced at the pile of shingles on the ground and for the first time in her life sounded...cautious. "I don't want to get in Mrs. Clark's way."

"I'm not coaching basketball this year so Ryan and I decided we could learn to cook. Mrs. Clark just comes in once a week to clean."

Tessa's eyes widened. "But you love coaching."

"I felt Ryan and I needed time together, and coaching was taking up too much of it."

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded, as if she understood. "Then if you're sure you don't mind, I'll stay."

Ryan jumped up and down and cheered. But after one look at Tessa's small, tilted up nose, her wide green eyes and her wind tousled hair, Max wondered if he'd just made a monumental mistake. Tessa could be a handful.

Then again, he could handle anything for a week.

Max grabbed his shirt from the branch of a bush, shrugged into it and swept up Tessa's bag and computer before she could protest—which she usually did. She was the most independent woman he'd ever met. He supposed her background had something to do with that. Even though they'd dated that one summer when he'd worked at the same resort she had, he didn't know much, just that she'd spent part of her childhood in foster homes. Tessa had always been reluctant to share anything about her background and he hadn't pushed. Maybe he should have. Maybe then he would have understood better why she'd left.

Once in the house, he put her computer on the desk and was about to carry her bag upstairs when he noticed the blinking light on his answering machine. He said to Ryan, "Go on and get washed up for supper."

"Pizza?" Ryan asked hopefully.

"If that's okay with Tessa."

"Pizza's fine," she agreed with a smile.

Max studied the blinking light again. Going to the machine, he pressed PLAY. A few moments later he heard, "Mr. Winthrop, this is Mrs. Bartlett, Ryan's teacher. Please give me a call." She gave the number where she could be reached.

"Problems?" Tessa asked.

"I hope not. But I'd better call her."

Five minutes later, Max replaced the handset onto its base, worried. "Mrs. Bartlett wants to meet with me Monday after school. Ryan's having problems, and she wants to intervene as soon as she can so they don't get worse."

"What kind of problems?" Tessa seemed truly interested. Over the past few years, he'd realized how much she cared about Ryan even if she couldn't be around much.

"She mentioned inattention, reading difficulties, problems making friends."

"My gosh. In the first few weeks of school?"

"She's good, Tessa. She's been with the district about ten years. She wouldn't have called on a whim. She has too many other concerns."

He taught math at the high school in Ryan's school district and knew the reputations of most of the teachers. In a small town like Jenkins, gossip was rampant and nothing stayed a secret.

"Did Ryan have any problems last year?" Tessa asked.

"Not that I'm aware of."

Ryan had missed his mother and ever since she'd died, Max had tried to do double duty. His expression must have manifested his frustration because Tessa offered, "I'll go with you if you'd like."

When Leslie had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, Max knew Tessa had felt as powerless as he had. Nothing they could do had kept the cancer from taking his wife away. But even if Tessa wanted to help, he doubted if he could depend on her.

"I don't want to disturb your schedule."

"I'm working on a few articles, but there's no reason I can't take some time out to help Ryan. I know how meetings can be. Maybe I'll ask questions you don't think of."

Max looked at her for a long, probing moment. Did he want Tessa to become involved? Yet when he thought about Ryan's recent silences and his own inability to get Ryan to open up— "If you want to come, it can't hurt. I know you love Ryan." Max paused, then admitted, "He has seemed quieter lately and he's been spending more time in his room. I've tried to get him to talk to me, but he just seems to...remove himself."

Tessa touched his arm. "Don't borrow trouble, Max. Where does she want us to meet her?"

Max looked at her hand on his arm, surprised at the sudden heat he felt, surprised that he registered the sensual softness of her fingers on his skin. "In her classroom at four."

All at once Tessa looked...uncomfortable. Had she changed her mind about wanting to go with him already?

"What's wrong?"

She was quick to answer, "Nothing's wrong. Mrs. Bartlett's room at four is fine."

But Max suspected something about the appointment wasn't fine. He wouldn't be surprised if Tessa cancelled.

He remembered why he and Tessa had broken up. He remembered why he hadn't been able to count on her then...and wouldn't count on her now.

***

A few hours later, as Tessa sat at the foot of Ryan's bed while Max read him a story, she was still concerned about the chill running up her spine when she'd found out the meeting with Mrs. Bartlett would be at Ryan's school. That was an obvious meeting place, of course. And she wouldn't rescind her offer. She had to do this for Max and Ryan. She might be uncomfortable for a little while. But, hey. She'd covered wars! She could handle this.

Since she'd arrived, she'd seen how Ryan had changed and grown. She'd visited Jenkins last spring before Leslie's parents had moved to Arizona. He had Leslie's blond hair and it was even lighter now from summer sun. He'd grown at least an inch. But he'd also changed in some interior way. She couldn't put her finger on it, except to notice he was more subdued.

Max closed the book and laid it on the nightstand. Ryan reached up and wound his arms around Max's neck. "G'night, Dad."

Max leaned away and brushed his son's sandy hair across his brow. "Night."

The scene almost brought tears to Tessa's eyes. Max's love was so evident, his sense of responsibility so complete.

As Max rose from the bed and moved toward the doorway, she went to the head of the bed, gave Ryan a hug and kissed his cheek. "Sweet dreams. I'll see you in the morning."

"Hey, Dad, do we have blueberries and everything else Tessa needs?"

"Sure do."

Whenever she visited, she made blueberry pancakes for Ryan. It was one of the few things she cooked on a regular basis. He always ate at least three. That's why she'd given him the nickname "pancake." She tossed him a grin and a thumbs-up sign and followed Max down the stairs.

"Another piece of pizza?" Max asked with a nod toward the kitchen.

"Sounds good. Pizza's rare where I've been lately."

While Max warmed a few pieces in the microwave, he stared out the window into the dark yard.

Tessa guessed he was thinking about the meeting with Ryan's teacher. "It won't do much good to worry."

He turned around and crossed his arms over his chest. "That's what parents do. And when there's only one parent—"

"You do a good job, Max."

"Apparently not good enough." The timer went off on the microwave. He transferred the dish to the table.

She doubted if anything she said could say could change his mind right now. After she poured two cups of coffee, she carried them to the table. "What do you have planned for tomorrow?"

"Ryan and I sometimes go to the roller-skating rink on Sunday afternoons."

"That sounds like fun." She sat and took a bite out of her pizza. The cheese strung out and fell down her chin.

Max caught it with his thumb. When the pad of his finger slipped along her skin, tingles chased each other up her neck, and nine long years seemed to fall away.

Max leaned back against his chair and wiped his thumb on his napkin, as if he'd just wiped Ryan's chin. "You haven't gone skating for a while?"

Apparently he did not feel the same sensations she did when they touched. He had been so in love with Leslie and probably still was. "Not since college. Leslie and I went with a group from the dorm."

"It's hard for me to imagine you two as roommates, let alone best friends. You were so different."

They certainly were. Leslie was silk and lace and perfume. Tessa was jeans and cotton and fresh air, if she had anything to say about it. Still Max's comparison unsettled her, although she'd often made it herself. Rooming with Leslie at college, Tessa had always been amazed at how different the two of them were yet how well they'd always gotten along. When they'd decided to accept jobs at the resort in the Poconos the summer after graduation, they'd both been excited about it. After all, in the fall, Tessa would be working as an intern on a morning show in New York City and Leslie would be returning to her hometown of Jenkins to work in her father's insurance office. That summer, Max had been employed at the resort, too, in the business office while he looked for a teaching position. As girl Friday for the manager, Tessa had run into him often and they'd begun dating. But then she'd had her focus set on being a foreign correspondent and...freedom. After she'd broken up with Max and left for New York City, he and Leslie had begun e-mailing. And the rest, as they say, was history.

Finishing her pizza quickly, Tessa dumped her coffee into the sink and rinsed the mug. "I'm going to head up to bed or Ryan won't get his pancakes until afternoon."

Max tossed the napkins into the trash. "We have to make the bed. I don't have sheets under the spread."

She smiled. "To cut down on housekeeping?"

He shrugged. "Mrs. Clark stripped it before she left. I never bothered to remake it. I guess I hadn't thought ahead to your arrival."

"It seems funny to be staying here," Tessa mused, wondering if that's what was making the difference in her awareness of Max.

He nodded but didn't say how he felt about it. But that wasn't unusual. Max rarely expressed how he felt, except where Ryan was concerned.

As Max pulled the sheets from the linen closet in the hall, Tessa went to the spare room with the slanted ceiling. Peach flowered curtains spilled around the windows and matched the spread she tugged from the bed. Leslie had loved to decorate, to mix and match colors. And she'd been a flower lover. Almost all the drapes and upholstery in the house were pastel flowers of some kind. Tessa liked swirls and patterns and bolder colors.

When Max came into the bedroom, the space seemed to diminish. Tessa looked at him, really seeing the man he'd become for the first time in years.

When she'd first met him, he'd been sexy, good-looking, and a former basketball player who knew what he wanted from life—a teaching position, a home, a wife, children and a stability Tessa couldn't begin to fathom. Now she saw a strong man whose strength came from the depth of his convictions, decency and caring—a man who loved his son and still believed in traditional values.

Tessa knew she was strong, too. She'd had to be, being shuffled from one foster home to another. But tradition didn't mean much to her. How could it when she never seemed to fit in to her surroundings? When tradition had only been something she'd experienced in storybooks.

Max shook out the sheet and flipped it over the expanse of the mattress. Tessa caught the edge and her gaze met his across the bed. Was he remembering the summer they'd spent together? The walks? The kisses that had made her wonder what she was giving up when she left him? And she had left him. If it had been his choice...

Feeling deep regret, Tessa lowered her gaze and pulled the corner of the sheet over the mattress. When she stooped, the ring on a chain around her neck swung free.

Max came to the foot of the bed. "Is that from someone special?"

She automatically reached for the circle of gold and protectively covered it with her thumb. "Not in the way you mean." Realizing she was being silly, she slowly took her hand from the ring, letting it dangle.

After she and Max had broken up and she'd found her niche with work and started traveling a lot, she'd decided to wear her mother's ring on a chain around her neck to keep it safe. She'd never discussed her background with Max in any detail...never wanted to revisit her childhood with anyone...not even with Max or Leslie.

Max stepped closer until he was in front of her, until she could see the buttonholes on his flannel shirt. He lifted the small antique-looking band set with opals. "In what way? I don't remember ever seeing this before."

"It was my mother's," she told him.

His brows hiked up. "I never thought you were the sentimental type."

Just what "type" did he think she was? She was afraid she knew.

The only explanation she had was, "It's all I have that was hers. She put it on my thumb the morning she left."

His gaze filled with compassion. "You never told me about that. I guess I thought you were abandoned as a baby. How old were you?"

His compassion unnerved her, and she wanted to run. "Seven. If I'd been abandoned as a baby, I might have been adopted." To her dismay, the loneliness was there for him to hear. She'd thought she'd discarded it along with her knee-high socks. She was a journalist who could ask tough questions and turn a spotlight on anyone's life—except her own.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before asking, "Did you look for your mother?"

"As soon as I got my first job in New York and could hire a P.I." Tessa remembered her disappointment, her hurt and her anger when the man had given her the information she'd sought. "She'd died five years before in a woman's shelter from pneumonia. I guess she never managed to pick herself up."

"I'm sorry. That must have been a shock."

"It was. I guess I always hoped some day I'd find her and have a mother...some sense of permanency. But it wasn't to be. At least I know she was never in a position to take care of me, so she couldn't get me back even if she'd wanted to."

"I'm sure she wanted to."

Tessa had wondered about that all of her life and hoped it was true.

"So why do you do it?" Max asked.

His question seemed out of context. "What?"

"Keep hopping from one place to another. You call London your home base, but you're only there a few weeks at a time, if that long. You've had so much moving around in your life. Why don't you put down roots?"

She could tell him she didn't know how to belong. She could tell him she was afraid to keep still because so many people had abandoned her, including Leslie. But she didn't. She'd decided long ago not to feel sorry for herself, to take control of her own life and make it what she wanted it to be.

"When I was a kid, Max, I didn't have choices. My mother made one for me, so did the human services department each time they didn't know what to do with me. When I graduated from high school, I decided I'd go where I wanted to go, be where I wanted to be. With cable news channels and twenty-four hour feeds, all the online news websites now, someone is always interested in what I write or where I am or an interview I'm taping...if I'm in an interesting place."

He said gruffly, "You made it clear to me when you left for New York after our summer together you always intended to be in an interesting place."

He'd never brought it up before. Neither had she. They'd both gone on with their lives. Max had gotten to know Leslie and had loved her as deeply as a man could love a woman. Tessa was sure of it. With Max, Leslie had found her vocation and career, being a wife and mother. And Tessa... Tessa had known herself well enough to know she'd needed freedom of choice, freedom of space, freedom to grow, all on her own terms because she'd been trapped by the system for so long. She'd never resented Leslie's marriage to Max. She'd been glad they'd found each other and built a life together.

But now being here with Max, in his house, had stirred up feelings she'd thought were buried if not gone. In some ways, her life was no different now than it had been nine years ago. She still needed her work—it was the major force in her life. As far as romantic relationships were concerned, her one try in the midst of a foreign uprising had failed badly. So that left her where she'd always been—with a few good friends...but on her own.

Lifting the ring, she dropped it back inside her blouse.

Max watched the soft material mold to her breasts as it settled into place.

Stooping to tuck the sheet along the side of the bed, Tessa realized that in nine years nothing had changed. As he returned to his side of the bed, she knew Max understood that, too.

***

Tessa worked in the kitchen Monday afternoon, humming along to her iPod. She didn't dislike cooking. She simply didn't have much experience doing it. She usually ate on the run, tossed a salad, picked up something wherever she happened to be. But there was no reason she couldn't throw together a dinner so Max wouldn't have to worry about it.

Max. When he stepped too close, when they laughed together as they had yesterday at the roller rink, she'd felt young, gauche, unnerved. But it didn't matter. She'd be gone in a week. Tessa put the roast in the oven and wrapped potatoes in tinfoil. She was making a salad when the phone rang. She pulled out her ear buds and answered it.

"Tessa?" an elderly woman asked.

"Yes, this is Tessa. Can I help you?"

The older woman's voice trembled. "This is Flo Duffrey. Next door. Max always says if I need anything..."

Tessa knew Max's neighbor. She'd spoken to her now and then on her visits. She'd seen Flo yesterday evening walking her little dog Scruffy and had chatted for a short while.

"Sure, Flo. How can I help you?"

"I fell and hurt my arm. Thank goodness, I'd already made my pies for the church bake sale this morning. I can't get hold of my daughter. If you could just take me to the emergency room in New Haven..."

"I'll be right over." Tessa checked her watch. She could make it to New Haven and back and still be on time for her appointment with Max. She was sure of it.

Chapter Two

Traffic had been horrendous! Rattled because she was late, Tessa parked in the school's lot. In her hurry to leave Max's house, she'd remembered to turn down the oven, but had forgotten her cell phone. She would have called him from the hospital, but she really thought she could get here on time. She would have been on time if it hadn't been for the road construction.

Pushing her hair back from her face, she climbed from her rental car, wondering how Flo was faring. The ER had been a madhouse and Flo hadn't yet been X-rayed when Tessa left. She hadn't wanted to leave Max's neighbor there alone. But her daughter had finally arrived and Tessa had dashed out.

Running up the steps to the school, Tessa pulled open the glass door and felt like a child again. A few paces into the hall, she stopped and involuntarily shivered. After-school silence was unnatural. The halls seemed to echo with muffled children's voices.

The school corridors were shadowy. Despite artwork hanging on bulletin boards splashed with fall colors, she remembered not laughter and academic successes, but taunts of children dressed better than she and stern voices that seemed to control her destiny. She'd sat in a hallway like this one after a day in second grade while the principal called her mother. Or tried to call her mother. The principal had been a man, taller than the tallest tree or so it had seemed to a second grader. Tessa hadn't known how to tell him she and her mother had been living in their car for a week.

The authorities had never found her mother. Tessa had never known her father. The ring was her only memento of family. Social workers over the years had told her her mother must have loved her very much to give her up so she could be cared for properly. Tessa had preferred to believe that. It was the only way she'd survived in the children's home, in the foster homes where the authorities had placed her.

Her sneakers squeaked on the tile as she rushed to Ryan's classroom, grateful Max had given her directions to it. She pushed away painful memories.

Max stood in front of the door in his navy suit, his arms crossed over his chest, looking fierce enough to make her want to turn around and go back to the hospital with Flo.

"Where have you been?" he asked in a low voice. Before she could answer, he went on, "You knew what time we were meeting Mrs. Bartlett." His gaze flicked up and down her sweatshirt and jeans, her wind-tossed hair. "Or did something more important come up? The least you could have done was call."

She would have told him why she was late and about the roast and her phone, but he was condemning her without a trial. She kept her temper in check and asked evenly, "Did you start yet?"

"No! You said you wanted to be included. Mrs. Bartlett has been gracious enough to wait but—"

"Then let's not keep her any longer than necessary," Tessa suggested smoothly as she slipped by Max into the classroom.

He followed but glared at her while she introduced herself to the teacher and sat in one of the chairs provided in front of the desk. She made a point of not looking around the room and not getting involved in her surroundings.

The middle-aged teacher with the pleasant smile said to Tessa, "Mr. Winthrop tells me you're a close friend of the family."

Mrs. Bartlett's hair was auburn, swingy and chin-length, her suit lime green. "That's right. Is there anything I can do to help Ryan?"

"Needless to say, Mr. Winthrop asked me that same question. He says he's tried talking with Ryan. And I've tried talking with Ryan to find out if something is troubling him."

Tessa crossed then uncrossed her legs. Out of the corner of her eye, Max was watching her restlessness with a frown. "You don't think this is a learning problem?" she asked the teacher while she willed herself to relax.

Mrs. Bartlett leaned forward. "We could have him tested for learning disabilities. But sometimes his work is up to par and his attention is focused. Others— He seems distracted more than anything else." She sighed. "This might not be complicated at all."

Tessa became involved in what Mrs. Bartlett was saying and forgot about where she was. "I don't understand."

"Some children can be disrupted easily. They could watch a monster cartoon, get frightened and be afraid to go to sleep every night for a year until they grow out of the fear."

Tessa certainly understood childhood fears...and nightmares.

"And you think it's something like that with Ryan?" Max asked.

"I don't know. But with Ryan losing his mother, all kinds of fears could be bothering him." She explained to Tessa, "At the start of the school year, Mr. Winthrop told me he's talked to Ryan about his mother being in heaven, being an angel now and watching over them both. And Ryan seems to accept that. But you never know what goes on in a child's mind."

"So what can we do?" Tessa was a purpose-oriented person and she wanted something concrete to tackle.

Mrs. Bartlett looked down at her notes for a moment. "We could bring the school counselor in on this, but my instinct is that Ryan won't be any more open with her than he is with me." She looked up. "He needs someone he already knows."

"But not me," Max said grimly.

"As a teacher, Mr. Winthrop, you and I both know a parent can be too close to a situation. How often have the boys you've coached or the students you teach opened up to you?"

Max thought about it and nodded. "You're right. They tell me things they'd never tell their parents. Still, I want to be the one Ryan trusts."

"You can support him. You can be there when he needs you. Ms. Kahill, I understand you're in and out of Ryan's life like a favorite aunt."

"Yes. Some visits are longer than others."

"I don't know how much time you have to spend with Ryan right now, but maybe encouraging him to share what happens at school, what he's thinking, what he's feeling, might give us a clue as to what's going on with him."

"Of course, I'll try. I wish I could do more." She felt Max's gaze on her.

"Maybe this is my fault for not dating, for not having a woman around," Max said.

He was taking the whole burden on his shoulders. Tessa wished she could put her arms around him, give him a much-needed hug and tell him none of this was his fault. "I'd imagine it would have to be the right woman, Max."

He shot her a surprised look. "I wouldn't have anyone around Ryan who wasn't right."

"I just meant you can't date to find the right person for you and expect Ryan to get along with each one."

"I certainly wouldn't be parading women in and out. You know me better than that."

He was still obviously annoyed with her for being late, and she was making matters worse. She glanced at Mrs. Bartlett. The woman was watching them speculatively, and that made Tessa feel awkward.

"Mr. Winthrop, there's no one answer. Just listen to Ryan carefully. Let him elaborate on anything he wants to talk about."

"What about the problem he's having with not making friends?" Max asked.

Tessa nodded. "At the roller-skating rink, he wanted to stay with us instead of skating with children he knew. Is that normal?"

"He probably feels more secure with you. Encourage him to play with other children. Maybe invite some of his classmates over. If he's on home turf, he might feel more self-confident to interact."

When the conference was over, Tessa's surroundings began to close in on her, but she did her best to ignore the school smells of floor wax, disinfectant and chalk, the sight of frosted classroom door windows, the books stacked on a cafeteria-style table outside a classroom as she walked down the hall trying to keep up with Max's long-legged stride. Instead, she concentrated on Ryan and his problems that could become more serious if they weren't dealt with now. Would it make a difference if she stayed in Jenkins longer than a week?

When they reached the parking lot, she stopped at Max's car instead of going to hers. "I'm sorry I was late, Max. You know I wouldn't have missed this meeting."

"Do I? For all I know you could have gotten a phone call and taken off for Africa."

She took a step back. "I wouldn't do that to Ryan."

"I'm never sure how your priorities stack up."

"I love Ryan and want to help him."

Max studied her, searching. His eyes darkened, and she wondered what he was thinking.

"Don't you believe me?" she pressed.

"I believe you want to help. I don't know if you can. Commitments aren't your style."

The blow was swift, neat and unexpected. It hurt deeply. Tessa turned from Max and went to her car. She heard him call her name, but she slammed her door, put her key in the ignition and backed up. Leaving the parking lot, she didn't look back.

The hurt lingered as she drove back to Max's, glad he had to pick up Ryan at the baby-sitter's, where Ryan went after school every day until Max picked him up. While she was in Jenkins, he could just come home to her. But if Max didn't trust her—

The smell of the roast and baking potatoes met her at the door. The salad was half made, and the carrots, tomatoes and cucumbers were still spread across the counter. Thankful she had a few minutes alone, she washed her hands, set the table and finished the salad by the time Max and Ryan arrived.

Ryan came barreling in the door before Max. He ran to Tessa, grinning from ear to ear. "Dad asked me what I want to do for my birthday. Can we go camping?"

Tessa glanced at Max. "Camping? That sounds like a great idea. If I'd known, I would have brought my tent and sleeping bag."

"You have a tent?"

Smiling, she crouched down to his level. "Sometimes there aren't any hotels in the places I go. Do you have camping gear?"

"Sure. Got it for the Cub Scouts, didn't we, Dad? But I haven't used it outside yet. Just on the floor in the living room. Oh, boy! This is gonna be a great birthday."

"It's not a problem for you to stay until Monday?" Max asked.

The frustration she'd seen smoldering in his eyes at the school had diminished, but she didn't want to suggest she stay longer with Ryan in the room, especially after what Max had said. "No, it's not a problem." Tessa took the roast from the oven and placed it on top of the stove. When she removed the lid, the aroma filled the kitchen.

Max and Ryan exchanged a surprised look. Ryan said, "It smells better than Mrs. Clark's."

Tessa shrugged. "It's just a roast rubbed with spices. I've never made gravy, but I guess we can try."

Max cleared his throat. "I didn't know you could cook. Except for pancakes."

"I never said I couldn't. I just don't do it very much. But I can read. I also learned a few things from Leslie's mother. So if you have a carving knife—"

Max opened a drawer just as there was a rap on the door.

Tessa answered it. Flo stood there with her left arm in a sling, a basket holding the most delicious looking apple pie Tessa had ever seen sitting at her feet. "This is for you, dear. I couldn't hold the basket and ring the bell at the same time."

Tessa lifted the basket and took an appreciative whiff. "This looks and smells wonderful."

"Just a small thank you for taking me to the hospital."

"The hospital?" Max opened the door wider for Flo to step inside.

"I fell," Flo explained. "I saw Tessa in and out with grocery bags this morning, so I called her." The older woman turned back to Tessa. "I hope you weren't too late for your appointment."

"Not too late." Tessa rushed on. "I thought you made your pies for the bake sale."

"I made six. They won't miss one. You enjoy it."

"Shouldn't you be resting? Is your daughter with you?"

"She's waiting for me to come back. Probably standing on the porch watching. She called me a stubborn old woman before I left. I won't admit it, of course. It's the old I'm afraid of. That's why I wanted to go to the hospital. But nothing's broken. I just have to wear the sling a few days. You enjoy the pie." She winked. "It's even better with vanilla ice cream on top."

After Flo thanked Tessa again, she waved and left. Max and Tessa watched until they were sure Flo had safely reached her porch.

Then Max said to Ryan, "Why don't you put your books in your room and get ready for supper. We'll talk about what we need for the camping trip while we eat."

Ryan grinned and took his backpack upstairs.

Max lifted the pie out of the basket and placed it on the counter. "First of all, I want to thank you for dinner. I was going to throw a meat loaf together when I got home."

Tessa closed the door and her heart beat faster without her knowing exactly why. "Ryan said something yesterday about being sick of meat loaf."

After shrugging out of his suit coat, Max hung it over the back of a chair. His lopsided smile warmed her heart. "I guess he didn't want to hurt my feelings." He paused for a moment. "And I never meant to hurt yours. I'm sorry about what I said in the parking lot. I was out of line."

"You think you know me, Max, but you don't."

"I know you left when I asked you to stay."

"I had to."

"So you said." He exhaled slowly. "But that's water under the bridge." He motioned to the table and the pie. "Why didn't you tell me about Flo?"

"Did you give me the chance?"

"Maybe not when you arrived, but afterward you could have."

Max's nearness in the small kitchen was almost as disturbing as his guarded gaze. "You honestly thought I might not show up?" she asked, needing to know.

His silence told her that was exactly what he thought. A misunderstanding was one thing, but his lack of faith in her was another. She felt tears threaten. Blast it. She never cried. Not ever. Why did he have the power to bring up this emotion in her? No one else did.

His eyes darkened to tobacco brown. "You come and go as you please, Tessa. I know you're not used to restrictions or responsibilities."

She planted her hands on her hips, filled with building annoyance because he presumed to judge her. "Do you know of any time I ever let Leslie down? Or you or Ryan?"

"She wished you would e-mail and call more."

"Specifically," Tessa challenged.

"You were late for Ryan's christening."

Her hand sailed through the air. "For heaven's sake, my plane was delayed. What was I supposed to do? Flap my wings and forget the jet?"

Max's voice lowered in response to hers rising. "You could have come in the day before."

"I had an assignment to finish."

He opened the top button of his shirt and tugged down his tie. "That's what I mean about priorities."

"And you don't make teaching a priority?" she demanded. Max's attitude over the years, his non-approval, had been a thorn in her side. It was about time she removed it. She no longer had to worry about hurting Leslie's feelings. She could go one-on-one with him, no holds barred.

"I'll bet you that apple pie that you go in to school early and you certainly don't leave before you're finished. Just because I seem to control my own hours and I can choose assignments, you think I have a schedule I can adjust at will. I have personal deadlines. I have editorial deadlines. When I have a taping schedule, I usually can't control that. If I don't turn assignments in on time, if I'm not where I'm supposed to be when I'm supposed to be there, I won't get more work. I'm not taking a joy ride, Max. I work, just like you."

The silence in the kitchen was magnified by her stillness, his probing regard. He canvassed her face, her defensive stance. "Maybe I do tend to look at your job as...erratic and even sometimes reckless. We've never really talked about it. One of the best interviews I saw of yours was over a year ago," he said. "The one you did with that woman who's sister disappeared."

"Emma Henderson. A friend of mine who's a producer arranged that since I had a short layover in L.A before I taped the cable special about Afghanistan."

"That was an informative special."

"You watched?"

"I did."

She and Max hadn't talked much at all in the past nine years. Not about anything that mattered. Even when Leslie was sick, they'd stuck to Leslie's condition and subjects that hadn't caused controversy.

Thinking about everything Mrs. Bartlett had told them, Tessa asked, "Max, would you like me to stay longer than a week? There's no reason I can't stay a few weeks if it will help Ryan. There's an Economic Summit in Oslo the week before Thanksgiving I have to attend. I've hired out to a cable network. But until then, if it will help, I'll stay."

"You'd do that?"

"Yes. I can find a room somewhere—"

He raised a hand to interrupt her. "No. You can stay here."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"How can I mind? You're helping my son. Did you see that grin when you said you'd go camping? I haven't seen him this excited in a long while."

Max was happy for Ryan's sake. That didn't make her feel especially welcome, as if Max wanted her, too. The question was—why did she care? She went to the counter and picked up the dish of potatoes. "We'd better eat before this gets cold."

Max didn't lift the knife to carve the meat. Instead, he tilted his head, his dark brown hair reflecting gleams from the overhead light, and gazed at Tessa speculatively. "It was nice of you to help Flo."

"I wasn't being nice."

A trace of a smile curved his lips. "What were you being?"

He was trying to see into her heart, maybe into her soul. She felt vulnerable and didn't like it. "Flo needed help. I helped. Period."

Max leaned forward and gently brushed a curl away from her cheek. The pad of his thumb across her skin created a squall of emotion inside her as he said, "One tough lady." He didn't say it as if he believed it.

His touch was mesmerizing and although Tessa knew she should back away, at least move, she couldn't.

"I am sorry, Tessa. I'm sorry I misjudged you. I'm sorry I brought up...the past." He motioned across the kitchen. "And I promise for all your effort and agreeing to camp out for the weekend, we'll go to a nice restaurant some time next week."

She wanted to rest her cheek against his shoulder, wanted to feel his arms around her. The wanting was wrong, though. Getting too close to Max was wrong. Somehow the differences that had always been between them felt more comfortable than this tentative understanding.

She leaned away from his touch and his understanding. "You don't think I'm going to cook every night, do you?"

"Aren't you?" he teased.

"No way. I'll cook when I can, but don't expect it to become a habit."

"I wouldn't expect that." His grin was as boyish and appealing as she'd ever seen it.

But Tessa had a sobering thought. He had expected it from Leslie. Every time he looked at Tessa, she wondered if he was comparing her to her best friend. She didn't like the idea. She didn't like it at all.

Chapter Three

"Look, Dad. Tessa has her tent ready," Ryan called to Max as they set up camp Friday evening.

Max had to smile because his son was thoroughly enjoying his birthday trip and it had hardly started.

Tessa had agreed with Max that they should drive to the state park tonight so they'd have a full day tomorrow. They'd left right after school. The evening air had turned cool as the sun had dipped behind the tree line.

"Ryan, why don't you and I go gather wood for the campfire while your dad finishes with your tent," Tessa suggested as she watched Max hammer in the next to the last stake.

"I'll go. You don't know what might be roaming around," he protested, feeling protective of Tessa though he was sure she wouldn't want his protection.

He was right because she pulled her sweatshirt sleeves down to her wrists and gave him one of her defiant looks. "Nothing very big, Max. This isn't grizzly territory."

"It's still better if I go. Maybe you and Ryan can finish the tent? If you get a chance, you can bring the air mattresses from the van." There were two. Max knew she'd probably argue with him about who should use those, too.

"Any more orders?" She gave him a sassy grin.

He shook his head. "Just don't collapse the tent while I'm gone."

She wrinkled her nose at him.

Ryan sidled up beside Max. "You won't get lost, will you?"

"No, pal. I have a good sense of direction. By the time you and Tessa get the tents ready for sleeping, I'll be back."

As Max collected wood, he thought about the past few days. For the most part, Tessa had avoided him. He wasn't sure why. He also wasn't sure why that bothered him or why he was noticing the red highlights in her hair or the vulnerability in her green eyes that she tried so hard to hide. There was something he needed to talk to her about since she was staying, and he didn't know how she'd take it. But Ryan's safety came first and that's what he had to address.

When Max returned to the campsite, his arms full of dry tree branches and kindling, he laid the makings of a fire in the stone circle and lit it. Tessa and Ryan stood nearby and watched until he said to Ryan, "The forks for the hot dogs are in the back of the van next to the fishing rods. Can you get them?"

As Ryan took off, Max poked at a log, then straightened. "Tessa, since you're staying, I wish you'd think before you make suggestions concerning Ryan. With darkness falling, I didn't want him in the woods."

"But he would have been with me."

"That doesn't matter." He had to set up ground rules, didn't he? That's what a good parent did. Maybe Tessa was responsible. But she was used to just thinking about herself, not about a child who needed to be watched over and protected.

"It should matter. I've set up camp in the desert. Have you?"

"No. And it's not on my agenda for this year." He'd meant to give the discussion a little levity, but it didn't work.

Instead, she took a few steps away from him. "You don't trust me with him, do you?"

He tried to be as gentle as he could. "I'm not suggesting you don't love him or care about his welfare. But you might not be as cautious as a parent would be."

"Maybe he senses your caution and feels smothered."

He studied her. "Are you giving me advice on how to raise my son?"

She stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets. "I'm suggesting you give him some room to breathe. Holding on too tight is almost as bad as not holding on at all."

"Is this it?" Ryan shouted as he held up a long fork, shining a flashlight on it.

"There are two of them," Max called back.

When he turned back to Tessa, she was on her way to the van, saying, "I'll get our jackets. It's getting chilly."

Max swore as she walked away. No matter how he tried to handle her, he botched it. He didn't know what bothered him most about Tessa. That she didn't need his help, or that he wished she did. She was more than capable at whatever she tried. Leslie had looked to him for advice, for support—physical and emotional. Even when he'd dated Tessa, she hadn't looked to him for...anything. He tossed a few branches into the fire, not knowing why he was even making the comparison, not knowing why Tessa's reactions should be a concern. She wouldn't be staying that long.

Tessa helped Ryan with his jacket, zipping it up to his chin. She was never anything but nurturing with Ryan. And that was the side of her Max didn't understand. She related so well to Ryan, as if some part of her was still that little child. Was she the independent career woman who needed no one? Or was she pretending she never needed anyone as some kind of defense mechanism? That was definitely food for thought.

After supper, Max sat back in his lawn chair, his feet propped along the stone ring on the side of the fire that burned low. Tessa and Ryan laughed as golden brown marshmallows, toasted for dessert, collapsed in their mouths. The white gooey insides lined Tessa's upper lip.

Max suddenly had the urge to lean forward and wipe it away. Like he'd done impulsively with the pizza cheese. But something told him that tonight, touching her wasn't a good idea.

He did hand her a napkin. "Need this?"

"Not as much as I need a bath." She waved her sticky fingers and, with a mischievous smile, tapped his right cheek with one of them.

"Looks great, Dad," Ryan said of the white blob on his cheek.

Max grabbed Tessa's wrist as she went for his other cheek. "Are you asking for trouble?"

Her grin was impish. "I thought you'd want a matched set."

When her wrist felt fragile under his fingers, so opposed to the tough facade she projected, he released her. "I want you to act like an adult."

"Does that mean we can't have fun?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye but a serious note in her voice.

"Maybe I've forgotten how to have fun," he murmured to himself.

"You have another marshmallow on your fork, Ryan. Bring it here," she directed.

"Tessa..." Max warned, though something inside him came alive with her daring.

Ryan gleefully brought her the fork, careful not to let the marshmallow fall off, while Tessa eyed Max. "You think this is so easy. We want to see you pop that whole marshmallow into your mouth without getting messy."

Max noticed the grin on Ryan's face, the challenge in Tessa's gaze, and he decided making a fool of himself might have a little merit.

Tessa took the white blob from the fork, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. "Open up."

"I never could resist a dare," he mumbled, opening his mouth.

She popped the treat in. His lips felt her fingers' softness and he almost forgot about the marshmallow. Almost.

Reminding himself this was just a game, he licked his lips and held out his hands. "See? No mess. I'll have to give the two of you lessons."

Tessa's cheeks looked flushed. But that could be the result of the cool night air or the fire. She sat back, picked up the bag of marshmallows and offered them to him. "Your mouth is bigger than ours. Want another one?"

He laughed and swiped at his sticky cheek with his napkin. "I think we've all had enough sugar for one night. Let's get ready for bed, slugger. We have a lot planned for tomorrow."

"You're going to fish, too, aren't you, Tessa?" Ryan asked.

"Sure am. Unless you dump the boat."

The idea of Tessa wet, her clothes molded to her, quickened Max's heart rate. Why was this happening now? After all these years? He wasn't even sure what "this" was. He'd just have to be careful to keep that boat very steady.

After Ryan went into the tent to get ready for bed, Tessa picked up a long stick so she could stir the ashes while Max doused the smoldering embers. His flashlight sat on the picnic table with the beam directed toward them so they could see. He poured water from a five gallon tank he'd filled after they'd arrived and gave her a nod.

Tessa stirred the ashes and wondered what she'd been thinking of earlier when she spotted Max's cheek with marshmallow. It had been a spontaneous act, as automatic as typing on her laptop. He just looked so serious sometimes. Did he still miss Leslie with the same aching grief? Hers had subsided somewhat. Time had helped. Now she remembered the good times much more often than the sadness of Leslie's cancer and her year of treatment.

Max doused the ashes again. "That should do it. Do you have a flashlight to take into your tent?" he asked, setting the water carrier on the picnic bench and capping the nozzle.

She picked up the one on the ground beside her and straightened. "Right here. As quickly as we left, I thought we'd be sure to forget something."

"You did a good job of packing."

She laughed. "I'm used to it. Remember?"

Although Max's flashlight wasn't a flooding beam, she could still see his frown. "I remember."

Eager to find another subject, she said, "Ryan mentioned some type of festival in town next weekend. I've missed it other years. What goes on?"

"It's called Oktoberfest. They have craft booths in the park on Saturday. The softball game on Sunday is usually the highlight. It's a community tradition."

There was that word again—"tradition"—the one she didn't know much about. "The teams are already formed?"

"Nah. Whoever shows up, plays. You want to play?" He looked intrigued.

"I was on a team in high school." It was the only time she'd felt equal to the other girls. They'd worn uniforms paid for by the district and none of her team members could run faster or throw harder.

"We mix men and women, and it's usually a lot of fun." He stepped closer, bringing with him the aroma of wood smoke and pine. "Tessa, I know staying in Jenkins might be hard for you. Anytime you want to leave..."

"Tired of me already?" she joked, though she didn't feel like joking.

His lazy smiled surrounded her. "No. But I don't want you to feel tied here, either. Whatever this is with Ryan, I'll figure it out."

Tessa frowned. "You don't need help or you don't want my help?"

"Now don't get defensive. I'll take your help. But I want it to be given freely."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "I told you I'll stay a few weeks. I might have to make an overnight trip or two to New York. But unless something unexpected pops up, that's it."

He nodded then glanced around the campsite. "I think everything's secure. The van's locked." Turning back to her, he asked, "Do you want me to wake you in the morning?"

"I'll wake up with the sun if Ryan doesn't get to me first."

Max chuckled, a deep, masculine sound that made her feel warm, even in the cool air. She saw his hands come toward her and she thought he was going to touch her face. But, instead, he only fastened a button on her jacket that had slipped out. "Keep warm. If you need more blankets, give a yell."

"I'll be okay. I have my long underwear." She thought she saw sparks light his eyes, but it must have been the flashlight flickering. "Good night, Max."

He took his hands from her jacket. "Good night, Tessa."

Switching on her flashlight, she ducked into her tent and quickly zippered the flap before she wanted him to touch more than her jacket.

Chapter Four

Ryan's pole bounced in all directions as he cranked the reel, his small muscles working hard, his excitement beaming all over his face. Max fought the urge to move to the other side of the small rowboat to help him. Tessa was already sitting there beside his son, grinning, making no effort to take the rod.

"Look how big he is! It's almost as big as the one Dad caught." Ryan slowly reeled in the bass, the rod bobbing. Turning to Tessa, his expression showing pride in his accomplishment, he asked, "Can you help me get him off the hook?"

Tessa didn't flinch like many women would have when she took the flopping fish in her hands. As she did, she said something in a low voice to Ryan that Max couldn't hear.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right. Dad, we're going to throw him back in."

"What about supper?" Max asked, unable to suppress a grin.

Tessa gave the bass back to Ryan and swiped her hands on her jeans. "We have two, already. They should be enough. We brought the instant potatoes, didn't we? And those other packaged rations."

He was surprised to find Tessa had a practical side, too, especially since her impractical streak had convinced Max to buy a birthday cake for tonight instead of waiting to have it when they got home tomorrow. "Along with the carrot sticks."

"Are we going to hike this afternoon?" she asked, as she pushed the tackle box aside with her foot.

"There's a marked trail not too far from our campsite." He'd watched Tessa become almost as fidgety as Ryan the longer they'd sat in the boat. Inactivity obviously drove her crazy.

"There's an unmarked trail toward the entrance of the park," she suggested.

Max cast a considering eye at Ryan.

Catching his look of concern, she assured him, "We can go as far as we want and turn back whenever we'd like. It'll be less trampled, and we'll have a better chance to see some wildlife." She smiled at Ryan. "That would be a special birthday present, don't you think?"

From Ryan's expression, he wholeheartedly agreed. Max had to admit Tessa was right—the unmarked trail could be a lot more fun. When had his life become so static...so safe? Did Tessa always take the unmarked trail?

Slowly Max rowed the boat back to the dock, more often than not glancing at Tessa, her smile, the oval of her face framed by sunshine and curls. His gut tightened. All at once a hungry gnawing he almost didn't recognize made him row more vigorously until he did recognize it, and then he rowed even harder. Desire for Tessa was the last thing he wanted to feel.

At the dock, Max threw the line over the post and pulled until they drifted alongside. With hands that were unsteady from the exertion and a rising need he couldn't understand, he held the boat still.

Tessa hopped out and helped Ryan onto the dock. They started back to their campsite, pine needles and leaves cushioning their steps as Ryan chattered about the morning.

Max took a wary look at Tessa and wondered why this attraction had resurfaced now.

Back at the campsite, she went to the truck for—

She emerged with her laptop.

He kept his voice even when he asked, "You're going to work now?"

After a moment of hesitation she explained, "I'm expecting information about the Oslo Summit."

"This can't wait until we get back?"

"I'm doing a preliminary article due in Tuesday. Waiting isn't a word that applies in my business."

No, waiting didn't apply. Neither did roots or commitment. She hadn't changed. Nothing had changed. Tessa's career still came first. Why should he care?

He shouldn't and he didn't.

***

Ryan's cry broke Max's deep sleep. Awake, but groggy, he automatically reached toward Ryan in the darkness of the tent and heard Tessa as she pushed at the front flap. "Max, is Ryan okay?"

"Dad, it's too dark. I can't find you," Ryan cried.

Max put his arm around his son and awkwardly twisted around to unzip the flap to let Tessa in.

She rushed though the entrance and knelt beside the trembling now eight-year-old. "What's wrong, pancake?"

Ryan reached out to her. "I couldn't see Dad. It was so dark." He clutched her shoulders and without hesitating she gathered him into her arms.

Fumbling for the flashlight, Max switched it on. "Is that better?"

Ryan nodded, his face nuzzled into Tessa's shoulder.

"Do you want to hold it?" Tessa asked softly as she rocked him against her.

He nodded again as he took it from Max.

The sight of Ryan cuddled in Tessa's arms touched something deep inside Max. His son did miss a woman's nurturing. Ryan had instinctively reached toward Tessa for comfort and curled up in her arms. Max couldn't put the pictures out of his head of Tessa mixing the mashed potatoes while he fried the fish, snitching a carrot stick from Ryan's plate, clapping her hands enthusiastically as Ryan blew out all the candles on his cake. She'd bought him a Super Shooter, the latest trend in giant squirt guns and a book about dinosaurs—a subject he seemed to be interested in for the moment.

And now she seemed to know how to comfort him in the dark. It made Max feel lacking in some way. Yet realistically he knew he couldn't be everything to his son.

It wasn't long before Ryan's eyelids fluttered shut and the large flashlight fell out of his hand. Tessa laid it beside her but didn't switch it off.

"I wouldn't have thought of giving him the flashlight to hold," he murmured.

Her voice was sad. "I know what's it's like to be afraid of the dark. A little control goes a long way."

"When were you ever afraid?" Max asked, not knowing if Tessa would answer. Fears were as private as prayers.

She laid her cheek against Ryan's head. "When I went to my first foster home. Before that I'd slept in a room with five other girls. It was never dark there, never completely quiet. With the foster family, I slept in a room in the...basement. It was as black as ink when they turned off the lights."

Curious, he leaned closer. "They wouldn't leave a light on?"

Her voice carried a little more than a whisper across his son. "I asked, but they said it would run up the electric bill. In other homes, the couples were...kinder. But as I got older, they had motivation to be kind."

The darkness and the silence closed around them. "What do you mean?"

"One of the homes had two other children. Taking me in brought in money and gave them a free maid."

"You're kidding. How old were the children?"

"Three and five. I liked taking care of the kids. It was the housework I didn't like. I guess no one really does."

"That's why I still have Mrs. Clark come in and clean." Suddenly more curious about Tessa than he'd ever been, Max asked, "How long did you stay with that family?"

She hesitated a few moments, as if she'd already revealed too much, then answered, "Two years. They moved out of state so the husband could take a better job. They were one of my better experiences."

"How many others were there?"

"Three. I grew a chip on my shoulder. No one wanted a smart-mouthed teenager. I can't blame them."

Max suddenly wanted to hold Tessa the same way she was holding Ryan. But he sensed if he even leaned too close, she'd move away. Confessions at night in the dark always seemed more intimate than disclosure in the light of day.

For a long time they sat in the silence, listening to his son's rhythmic breathing, Max watching Tessa, Tessa watching Ryan. Then Max must have dozed off. When he awoke, he could see light through the tent. Tessa was curled against Ryan's air mattress, the sleeping bag pulled over them both. She looked adorable with her cheeks pink, her hair mussed. Her lashes were long and thick, the dark sweep of them making her skin look creamier.

"Tessa?" he whispered.

"Mm?"

"Do you want to crawl into my sleeping bag?"

Her eyes flew open.

Max disentangled Ryan from her arms, moving his son to free Tessa. "I'm going to get a fire going and make a pot of coffee, but if you'd like to sleep longer..."

She rolled away from him, coming to a sitting position. It seemed like a reflex maneuver to wake up quickly. "No. No. I'm awake. I'll be out in a minute." She shook her head almost like a puppy would and ran her fingers through her tight curls, disarraying them more.

Ignoring the desire to ruffle them himself, Max pulled the sleeping bag up to Ryan's shoulders.

Though the tent was large enough for two, Tessa seemed awfully close, even with Ryan between them. The atmosphere in the tent spoke of a closeness that made his heart pump hard. Did she feel it, too?

He sat back on his heels. "Take your time getting awake. The sun hasn't been up long and the coffee will take a while to perk." His gaze met hers for an unsettling moment before he left the tent.

***

Tessa took a deep breath and blew it out. She didn't need time to get awake. She needed time to recover from being cooped up in a close space with Max. She'd been so aware that his beard stubble had become heavy and dark, that his hair had been sleep rumpled. She'd answered his questions all too easily last night. She didn't know why she couldn't seem to keep up her guard around Max anymore. Maybe she had tried for too long.

Stopping at her tent for her soap, towel, toothbrush and change of clothes, she headed for the rest rooms and showers. It took her about twenty minutes to feel like a new woman, ready to face Max and her complicated feelings toward him.

At least she'd thought she was ready until she saw him sitting in a chair by the morning fire, staring pensively into the flames.

He watched her drop her towel and toothbrush in her tent before she approached him. "I didn't want to leave the camp with Ryan asleep." He rubbed his hand across his jaw. "I should think about growing a beard for winter. It would save time getting ready in the mornings if I didn't have to shave."

Before she caught herself, she said, "You wouldn't want to hide that chin."

"I wouldn't?" he asked with a grin.

She covered her tracks. "Nope. How else would I know when you're going to be stubborn?"

"My chin tells you that?"

"Sure does." She pointed to the left side. "You have a muscle there that sort of jumps."

He laughed, and she smiled back, thinking this was a nice way to start the day. The earthy smell of damp leaves and heavy pine, sharing smiles and laughter with someone she— Tessa cut off the thought.

Max pointed to the grate over the low fire. "Coffee's almost done."

She rolled her shoulders and moved her head from side to side. "Good."

"Problem with your neck?"

"I think it was the way I slept."

"How long did you sit up holding Ryan?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." She hadn't only been holding Ryan, but she'd watched Max sleep, too.

He pulled the low, folding stool that Ryan had used to toast marshmallows closer with his foot and pointed to it. "Sit and I'll massage your shoulders for you. It might help."

"The cramps will work out. The hot shower helped—"

"Good. Then the muscles will relax even more if I massage them."

Still hesitating, she wondered why. What was the big deal? She was wearing a shirt and jacket. He was only going to knead her shoulders.

With a small smile, she sat with her back to him between his legs to provide easier access. As he moved forward in his lawn chair, his jeans brushed her sleeve when she moved her arm. The cuffs of his flannel jacket teased her still-damp hair. When he leaned closer to apply more pressure, she could smell earth and man.

Max's hands were large, his fingers long. He went straight for the knots as if he knew exactly where they were. And she'd been wrong about the massage. It was a very big deal. Her shirt and jacket didn't even seem to exist. His kneading was soothing. He went deeper and deeper, touching more than her muscles. His caring touch went straight from his hands to her heart and his sensual stroking made her body come alive.

She didn't want him to stop, but she knew he soon would. The pressure eased, his thumbs made smaller circles, and he leaned away. She closed her eyes for a moment to steady herself, then stood on legs that felt wobbly.

"Thank you," she said politely. "That helped."

He stood, too. "I'm glad. I'm also grateful you were here for Ryan last night."

"I'm glad I could be."

They were standing so close. The air between them seemed to lose its morning dampness and became warm and compelling. She could see deep into Max's eyes and wasn't sure what emotions she saw there. Maybe need, and desire... He bent his head, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

His lips found hers, and she was young again. The desire was there as well as the wanting that in the past she'd told herself didn't matter. She reached for Max and felt his arms wrap around her. And just as she felt as if her heart would leap from her chest and her limbs would never stop shaking, he dropped his arms and left her standing alone.

She opened her eyes, feeling as if her life had drastically changed in a matter of seconds. Max didn't appear to be affected at all. Except...was his breathing as fast and as shallow as hers?

His voice was gruff when he spoke. "The coffee should be perked by now. I'll get the mugs."

As he went to the table, Tessa didn't know what to think...or feel. She watched him pour the coffee, glad he was doing it instead of her. Because her hands still trembled along with the rest of her. She had to keep her distance from Max, that's all there was to it.

Chapter Five

The following Friday evening, Max poured a jar of seasoned sauce into a bowl and put it in the microwave while Tessa stirred the pot of spaghetti. They hadn't talked much all week. They also hadn't looked at each other directly. Maybe they were both afraid something would happen they didn't want to happen. Like another kiss. He didn't know what had come over him. Gratitude, maybe, because the weekend had gone so well. Never mind the surge of desire that had pulsed in his veins when he'd held Tessa in his arms. That had simply been a throwback from the past.

He was looking forward to this weekend, to the fair in the park and the softball games, being out in the air and sun instead of cooped up in the house with Tessa, all too aware of her presence.

When the doorbell rang, it startled him. Answering the back door, he found two of his students on the porch.

The tall, red-headed boy with freckles grinned. "Hey, Coach. Jenny and I are here to talk about the dance. You got the time?"

Jenny, a pretty blonde with a shy smile, said, "I told Kevin we should call first. If this isn't a good time, we can come back later."

Max hesitated. The kids should have had the dance planned down to the last detail before now. They'd e-mailed him with a few ideas but hadn't solidified anything. He didn't know how Tessa would feel about this interruption.

He glanced over at her. "We're just about to eat supper."

Tessa pulled a loaf of garlic bread from the oven and tossed over her shoulder, "There's plenty, Max, if you want to invite them in. You can talk while we eat."

Stepping back, he motioned the kids inside. After introducing them to Tessa, he asked them, "Would you like to join us for supper?"

Kevin grinned. "Sure."

Jenny jabbed him. "You just had a Big Mac!"

"What can I say? I'm a growing boy."

Jenny shook her head as if she was exasperated with him often.

Tessa laughed and took two more glasses from the cabinet. "What dance are you planning?"

"The Fall Jubilee Dance. We hold it at the fire hall. Coach is the advisor for the sophomore class, so we have to run everything by him before we can do it," Jenny explained. "And e-mails just don't cut it sometimes."

Max went to the counter and dished spaghetti onto plates. "The committee is late getting organized this year. Very late," he added with a stern look at the two teenagers.

Ryan came running into the kitchen. Seeing Kevin and Jenny he slowed down and slipped onto a chair at the table.

"Washed up?" Tessa asked.

He nodded.

She introduced him to Kevin and Jenny, and Max explained he taught them in school. Tessa sliced the garlic bread and gave Ryan a piece. He grinned and bit off a bite of the crust.

After Max placed the dishes on the table, he addressed Kevin. "So, what's up?"

Kevin pulled out a chair next to Ryan. "We can't seem to get good ideas going that everyone agrees on. It's all been done before. We want something different this year."

"If you don't do something soon, you won't have time to do anything at all," Max warned. "The dance is only two weeks away."

"What were your past themes?" Tessa asked as she brought glasses of milk to the table.

Jenny sat next to Kevin. "We usually do an 'autumn in' theme. Like 'autumn in New York,' 'autumn in San Francisco.' Last year we did 'autumn in Paris.' But this year we're stumped. Do you have any ideas? We just need to come up with a few to take back to the committee. We're going to settle this tonight one way or the other so we can start on decorations. Coach, just like we e-mailed you, everything else is done. Honest. Refreshments, people to set-up and take down, even table cloths."

"The ideas should come from you." Max sat beside Jenny.

As Kevin took a piece of garlic bread from the basket, he asked, "You know what we've been getting? 'Autumn in Iowa.' 'Autumn in Canada.' 'Autumn in Kansas.' Not very inspired."

Max chuckled. "You can't say they aren't trying."

Kevin scrunched up his face and chewed at the same time. "If that's trying, I should get an A in geometry."

Max knew Kevin did his best, but so far had only managed a C in geometry.

Tessa ruffled Ryan's hair before she sat, and he ducked but grinned at her.

"What if you stretched your theme a little so it's not quite as realistic?" she suggested.

"I don't understand," Jenny said.

Tessa used her fork to cut up Ryan's spaghetti so it would be easier for him to handle. "You could use a place that's well-known, but not real. For example...what about 'autumn in Camelot?'"

Jenny smiled. "That's great. Can you imagine the decorations?"

"What's Camelot?" Kevin looked confused.

"Didn't you ever see the movie or the play?" Jenny asked.

"Or read the legend of King Arthur?" Max offered.

"Must have missed 'em." Kevin started twirling his spaghetti. "But I get what you mean. Like 'autumn in Oz' or 'autumn in Metropolis.'"

"Metropolis?" Jenny repeated.

Max picked up his fork, watching Tessa take a bite of spaghetti. When it slipped down her lip, her tongue came out and swirled it in. He shifted in his chair. "Where Superman became famous."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "I like Oz or Camelot. What do you think, Coach?"

"Either one will work. And if you offer those to the committee, they might come up with others."

As Max reached for a piece of bread, so did Tessa. Their fingers brushed. The electricity he felt sparked in her eyes, too. But she quickly turned to Ryan and handed him a napkin so he could wipe sauce from his mouth.

"Coach?"

Apparently, he'd missed Kevin's question. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

Kevin looked at Tessa then back at Max. "I said we're having problems getting chaperones. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Don't the kids' parents want to be involved?" Tessa asked.

Kevin and Jenny exchanged a knowing look. "Teenagers don't want their parents around, Ms. Kahill. Don't you remember how you felt in high school?"

Max saw the shadow pass across Tessa's face and imagined how difficult it had been for her not to have a parent to turn to or rebel against. "Ms. Kahill's a correspondent and journalist. She travels constantly. She's not so familiar with teenage dances."

Tessa gave him a thank-you, but-I-can-speak-for-myself look. "I didn't go to many dances, Kevin."

"Why not? I'd think any guy would jump at the chance to take you!" As soon as the words were out of the teenager's mouth, he blushed beet red.

Max thought about smoothing the waters, but he wanted to see how Tessa would handle Kevin.

She simply smiled. "Thank you. I think that's the nicest compliment I've ever received. The truth is when I was a teenager, I worked every minute I could to save money for college. That didn't leave much time for dances."

"A lot of kids are in that boat," Jenny commented. "We decided to keep the dance casual this year to cut expenses. That way we'll have better attendance."

"Can only parents chaperone?" Tessa asked.

"No," Kevin answered quickly. "You want to come with Coach?"

She hazarded a quick look at Max. "If you need another chaperone, I'll be glad to come. When did you say it is?"

"Two Saturdays from tomorrow."

"If you didn't have a theme, how did you advertise it?"

Jenny looked sheepish. "Just as the Fall Jubilee with a secret theme. We told everyone to come and be surprised."

Tessa laughed out loud and the sound of it made Max feel good.

As they ate, he watched Tessa interact with the teenagers. She seemed to relate to them easily. Leslie had always backed away from the students he taught and coached. She didn't understand their rowdiness or rebelliousness. Tessa did. And she didn't forget about Ryan sitting next to her, either. She talked to him and joked with him so he wouldn't feel left out.

After Kevin and Jenny left, Ryan went to the living room to watch a DVD. Max's gaze followed him as he settled on the sofa. "Do you think he'll be like Kevin some day? Interested in girls, involved in school activities, having trouble with math?"

"I'm sure he'll be interested in girls. Now the math..."

Max could hear the smile in her voice and turned toward it. "I know. I should stop worrying so much."

"Why did you let the dance committee wait until now to come up with a theme?"

"This is their dance. Their responsibility. Its success depends on them. I was getting worried, but it looks as if they'll come through."

"Are Kevin and Jenny dating?" Tessa collected the dishes from the table and brought them to the sink.

"Now and then. They're as different as night and day. One minute they're arguing, the next they're talking like best friends." He shook his head. "Teenagers."

Tessa put the dishes on the counter. "I'm not so sure they're any different than adults." Without saying more, she turned on the spigot and went about cleaning up supper.

***

On Sunday the autumn sun sent streaking yellow rays across the field during the Oktoberfest softball game. Tessa dashed her hand across her forehead to swipe away a few drops of perspiration. Her skin crawled as Max stared her down, trying to intimidate her, hoping she'd lose focus on the ball and strike out. She never lost focus, not for a second. But Max's piercing brown gaze almost made her forget where she was.

Just as it had all week whenever their eyes met. That hadn't been often, in spite of being in the same house. Since that moment at the campsite when he'd kissed her, they'd avoided contact. When Ryan wasn't around, Tessa worked in her room. This weekend had been a relief--strolling through the park with Max and Ryan yesterday, watching the children's softball games today. She thought about chaperoning the high-school dance with him. Would he ask her to dance? How would it feel to be held in his arms again?

Concentrate, Kahill. Right now, he's your opponent. You have to help win this game! She dug in her heels and prepared to swing as hard as she could when he pitched.

Never swing at the first pitch, she told herself. Wait for the right one.

The first ball sailed by.

"Strike one!" the umpire called.

"Come on, Tessa, you can do it," Ryan yelled from the bleachers.

She was glad Ryan was rooting for her. But then she heard him call to Max, "You can do it, Dad. Strike her out!"

She smiled. Ryan was playing both sides of the fence.

The second ball was outside. She called to Max, "You have to do better than that."

His grin grew threatening and smug. "Watch me."

He had a real competitive streak, but so did she.

Max wound up. Even from this distance Tessa was aware of the muscles under his T-shirt, the rakish tilt of his cap over his eyes, his masculine stance, supremely evident as he pitched. Max was coiled strength. She pictured him, upper torso naked as he'd stood on the roof.

The ball sailed by her again and she knew it had been a good one.

"What's the matter, Kahill. Lost your touch?"

Max's deep baritone teased every one of her nerves into tingling awareness. "You just pitch 'em and cut the editorial comment."

This time she was ready.

It was almost like slow motion. Max took a step forward. His hand went back to start the delivery. Tessa was on top of it, her legs balancing her properly, her gaze on the ball, her position perfect for a hard hit.

The ball met her bat with a loud thwat. She thought she heard Max swear and Ryan cheer, but she was too busy running the bases to really pay attention. She made it to third, looked up and saw the third baseman waiting to tag her if she moved on. She bent over, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

When she straightened, she was staring straight into Max's brown eyes. Instead of the annoyance she thought she'd see, he tipped his cap to her. Then he turned to home plate ready to take on the next batter.

After the inning, Max sat on the bench observing Tessa as she played centerfield. She was perfectly comfortable with her jeans dirty from sliding into home plate later in the inning, her curls disarrayed in the breeze, the sun bright on her hair. Leslie had been more of an "inside" person. She liked her wardrobe in style, every hair on her head in place. Not Tessa.

She'd gotten to him on the camping trip. Her tenderness with Ryan, her sense of adventure. That kiss. It haunted his nights. Maybe he should start dating again—at least go through the motions. Tessa had been right in a way when she'd said he didn't know her. Maybe he didn't. But he did know he and Tessa were incompatible. She was willful and stubborn, and she lived a life foreign to him.

Tessa was here for Ryan's sake, nothing more. Just as she had been on every other one of her visits. The only difference was that this time she was staying with him instead of with Leslie's parents.

Max tore his gaze away from her to concentrate on the game. A batter stepped up to the plate. He smashed the first pitch, and it soared over the field. Into Tessa's territory. But there was another player coming toward it at the same time, and Tessa didn't see him.

Max felt his throat burn as he yelled. He was on his feet and running before she collided with the other outfielder and hit the ground. Max skidded to a stop as the outfielder, a big burly man, much taller and practically twice Tessa's weight, rolled away from her and sat up.

Max crouched on the grass beside her. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as pale as the ball she held clutched in her glove. "Tessa! Tessa, are you okay?"

She didn't open her eyes, and he could have sworn she wasn't breathing!

Chapter Six

Tessa gasped and coughed, dragging air into her lungs. It seemed easier when she tried it a second time.

"Tessa, look at me."

The familiarity of Max's voice forced Tessa to open her eyes.

He looked grim and a little...scared? When she tried to sit up, his arm came around her shoulders. "Nice, slow breaths. Easy."

Following his directions, she thought about how strong and comforting he felt against her. She could smell sun, grass, Max. Forgetting she had a lead weight on her chest, she basked in the protective feel of him...the male power of him. She closed her eyes to savor the sensations.

"Tessa, are you dizzy? Does anything hurt?"

Opening her eyes again, she could have melted under Max's concerned look. Trying her voice, it came out scratchy but audible. "I'm fine. I just had the wind knocked out of me. I couldn't get my breath for a minute. But I'm okay now."

"Ms. Kahill, I'm terribly sorry," someone on the edge of the players around them said.

Max ignored the apology and didn't release her. "Do you think you can stand?"

"Sure. No problem." But as Max helped her up and let her try to stand on her own, her knees wobbled.

"That's it." He swept her up into his arms.

"Max! Put me down."

He strode toward the picnic area. "Not on your life. Not until I make sure you're in one piece."

"Max, I'm fine. Just a little shaky."

"You just ran into a semi and you're too pale. Now why don't you be quiet and breathe easy till we get where we're going."

She wondered if his brusqueness stemmed from the fear she'd been hurt. All she knew was that she couldn't breathe easy with his arms wrapped around her. His hand almost covered her breast, and she was aware of his other arm under her thighs. As he walked, her head bobbed and her cheek brushed his shirt. She'd like nothing better than to lay her head there and listen to the beat of his heart.

What was she thinking? Those thoughts were the kind she'd been trying to avoid! She squirmed in his arms.

"Stay still." His breath stirred the curls on her forehead.

"Where's Ryan? If he sees you carrying me..."

"He's at the playground. He got bored around the third inning."

"He's with other kids?" Tessa asked hopefully.

"No, Flo and Scruffy. Flo said she wanted to swing and needed Ryan to hold onto Scruffy for her. Sometimes I wonder if I should get Ryan a dog."

"But?" Tessa prompted, hearing the doubt in his voice.

"But I don't know if he's ready for the responsibility."

Max shifted Tessa in his arms, and her nose grazed his neck. She hadn't felt dizzy before, but she did now, and she was incapable of carrying on a coherent conversation. Max didn't try, either.

A few minutes later, he gently deposited her on a picnic bench. Tessa hadn't been aware she'd caused a commotion, but in no time at all she was surrounded by the man who'd run into her, other players and a group of Max's neighbors who wanted to help. She sent Max an annoyed look. If he'd let her walk off the field, this wouldn't have happened. She didn't like being the center of attention. She got her best stories by being inconspicuous and blending in.

Tessa tried to reassure everyone she was fine and was suddenly overwhelmed by the sense of community spirit that made them all care. Her throat tightened.

As they accepted her reassurance and scattered, the player who'd collided with her turned his cap around and around in his hands. "I'm truly sorry, Ms. Kahill. I guess the sun got in my eyes."

She smiled at him. "I still want you on my team the next time I play. You know how to go after a ball."

His cheeks flushed. "If I hurt you in any way—"

"No. I'm fine. Really. I'm not going to let a softball game do me in."

The burly ball player clasped her shoulder. "You're a good sport."

"You go back to the game and win. In fact, in a few minutes, I'll join you."

"You're not going anywhere," Max said in a low, even voice.

She stood. "If I want to play ball—"

He pointed to the bench. "Sit down. I'll get you something to drink. Then we'll check for scrapes and bruises."

She didn't sit. "Don't order me around, Max."

He looked as angry as she was determined. He clapped the ball player on the back. "You go win the game for her."

The bigger man looked from one tense face to the other, put his cap on his head and headed for the field.

Max faced her. "I'm not ordering you around."

"It didn't sound like a request to me."

He rolled his eyes. "Tessa Kahill, will you have a ginger ale with me?"

"You don't even like ginger ale."

He shook his head with apparent exasperation. "How could I forget you journalists are so observant? I'll find something I like and bring you a ginger ale. Deal?"

She reluctantly sat on the bench and mumbled, "Deal."

Max couldn't understand the tension still dancing in the pit of his stomach as he headed for the sodas. From the moment he'd known Tessa was in danger, he'd realized he was starting to care all over again!

He bent over and plucked a can of ginger ale and a can of root beer from the cooler. He flipped a paper cup from a stack in a basket by the cooler, opened the ginger ale and poured Tessa a glass. Then he went back to the table, more concerned about her than he wanted to be. All right, so she'd been in Iraq and Afghanistan and goodness knew where else in the middle of wars. She'd still just had a hard collision and a thudding fall. She might be tough, but she also might be hurting.

When Max returned to the table, he handed her the ginger ale. "Do you want to go home?" Max knew that word conjured up a different meaning for him than it did for Tessa.

She threw him a sideways glance. "We didn't eat yet."

He smiled. She could always make him smile, though more often than not, he wanted to shake her at the same time. "You're hungry?"

"Sure am." When she grasped her cup to take another sip of soda, her arm rubbed the edge of the table and she winced.

Max set down his can. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

He picked up her arm and was about to pull up her sleeve when she jerked away from him. "Tessa, if you scraped something, it should be tended to."

"For thirty years I've taken care of myself just fine."

He gentled his voice. "Let's look at your arm."

She expelled a breath and pulled up her sleeve. A scrape ran from mid forearm to her elbow.

Max frowned. "That could get nasty. I have a first-aid kit in the car."

Her lips twitched. "And I guess you want me to be here when you get back?"

"If you're not, I'll track you down." It was a threat and a promise, and he couldn't believe the way her defiance kicked up his determination. Macho male meets liberated female. Details at eleven.

Max returned with a plastic box and flipped it open on the table. "Peroxide first."

"So you've done this before?"

He smiled. "More times than I care to count. Just ask Ryan. I'm an old pro."

"Not so old," she mused.

Max took out the bottle of peroxide. "Some days I feel sixty instead of thirty-one."

"It's been hard for you, hasn't it?" she asked softly.

Max's stomach tightened, and he felt the muscle that Tessa had noticed jump. "It's been harder on Ryan. As much as I try, I can't be a father and a mother."

He unscrewed the top of the peroxide bottle and soaked a cotton ball. "Put your arm on the table." Before she could protest, he said, "It's at an awkward spot. Come on, get your elbow up here. Or do I have to promise you a candy bar when we're finished?" he teased.

"Make it a banana split and you're on."

He laughed. "Your demands are steep. But it can probably be arranged." When his fingers lightly brushed her arm, she started. He was filled with the desire to stroke her, to quiet her, to soothe her, to give her the caring she'd missed along the way. But most of all, he wanted to kiss her again. The wanting was becoming much too powerful for his peace of mind.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No. It tickled." Her voice was husky and did strange things to his insides. As he lifted the cotton ball, he warned, "This might sting."

She held still as he swabbed the area, trying to do it quickly. But her green eyes watched him cautiously. When he finished, he said, "Let it dry a few minutes. Do you have scrapes anywhere else?"

"I'm not going to let you strip search me to find out," she retorted.

The idea made his blood surge, and he turned away so she couldn't see her words had any effect. Taking a tube of cream from the kit, he wiped his finger with peroxide and squeezed the ointment on the top of his forefinger. "I'll try not to hurt you." He dabbed it on carefully then took a gauze strip and adhesive from the box. "You don't want the scrape to rub against your sleeve. You can take the bandage off when we get home."

She didn't argue, and he was relieved. When he secured the tape, his knee brushed her leg and he shifted away.

"Max, can I ask you something?"

Uh-oh. He could imagine what was coming. Maybe she could sense his change around her, the turbulent response he didn't want to have. And maybe they should talk about it and take the mystery out of it so it would go away.

"Go ahead and ask."

"Would you mind if we redecorate Ryan's room?"

"Redecorate Ryan's room?" Max repeated. "Why?"

As Max had ministered to Tessa, her pulse had galloped. She'd gotten hot all over and she'd been afraid something of what she was feeling would show. To hide it, she'd decided to ask the question about Ryan's room. It had been on her mind all week.

Pulling her arm away from his hands, she sat up straighter. "Because he's getting older, and I don't think baby animals on his curtains interest him anymore. He's interested in cars and sports. Did you know he knows the difference between a Lamborghini and a Ferrari? And I found out Peyton Manning is his idol. Next to you, of course," she teased, hoping Max could see she had Ryan's interests at heart.

Max didn't respond right away. "Leslie made his curtains and bedspread. She coordinated the colors and picked out the paint."

Tessa knew that. She also knew Ryan couldn't let go and move on until Max could. She tried to keep her voice neutral. "It's your decision. But I think a change would be good for Ryan. And I think redoing his room would make him feel special."

Max gazed toward the playground. "I thought he'd be better off if I kept everything stable—the same."

"Stable and the same are two different things." Tessa considered her life stable because her work was a constant, but her life was never the same.

He thought about her statement. "Maybe so. What did you have in mind?"

She lifted her hands in an I-don't-know gesture. "Nothing specific. Yet. Maybe you and I could look at wallpaper and go to the furniture store. Just to see what's available."

"His dresser used to be his changing table. And the bed... That had been Leslie's when she was a child."

"I know. And maybe you'll want to keep them. But it won't hurt to look."

Max's forehead creased and he got a far-away look in his eyes. "No, it won't hurt to look."

Suddenly Tessa wasn't so sure. Looking could lead to change. Was Max ready for that change?

***

Max lay awake in his bed on the first floor. The master suite was situated downstairs in the Cape Cod. He'd bid Tessa good night at least two hours ago and he was still awake, still trying to figure out why every time he touched her, his body sent a surge of adrenaline racing through him.

She'd looked so at home at the picnic, wiping mustard from the corner of her mouth, talking to his neighbors as if she'd known them all her life. But she wasn't "at home." She didn't have a home. He'd listened to her tell Flo about covering the next winter Olympics. He'd listened to her explain how she'd spent a few weeks interviewing freedom fighters in a country torn by civil war. This was the type of woman who would never settle down.

The pipes upstairs creaked as water ran through them. Then Max heard a steady flow. Apparently, Tessa couldn't sleep, either. A loud thump made him sit up, and he wondered what she'd dropped. Maybe her fall had done more damage than she'd let on. She'd been quiet during the barbecue after the game, after their conversation about Ryan's room. He still wasn't sure how he felt about her suggestion.

The upstairs bathroom was located at the top of the steps between the two bedrooms. As Max climbed the stairs, Tessa came out of her room and headed for the bathroom. He'd never seen her...undressed before. She wasn't wearing a bathrobe. He guessed the oversized shirt had traveled through more countries than he could count. Its faded blue and white stripes had seen many washings. It only came to mid thigh, and he wondered if it had belonged to a man before she'd decided to use it as a nightshirt.

The thought made his voice gruff. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to keep his gaze from straying to her breasts outlined under the soft material.

Tessa backed away from him as he reached the second floor. Her eyes went from his drawstring-tied pajama bottoms up his bare chest, hesitated a moment, then raised to his face. "I didn't mean to wake you." She kept her tone low, although Ryan's door was closed.

"I wasn't sleeping."

She gave him an odd look, then said, "I wasn't, either. The more I tossed and turned, the more sore I felt. I thought a hot bath might help."

"You'll probably be stiff tomorrow."

She shrugged. "It'll pass." With an impish smile she asked, "You wouldn't have any bubble bath, would you?"

"I finally tossed Leslie's cosmetics last year. Sorry."

Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, and for the first time ever he was sorry he'd mentioned Leslie's name. A stab of guilt knifed him. He shouldn't ever be sorry about thinking of Leslie. Or mentioning her.

"I do have some liniment I use when I think I'm as young as the kids I coach and I play too long."

"No, thanks. I hate the smell. I'd have to rub it all over."

All over. For a moment he imagined Tessa without the nightshirt, then forcibly blanked out the image. "I've been thinking about Ryan's room. He has a Cub Scout meeting tomorrow night. We could hit some stores and look around."

Tessa eyed him speculatively. "You're sure?"

He nodded. "I'm ready to look. And if it will help Ryan, I can't discount the idea. He's been talking to you a lot, hasn't he?"

She gave a little shrug. "I just try to stop whatever I'm doing and listen to him when he talks."

Whether Tessa knew it or not, that was the perfect thing to do. "I knew he looked up to Peyton Manning. I didn't know he was so knowledgeable about cars."

"You can't be and know everything, Max. You're only one person."

He felt his sigh from deep in his soul. "I know." He also knew he shouldn't be standing here appreciating Tessa's curves in a nightshirt. Nodding toward the bathroom, he said, "I hope the bath helps."

Her green eyes met his. "So do I."

He left her at the top of the steps, realizing he was more awake than ever. Maybe a shot of scotch would help, but he doubted it.

***

The next evening as Max stood in a corner of the furniture store, he told himself he should have known this wouldn't work. He and Tessa couldn't agree on the color of grass, let alone a new decor for Ryan's room.

The salesclerk peered over her horned-rimmed spectacles at Max as he stood in front of his choice for Ryan. "You think your son would like the bunk beds."

"But I think he'd love the race-car bed." Tessa stared enviously at the fire-engine red bed shaped like a sports car. "Can't you imagine it, Max? This bed, red and blue racing stripes running around the border of his room...wallpaper with race cars. We could paint his dresser red or blue..."

"No!" It came out too sharply, but once out, he couldn't retract it.

"No?"

"It's too...loud." Baby animals to racing stripes was just too large a leap.

Seeing a prolonged discussion or worse yet a disagreement in the offing, the sales clerk mumbled something about checking availability and headed for the office.

Tessa walked over to the race car bed, sat and bounced a few times. "It's not loud. It's energetic. Ryan's energetic. It would stir his imagination."

"And keep him awake at night," Max insisted dryly.

Tessa stopped bouncing and pinned him with a glare. "Do you know what your problem is?"

Breaking eye contact, he lifted a wooden lamp on a nearby dresser, examined it and put it back where it had been. "No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"New and different irritates you. They throw you off balance."

Max rubbed the back of his neck. There was an element of truth in what she said. He hadn't changed a thing since Leslie died. But that didn't mean Tessa was right about the bed or the wallpaper. "What's wrong with bunk beds and ducks on the wall?"

"That's what you'd want if you were four," she accused as if he'd just suggested they hold up a bank. "I'm trying to imagine myself at eight years old. I was beginning to form my own opinions. If I could have had my own room... Well, I know it wouldn't have been ruffles and pink eyelet like some of the other girls wanted."

Tessa was every inch a woman. Yet no one would ever associate her with fluff and ruffles. "You would have picked..."

"Oh, I don't know, Max. I just know a child has to feel he has some say in where he chooses to spend time. He should be comfortable there and feel as if he belongs."

"You're talking about yourself, Tessa. Not Ryan. He crashes at night and couldn't care less about what's on the walls."

"Typical male attitude," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"You see it that way."

"And you don't?"

"Obviously not."

Frustrated with her and with the whole idea, Max checked his watch. "We have to pick up Ryan. His Cub Scout meeting is about over."

"Let him decide," she said abruptly, propelling herself from the bed.

Max watched Tessa move around the bed and straighten the pillow, wondering if he'd ever seen her sit still for more than five minutes, excluding work. "Do what?"

"Let's bring him in here and see what he'd pick. It is his room."

"And you're prepared to accept his decision if he chooses the bunk beds?"

She stopped at the headboard. "Get real, Winthrop. Who'd pick bunk beds over a race car?"

"I would."

She shook her head. "Whatever he decides is fine with me. We'll work around it." She wagged her finger at him. "But just you wait. I think you'll be surprised."

A half hour later, they were both surprised. Ryan did indeed have his own opinion, but it included neither the bunk beds nor a race car.

He plopped on the bed of his choice, crawled on his knees and opened and shut the small compartments on the bookcase-like headboard. "Isn't this great, Dad? I can put my baseball cards in here and some of my cars. And all my books can go on the shelf. I can put Mr. Bear up there and my dinosaurs. I really like this one."

Max gave his choice one last shot. "If you got the bunk beds, a friend could stay over."

"Nah. I don't care about that."

"You might later. You're going to have this bed a long time."

"Maybe they make a trundle model," Tessa suggested.

Max had to hand it to her. She was handling this like a good sport. Ryan had nixed the race car bed right away because he didn't like the high sides.

Max left Ryan on the bed, opening and shutting the compartments, and took Tessa aside. "What do you think?"

She gave him a half-smile. "I think he's like you and knows what he wants."

But Max didn't know what he wanted, not where Tessa was concerned. This resurgence of desire didn't mean anything, did it? She was an attractive woman, he was a man, they were in close proximity... Did he want more than the come-and-go frequency of Tessa's visits? If so, he was out of luck. Tessa would always be coming and going. He couldn't understand why the thought bothered him so much.

"We'll get the bed and the dresser to match. It's something he can grow into." Max's voice sounded gruff. He tried to smile. "If you want a race car bed, you'll have to wait until you settle down in one place long enough to sleep in one."

"Is that a jab at my lifestyle?"

When Tessa frowned, the same small dimple in her left cheek that appeared when she smiled became more evident. He was noticing too much about Tessa these days. "No, it's the truth. Let's go ring up the bed."

***

The following weekend, Max waved his hand at the half covered wall in Ryan's room. "We should have done what the salesclerk suggested," he said with barely restrained impatience. He should have followed his better judgment instead of listening to Tessa. But he hadn't wanted to argue with her. He could never seem to win arguments with Tessa.

Tessa stared at the middle of the wall where three sheets of wallpaper began to lean crookedly to the left. "Do you always do what you're supposed to do?"

He gave her a dark look.

"All right," she conceded. "We should have made a plumb line. Or used a laser level. But the room's so small, I didn't think we needed to."

"You do a plumb line so you put the wallpaper on straight even though the walls are crooked. It has nothing to do with the size of the room. I don't know where my laser level is. I think a neighbor borrowed it."

Pushing the curls off her forehead with the heel of her hand, Tessa laid the paper smoother she'd used on the floor. "You're right. I was wrong. Let's do it over."

Her admission surprised him.

"What?" she asked at his raised brows.

"I thought you'd give me more excuses."

She caught the edge on the last sheet of wallpaper and pulled it from the wall. "No point to that. We'd still have a room to paper."

Max almost smiled. Either Tessa was mellowing or...maybe he'd been too critical of her in the past. He didn't stop to ask why, but picked up the wallpaper kit with the plumb line included. "It's a good thing we bought a couple of extra rolls of paper."

"I'm just glad we don't have to be too careful about matching the pattern. That could get tricky."

Ryan hadn't chosen the race car bed, but he had picked wallpaper with various types and colors of cars sprinkled onto a white background. It was lively, but not overwhelming. Tessa had tackled this project as she tackled everything else—with zest and purpose.

Ryan's voice came sailing up the stairs. "Hey, Dad. Are you done yet?"

Max laughed and skirted the furniture in the middle of the room as best he could to get to the doorway. "It will be lunch time at least."

Ryan yelled back. "I'll come watch you after SpongeBob is over."

Max shook his head and stood beside Tessa at the wall they'd tried to paper. "I don't let him watch TV that often. He's going to take advantage of this."

Tessa used her fingernail to start unpeeling the second piece of wallpaper from the wall. "Have you thought any more about getting him a dog?"

Max took an appraising look at Tessa, as he was doing more and more lately. Her jeans fit her waist, hips and thighs as if they'd been custom fit for her curves. Her yellow T-shirt molded to her breasts all too well. His palms itched and he quickly turned his attention to what she'd asked. "You think it would be a good idea?"

Tessa tore down the last sheet of paper. "Yes. I don't know if he's ready for the responsibility, either, but he'll certainly learn it. It's whether or not you want the bother of training and everything that goes with it."

He grimaced. "The messes?"

She crumpled the paper and threw it on top of the bed. "Barking or whining in the middle of the night."

Max grinned this time. "How do you know so much about it?"

"I read a lot."

Max took the string from the package in his hand and gave Tessa a piece of blue chalk.

She rubbed the chalk along the string as he stretched it. "If you get a dog, he'll be a house dog, won't he? I mean, you wouldn't pen him outside?"

Max gazed into her wide green eyes and instinctively knew she'd felt as if she'd been outside looking in most of her life. "Absolutely not. He wouldn't be a pet if we penned him outside."

She didn't drop her gaze but looked as if she had something else on her mind. He waited.

"You know, you could think about getting a dog at the shelter. Unless you really believe Ryan needs a pup."

Max supposed Tessa wanted all orphans to have homes, even canine ones. "That's something to think about."

He was discovering so many facets to Tessa he never knew existed. Their summer in the Poconos had been filled with activities, talk about the future, work. She'd told him from the first day she'd met him that she intended to see the world. So they'd played tennis, gone horseback riding, and he'd kissed her until she would push away and put her guard up. Maybe their time together now was different because they'd both matured.

Tessa tied a weight to the end of the string so it hung like a pendulum. Max pressed the weight against the wall, took the string in the middle, and pulled it back like the string in a bow. When he released it, it pinged against the wall, making a straight blue line.

Tessa was right next to him, wallpaper in hand. He could smell her shampoo. He could almost remember the softness of her tumbled curls. Desire mounted, and he took the roll of wallpaper from her. "I'll unroll. You cut."

Max's gruffness surprised Tessa. A few minutes ago, he'd been smiling at her. Ryan's room was certainly larger than a tent, but she felt the same way she had in the canvas confines. Aware. Much too aware of Max as a man and herself as a woman. His grey T-shirt and black jeans showed off his physique as a suit never could. There was male power there, in the muscles, in the strength evident as he'd shifted furniture to the center of the room.

Max rolled the prepasted paper backwards, with the pattern on the inside, and dipped it into the pan of water. He waited a few moments, then took it to the middle of the wall where the chalk marked a true vertical line. Letting the paper unroll from the ceiling, he pressed the upper section with his hand, heading toward the middle.

Tessa saw the lower section leaning away from the line. She took the edge to pull it sideways and gave a little yank. But the yank was too strong.

Max grunted.

When she looked up, she saw the wallpaper had come loose and rolled onto his head. Straightening, she saw the paper had twisted and the pasted side had landed flat on his hair!

A giggle rose to her throat, but seeing the expression on Max's face, she didn't let it loose. "Hold still and I'll see if I can save it."

"What about me?" he growled.

She lifted the corner slowly. "I'll try not to pull out all your hair."

A few strands stuck as she gently lifted the paper. Moving away from him, ignoring the pull toward him and the urge to wipe the paste from his hair, she tried to attach the paper onto the wall again. When she dropped her hands, it fell. She hazarded a look at Max and saw his lips twitch.

In an amused tone, he asked, "Do you think somebody's trying to tell us something?"

Tired of fighting her impulses, tired of keeping a distance from Max, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, Tessa ran her fingers lightly over the pasty section of Max's hair. "That you need a new spiked hairstyle? Your students would love that."

The beginnings of his smile disappeared, and she knew she should step back. She couldn't. Something in his eyes compelled her not to move at all.

Chapter Seven

Tessa felt Max's hands on her shoulders—strong, large hands that tempted her with their warmth. His brown eyes were the darkest she'd ever seen them. His expression was almost pained, and she couldn't keep from reaching toward him again and stroking his jaw.

With a groan, Max bent his head and sealed his lips to hers. She never expected the fire shooting to every place in her body as their lips touched. She never expected passion to rise up so quickly. She never expected the need that pulled her closer to him.

Max wrapped his arms around her, and "close" took on new meaning. He was tall and strong and hard. She could feel his heart pounding against her breasts. Hers seemed to thump in the same fast rhythm, beat for beat. She curled her fingers around his upper arms to steady herself. Max's smell, his feel, his desire pressing against her made her giddy.

When his tongue slid along the seam of her lips, she didn't hesitate but opened to him. The thrust of his tongue was demanding and stirred a squall of feeling she couldn't begin to name. She held on tighter.

He thrust deeper and swept her mouth feverishly as if he'd never have enough time if he did it slowly. She wanted to savor every moment. Stroking her tongue against his, she felt him shudder. His hands stroked the small of her back. He was fully aroused and she could feel his need as deeply as her own as she trembled in his arms. As exciting as his kiss was, it made her feel grounded, as if this were where she belonged.

Belong? Her? She thought that was what she'd always wanted—to belong. Yet suddenly the idea scared her. Belonging meant opening her heart, making herself vulnerable, giving up freedom, taking a risk. She might take risks in her work but...

Max pressed her tighter against him, and she forgot about risks, she forgot about being vulnerable, she forgot about freedom and everything but his kiss and being held in his arms. She went pliant against him, raised her arms and laced her hands in his hair.

Max groaned deeply and moved against her. Her heart skipped and her breath caught. She'd never known desire could be like this, that she'd feel so alive, so much a woman, so reckless. His thick hair caressed her fingers as she felt its vitality, as she reveled in its texture.

As her tongue swept over his, responded to his, danced with his, the world and all its concerns blurred. She wanted him. He wanted her. Her body hummed with a primal beat, her pulse raced, and breathing seemed non-essential. Max relentlessly discovered every secret of her mouth until no thoughts were the best thoughts and only feelings mattered.

But then all the excitement, the wonderful sensations, the intimacy, were cut off. Max abruptly raised his head, pulled away and dropped his arms. She heard her own gasp of protest as she felt deserted, cold and empty. Opening her eyes, she tried to get a grip on her balance as well as her emotions.

Max realized they'd been rushing forward without any thought to where they were headed...and where passion like this would end. "What are we doing?"

He could see the exact moment Tessa withdrew from him. The passion-induced glaze left her eyes, and he could read nothing from her expression. The change stunned him. A minute ago, she'd been a responsive, emotion-filled woman. And now... She stood straight, calm and coolly composed.

"We both know better. We both know nothing can come of this."

As Max had kissed Tessa, he'd felt more alive than he had in years. But then thoughts of Leslie had seeped through and guilt stabbed at him. It still lingered. Yet he was a little annoyed that Tessa could so easily slough off a kiss that had felt as if it could destroy him.

"Maybe we should talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about, Max. We'll both forget it. Just as we forgot the kiss at the campsite...just as we forgot those kisses nine years ago." She plucked the roll of wallpaper from the bed.

Max couldn't push her. If they talked, he didn't know what he'd say because his own thoughts weren't clear.

Her words still echoed in the room. Nothing can come of it. Something could come of it, all right. Heartache. Neither of them needed that.

***

The following Saturday afternoon Max shot hoops in front of the garage, every once in a while glancing over at Ryan, who was racing his miniature cars down the sliding board. Taking the basketball to the far side of the macadam, Max aimed for a hook shot...and missed. He felt as if he'd been missing all week. Ever since that last kiss...

He tossed the ball again and sank it. That didn't make him feel any better. He'd had about two minutes alone with Tessa this week. If she wasn't doing something with Ryan, she was working in her room. She was definitely avoiding him. Well, she couldn't avoid him tonight. Tonight he was taking her to the dance.

Max stopped shooting as Ryan ran over to him. He offered his son the ball. "Want to try?"

Ryan grinned and took it. "Yeah."

As he had many times before, Max showed his son the proper position to shoot. But Ryan's lack of height hampered him more than his lack of strength. Seeing Ryan was discouraged after three tries, Max swung the eight-year-old onto his shoulders. "Okay, sport. Sink it."

Ryan giggled and made a basket. Then another and another. Before he shot again, he asked Max, "Will Tessa be back soon?"

Max checked his watch. She still had a couple of hours before supper. "I'm not sure. When women shop, they lose track of time." Of course, Tessa could be different. She probably knew exactly what she wanted and where she wanted to buy it.

"But she won't forget to come back home, will she?" Ryan asked, an odd note in his voice.

Max swung Ryan from his shoulders and set him on the ground. "No, she won't. She's going to help us make tacos for supper and then she and I are going to the dance."

"And Flo's gonna put me to bed."

"That's right. You'll probably be asleep when we get home."

"But you'll come in and say good night?"

"Sure will."

Ryan smiled. "Tessa's birthday's soon. Are we gonna get her a present?"

That was news to Max. He wondered if Ryan had misunderstood something Tessa had said. "Did she say exactly when her birthday is?"

Ryan shook his head. "She said she'd like a super shooter like mine for her birthday."

"That doesn't mean it's soon."

"Uh-huh. She said it's not far away. Can we get her a super shooter?"

Max chuckled. "Maybe we can find something else, too."

"Dad, Tessa's staying a long time, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is."

"I like her here."

Max gave his son a huge hug. "So do I." He wasn't just saying that for Ryan's benefit. He realized he meant it.

***

Max had rarely seen Tessa in a dress—his wedding, Ryan's christening. There was nothing special about this one, except the way she looked in it. He pushed himself up from the sofa and went to the bottom of the staircase as she came down the steps. The deep green sweaterlike material matched the color of her eyes and looked just as soft and inviting. The flared skirt caressed her hips and swayed against her knees as she reached the first floor. But it was the tiny buttons from her neck to her waist that fascinated Max. They resembled tiny pieces of jade. In a way, she looked conservative, proper, casual, but in others ways...

His heart pounded and he thought again about their kisses, her easy dismissal of them, his heated response to them.

She smiled. "Do you think this is all right?"

Unsure wasn't a word he'd associate with Tessa, but she seemed a little uncertain now. "You look terrific. I bet Kevin will ask you to dance as soon as we get there."

"Isn't he bringing Jenny?"

"Not this time. Supposedly they're both coming alone."

Tessa went to the foyer closet and pulled out her trench coat. Max had seen her ironing out the wrinkles earlier in the week. Did that mean she'd looked forward to tonight?

Ryan skipped into the living room from the kitchen, a chocolate chip cookie that Flo had baked in each hand. Flo followed him with his glass of milk.

Max folded Ryan and the cookies into his arms and gave him a hug. "We'll see you in the morning."

Ryan pulled back to look at Tessa. "Pancakes for breakfast?"

She laughed. "You bet." She kissed the tip of her finger then blew the kiss to Ryan.

Ryan grinned and pretended to catch it.

Max felt a constriction in his throat. He stood and said to Flo, "We should be back by midnight."

His neighbor set Ryan's milk on a coaster on the coffee table. "Don't you worry about the time. You just go and have fun."

Max didn't think a high-school dance was the place to have fun. But then he looked at Tessa, saw the sparkle in her eyes, the color in her cheeks, and reconsidered.

After they were in the car, he said, "I'm surprised you volunteered for this. You'll probably be bored."

She laid her hand on the armrest in the sedan. "Teenagers are never boring, are they?"

He shrugged. "Our job's to patrol to make sure no one slips liquor in. Or to break up any couple who gets too...involved."

She chuckled. "They probably love that."

"Sometimes I think they do it on purpose to embarrass the chaperones."

"Supposedly their hormones are running wild at this age."

"Did yours?" His question surprised him as much as her.

After a moment of silence, she swiveled toward him, batting her lashes with exaggerated coyness. "Why, Mr. Winthrop, are you asking me to divulge the secrets of my youth?"

He could answer in the same teasing manner. He'd missed her bantering. But he didn't feel like teasing tonight. "Do you have many secrets?"

He thought he heard a small sigh before she said, "Not about that. You heard what I told Kevin and Jenny. I worked as much as I could when I was in high school."

"What about college?"

"In college, too. I won a scholarship and got a loan, but I had to work to pay for books and other expenses."

No wonder Tessa's life was so focused, that she was so serious about her work. She'd sacrificed to get where she was today. "Tonight you can pretend you're back in high school."

Again, a pause.

"Maybe. Or maybe I can just enjoy chaperoning a high-school dance with the nicest man in town."

Nice? She thought he was nice? Somehow, that wasn't the adjective he'd prefer she use.

The inside of the fire hall had been transformed into the land of Oz, although popular music blared from speakers along one wall. Tessa scanned the room, appreciating the mural of Emerald City taped on the wall, the yellow brick road weaving under the tables on one side, the scarecrow, tin man and lion standing near the refreshment table.

The scarecrow was fashioned from corn husks and old clothes, with a stuffed burlap bag for the head. The tin man's body was a giant aluminum can, his head a smaller one. His arms and legs were aluminum strips. Tessa smiled when she looked closely at the lion. It was a mannequin dressed in a lion costume. It didn't have a mask, just whiskers attached around the mouth.

"Would you like me to hang up your coat?"

Tessa turned to Max. He looked more handsome tonight than she'd ever seen him—the way his charcoal suit fit his broad shoulders, the way his thick dark hair lay obediently across his forehead, the way his eyes sparked whenever their gazes met. But those sparks didn't mean anything. He'd been sorry about their kisses...that had been easy to see. And the more she thought about it, the more she'd realized they had been mistakes. She was leaving in a few weeks to cover the Summit, wasn't she? She'd never been to Norway before and she wanted to travel through the Scandinavian countries while she had the chance. She was planning interviews on their health-care system, child care...

"Tessa?"

Her fingers went to the buttons of her coat. As she unfastened the last one, she felt Max's hands on her shoulders. When he helped her shrug out of the garment, his hand brushed her neck under her hair. She thought he let it linger there a second, but she must have been mistaken.

Teenagers started to pour through the door. Tessa made her way to the refreshment table where she spied about six adults. As she approached the punch bowl, she realized one of them was Mrs. Bartlett who was speaking to a grey-haired gentleman.

Ryan's teacher recognized Tessa immediately. "Hello. I heard you and Mr. Winthrop would be here tonight."

"News travels fast in Jenkins."

Mrs. Bartlett laughed. "My niece has Mr. Winthrop for algebra. She's the one who roped me into this." The teacher turned to the older gentleman beside her. "Ms. Kahill, this is Al Weaver, assistant principal at the high school. Al, this is a...friend of Mr. Winthrop's."

The grey-haired man gave Tessa a thorough evaluation and offered his hand. "It's good to meet you. How long have you known Max?"

His obvious interest in her answer made Tessa feel as if she were taking some type of exam. "Nine years."

"I see."

He waited for more information, but she only smiled politely. Being a journalist had taught her the value of pauses.

Finally he said, "If you've known Max that long, then you know how much he loves basketball."

This man was heading someplace, though she wasn't sure where. "I know he enjoyed coaching," she said cautiously.

"My point exactly. He's one of the best basketball coaches around. I hate to see his talent go to waste this year as he sits out the season."

Ah, hah. Weaver wanted Max back on board, but for now that wasn't what Max wanted or what Ryan needed. "I don't believe he sees it that way."

As if he didn't hear her, Weaver went on, "We found someone to replace him, but the man's not nearly as good. We could still use Max as a co-coach."

"You should be telling this to Max, not me."

"Oh, I have. Weekly, since the year began. But he's not taking me seriously. I understand the two of you are close. Maybe you'd have some influence."

He understood they were close? How did he know that when she didn't even know for sure? "Mr. Weaver, Max does what he thinks is best for his life. I have no influence over that. He might love coaching, but he loves his son more. Right now, Ryan needs him. Sometimes a person does what he should do rather than what he wants to do."

The wind went out of the man's sails. "I suppose that's true. Of course, family has to come first."

Suddenly Max was beside Tessa, his arm companionably brushing hers. After greetings all around, Weaver drifted toward the crowd of dancers. Tessa didn't know if Max had overheard their conversation. She also didn't know whether or not she'd overstepped her boundaries. Lately, they were getting more and more difficult to figure out.

Mrs. Bartlett ladled a glass of punch. "I was hoping to see you tonight."

Max frowned. "Your last e-mail said Ryan was doing better."

"I've seen some improvement in Ryan's attitude lately. He's more exuberant. Some of his work has improved, some hasn't. Why don't I e-mail you a copy of the two extremes and you can see what you think."

"You know, any time you need to talk to me—"

She nodded. "Just call. I know that. I know you care, Mr. Winthrop. We will get to the bottom of this. I still believe his biggest problem is not mingling with other children."

Tessa surveyed the large room, the teenagers obviously having fun. "Could a party help?"

Mrs. Bartlett took a sip of her punch. "What do you have in mind?"

"Halloween's coming up. We could have a Halloween party at the house and invite some of his classmates."

"It would have to be this coming Saturday," Max said.

Tessa looked to him for encouragement. "Could we do it? It shouldn't be too difficult."

"That depends on how much time you're willing to give it. We have to keep them entertained, so we'd have to plan a few games."

Tessa turned toward Mrs. Bartlett. "What do you think?"

The teacher laughed. "This would probably be very good for Ryan if he feels involved. Maybe even let him make some of the decisions."

"Let's do it, Max."

He smiled. "If you're willing, I'm willing." He asked Mrs. Bartlett, "Do you have any suggestions for games?"

"I have a book at home that could help."

"Maybe I could pick it up tomorrow afternoon."

"That would be fine."

Someone tentatively touched Tessa's arm. Kevin stood beside her, a wide grin on his face. "Would you like to dance?"

Tessa glanced at Max. He gave her no clue as to what he was thinking. The shoulder-rocking rhythm made her want to tap her foot and she realized Kevin was waiting expectantly. "Sure. It's hard to stand still to this song."

She felt a few sets of eyes on her as she followed Kevin to the middle of the room. But once she and the teenager started to dance, they blended in with the crowd.

Max watched Tessa move to the music. He took his finger around his collar because it suddenly felt too tight. Did she have any idea how desirable she was? He was almost jealous of Kevin, and that was ridiculous. He wished he hadn't overheard her conversation with Weaver. He wasn't surprised Weaver had approached her. Al had asked other teachers to convince him to come back to coaching, too.

When Tessa stood up for his decision not to coach this year, he'd been pleased. But then...

He heard her words again. Sometimes a person does what he should do, rather than what he wants to do. Was Tessa only helping him with Ryan because she felt some obligation to Leslie? Or had she stayed because she'd wanted to stay? It shouldn't matter, but it did.

When the song ended and another began, the teenagers formed a line. Kevin said something to Tessa. She shrugged and nodded. Next thing Max knew, she was in the line, dancing. She laughed with the kids, looked as if she knew what she was doing and thoroughly enjoying herself.

When the music stopped for a moment, Max strode toward her.

Kevin took a step away. "I guess it's your turn now, Coach."

Max said to Tessa, "That depends on the lady."

Tessa's eyes opened wider for a moment. "I'd like to dance with you." She smiled at Kevin. "Thanks."

As the music blared again, Tessa and Max squared off and moved to the beat. He asked her, "Do you go dancing often?"

"Sometimes to clubs in London when I'm there for more than a few days."

He frowned. "Anyone in particular go with you?"

She seemed surprised he asked. "I know a few journalists. I give them a call when I'm back, and we get together."

As Tessa's hips shimmied in time with the music, Max opened his top shirt button under his tie.

They danced to two more songs, then Max asked her, "Would you like to take a break?"

"Yes. Fresh air would be nice."

"We really should check the grounds to make sure all the kids are behaving."

When they stepped outside, the autumn breeze brushed them. He saw Tessa shiver. "We should have stopped for your coat."

"I'm fine."

He smiled. "Then why do you have your arms wrapped around you?" He took off his suit coat and placed it around her shoulders. It would be so easy to bend down and kiss her.

"What about you?" she asked.

"Don't you know men are more hot blooded than women?" Being with her tonight was making his blood boil when he least expected it.

She laughed. "There's scientific evidence to prove that, of course."

"Of course," he teased. She looked protected with his coat around her small shoulders. He wondered if the material would pick up the scent of her perfume. He suddenly realized Tessa was wearing perfume. He'd never noticed it on her before. Had she bought it just for tonight? For some reason the thought pleased him.

Hundreds of stars liberally dotted the black sky. The moon hung suspended like a golden ball, almost round. Max took a deep breath of autumn air and walked toward the edge of the parking lot.

"It's wonderful out here, isn't it?" Tessa commented. "Too often I'm too busy to see the stars."

"That happens to all of us." Max stuffed his hands in his pockets so he wasn't tempted to touch her. The moon on her face, the slight breeze teasing her curls, urged him to trace her profile with his fingers and play in her hair. He closed his hands into fists. "Ryan tells me you have a birthday coming up. I can't believe we've known each other nine years and I don't even know the date."

She stopped for a moment then resumed walking. "November second."

"He'll get a kick out of you blowing out candles."

"I won't be here, Max."

This time he stopped. "I thought you were staying till mid November."

She put her hand on his arm, bringing him warmth and gentleness. "I am. I won't go back on my word. But that weekend I have to go to New York to meet with a segment producer at Crandall News about Oslo. I'm going over the info I've collected—where diplomats are staying, that type of thing. We'll also look over future projects."

For the past couple of weeks, Max had put aside what Tessa did for a living. Maybe that's why his attraction to her was becoming too strong to ignore.

Again, he remembered what she'd said to Al Weaver. Sometimes a person does what he should do. Suddenly it was extremely important to know exactly why Tessa had stayed in Jenkins. "Tessa, why do you want to help Ryan?"

She stopped and faced Max. "Because I love him."

"That's all?"

She hesitated a moment, then said, "Because he's Leslie's son."

"So...you feel obligated."

"Max, what's this all about?"

"If you're staying here out of some sense of duty or nobility and you don't want to be here, that's the wrong reason."

"Even if it helps Ryan?"

"So that is why you stayed."

She shook her head. "It's all mixed together. I can't separate one from the other."

Max fell silent, and Tessa wondered why he'd asked those questions. A thought struck her that made her throat tighten. She swallowed a few times. "Are you tired of me being here? Do you want me to leave? I never meant to interfere in your life—"

He took her by the shoulders. "No, that's not it at all."

The deep brown of his eyes, the intensity smoldering there, made her pulse gallop. "Then why the questions, Max?"

"Because I don't want you here out of some sense of duty."

She wanted to reach out and stroke the lines on his forehead, the worry around his mouth. But she was afraid, so she kept her hands at her sides. "I want to be here. Do you believe me?"

After a very long moment, he answered her. "Yes."

A train whistle blew in the distance. Muted music vibrated in the fire hall. Leaves danced around Tessa's feet as the breeze pushed them into the corner of the building. Time seemed to stand still.

Taking one of the curls along Tessa's cheek between his thumb and forefinger, Max felt its silky softness. "I don't think I've told you how pretty you look tonight."

No one had ever told her she looked pretty. But then, she didn't dress up very often. Unreasonably, her lip quivered. "Thank you."

He must have seen the trembling because he traced his thumb across that lip. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne, a scent that mixed with his male scent. The touch of his rougher skin against her soft lip sent shock waves through her.

She lifted her head, and he bent his.

The kiss was gentle and easy until his tongue slipped into her mouth. Her knees went weak and she grabbed onto him. His arms came around her to hold her to him. His powerful thighs strained against her. He tasted male and hot.

Abruptly he ended the quick burst of passion by tearing away and stepping back. Swearing, he raked his hand through his hair. "This is wrong."

Maybe it was time they both faced up to what was happening. "Why?"

"Because...Leslie was my wife and your best friend."

The loss of Leslie still hurt. Tessa would never forget their hours of conversation, secrets they'd shared, a bond that would never die. But Tessa had had plenty of experience facing reality, so maybe she could accept it easier than others, easier than Max. "She's been gone for three years."

A myriad of emotions played over his face. "So that means I should forget all about her and go back to where we left off nine years ago?" He sounded not only confused but bitter.

"No, of course you shouldn't. You'll never forget her, and I won't, either. She wasn't just my friend, she was the only close friend I ever had. She was the first person I could talk to about my hopes and dreams and fears. She listened and she accepted me for who I was. No one else has ever done that for me. I loved her, Max."

For once Max's guard was down. Turbulent emotions played across his face. "And I did, too. Never once did I wish anything had been different. My feelings for you died when you left, and for the past nine years you've been Leslie's best friend. Nothing more. So what is happening now?"

Tessa lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on. "We were attracted to each other once. Living in the same house, taking care of Ryan together has stirred up the chemistry again. That's all."

Max slashed his hand through the air. "That's all? Have you thought about what it means? Both of us know why it didn't work before. Your career. And that hasn't changed. Has it?"

She had to be truthful. "No, it hasn't."

He took a step away, her honesty driving a huge wedge between them.

The rattle of the fire hall doors opening preceded a burst of laughter as a group of teenagers spilled into the parking lot.

Max's face was blank now, his guard firmly back in place. He motioned toward the noise. "We'd better go back in."

There was nothing Tessa could say to ease the tension. Because nothing had changed. But maybe for the first time in her adult life she wondered if it could.

Chapter Eight

The burnished leaves covered the grass in a thick layer. Tessa fought a losing battle, trying to rake them into one large pile in the corner of the yard as the breeze ruffled and sent them skittering away. She'd needed something physical to do this afternoon so she could burn off disturbing feelings from last night and everything she and Max had said to each other. As they'd made breakfast this morning, they'd been so polite.

Tessa worked with renewed vigor, the rhythmic clawing sound of the rake on the leaves somehow soothing her. She had prevented herself from falling in love with Max nine years ago. She'd told herself she could enjoy his friendship and move on, and she'd made it clear to him from the beginning she'd intended to move on. But had he fallen in love with her? And had she killed that love by leaving and following her dream?

After Leslie told Tessa she and Max were dating, Tessa had tried to forget about Max. And she'd managed to do that pretty well most of the time. Not long after Leslie and Max married, Tessa thought she'd fallen in love. She'd been covering the war in the Mid East. So had Phil Evans. One eventful day, they'd both almost been killed by stray gunfire. Nothing had seemed more precious than life, and they'd turned to each other in the midst of chaos. But six weeks later, Phil had moved on—to another country, another war. He'd left her without looking back.

Had Tessa done that to Max?

Tessa stopped raking and gazed up at the grey-blue sky. No, she'd looked back. Often. Only Max didn't know that.

She sighed and used the back of her rake to push the leaves she'd gathered into a high, neat pile. All her life she'd been taught that love hurt. Her mother had loved her father and he'd deserted them both. Her mother had loved Tessa so much she'd given her to strangers to raise. By the time she'd met Max, she'd been safeguarding her heart carefully for a long time. And when Phil took off without a backward glance, she'd decided from then on to keep herself protected. Her work had to be her life. Losing hurt too much.

Losing Leslie had hurt most of all.

The sound of a car broke Tessa's bout of introspection. Max pulled into the driveway, and she kept raking. But a few minutes later, she couldn't ignore him when he stood in the path of her rake.

She lifted her head and found him studying her. All six foot two of him, rugged and much too appealing in a grey Penn State sweatshirt and worn jeans. Her heart fluttered and she felt like crying. She hadn't cried since Leslie died. It wasn't her usual reaction to a problem or confusion. Activity was.

She raked around Max's sneakers.

He put his hands over hers on the rake, stopping the motion. "Tessa, what are we going to do? This strain between us isn't good for either of us. Or Ryan."

He obviously knew that would get her attention. She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "What do you suggest?"

"We could try being friends. I don't know if we've ever been that to each other. Even in the beginning...we didn't know each other very well."

Her heart fluttered because his hand covered hers. He emanated a virility she'd found in few men, and she vividly remembered last night's kiss. "And what about the rest?"

After he released her, he leaned away. "We're adults. We can control what we do. For your sake, mine and Ryan's we have to keep this simple. I'll try if you will."

Oh, she'd try. But he was discounting feelings in his formula. She'd just have to keep a lid on hers and hope that was enough. "I'd like to be your friend, Max."

He gave her a crooked smile. "I have Mrs. Bartlett's book in the car. Ready to plan a party?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. I guess for Halloween, we'll have to come up with decorations, too."

He waved to the garage. "There's some stuff Leslie made stored in the crawl space. I'll pull it out."

Suddenly Ryan came skipping out of the house, a milk-and-crumbs mustache hanging across his upper lip. "What are you doing?"

She let the rake fall and stooped down beside him to wipe away the crumbs. "Waiting for you to play a game with me."

His eyes sparkled. "What?"

She pointed to the pile of leaves. "See that?"

"Yeah."

She whispered into his ear, "It's great to mess up. Do you want to try?"

He grinned. "By jumping in it?"

"How else?"

With a conspiratorial wink at Ryan, she jumped and landed on her bottom in the pile, the leaves toppling over her. "Come on," she called.

Ryan landed close beside her and waved his arms, pushing leaves in all directions. He tried to cover her with them. She returned the action in kind and tickled him. He giggled and giggled, and Tessa thought she'd never heard a more wonderful sound.

Above the ruckus, Max called, "While you two undo everything you've done, I have papers to grade and lesson plans to finish."

Tessa stopped tormenting Ryan and slapped the leaves in front of her. "You could join us."

Ryan chimed in, "Yeah, Dad. Jump. You'll really make them fly."

Max smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Not this time." Crossing to the car, he picked up a book then went into the house.

Tessa had to ask herself what would have happened if Max had jumped into the leaves, if they'd tumbled together, playing and laughing. If they were going to be "friends," she'd have to set her impulses aside, even imaginary ones.

***

Monday morning, Tessa pushed the cart through the grocery store. She'd decided to start planning the Halloween party by coming here first. She'd found recipes for cute little Halloween cookies—the kind Leslie would have made. Tessa had never baked cookies before, but how hard could it be to roll out dough, bake it and ice it? She'd also found a recipe for a cake designed in the shape of a pumpkin. Sure, she could buy something but she felt she had something to prove...to herself or to Max?

As she passed through the baked goods section, she tossed confectioner's sugar and cinnamon into her basket, thinking about Ryan's costume. He'd said he wanted to be Robin Hood. How difficult could it be to make a green tunic? Max had pulled Leslie's sewing machine out of the storage space and he and Tessa had figured out how it worked. Ryan was excited already about the party. Tessa was going to make it the best Halloween he would ever experience. Just like Leslie would have.

At least if she was busy with the party, she'd be less aware of Max. After Max had said his piece yesterday, tension had eased. But she still felt every nerve go on red alert when he came near. She still felt the sound of his voice to her toes. She'd be the first to admit she was confused about what was happening between them.

"Max Winthrop."

Tessa had been thinking about him, but she hadn't said his name out loud. Someone else had.

"Her name's Tessa Kahill. I've seen her on the news and on TV specials. I've read her blogs and articles on that news website."

Tessa craned her neck and could just see over the boxes of cake mix into the next aisle. Nothing could keep her from eavesdropping.

A black-haired woman said, "They were at the dance together. She acted like a teenager, dancing with the students. He just stood and watched her. He was probably mortified. I hear she was a friend of his wife's. And she's living with him!"

A blond-highlighted, brunette shook her head. "I heard she's only staying a few weeks. She travels around the world. I can't imagine why she'd want to stay here even for a little while."

"I can. He's a well put together red-blooded male. She's a red-blooded female. You can't tell me there's nothing going on in that house when his son's asleep."

How dare these women judge Max? How dare they butt into his private business? Tessa opened her mouth, then closed it again. Max would hate it if she caused a scene. She wondered what other rumors were spreading across town. Suddenly she remembered Al Weaver's statement that he knew she and Max were "close." What did he think he knew?

Her cart rattled as she pushed it down the aisle to finish her shopping. She'd better not end up in the same check-out line as those two women or she'd be tempted to set them straight. Nothing was going on between her and Max. Nothing at all.

She suddenly realized how sad that thought made her.

Later that evening, Tessa finished reading a story to Ryan and closed the book. He'd snuggled up against her and didn't seem eager to move away. She'd tried to put the grocery store conversation she'd overheard out of her mind, but it bothered her. Should she tell Max about it? Or should she pack up her bag and computer and move to a motel?

Ryan stirred against her. What would be best for him?

Squiggling sideways, he took his bear from atop his new bed.

She kept her arm loosely around him. "How do you like your new room now that you've been sleeping in it a while?"

He stuffed his bear further into the crook of his arm. "It's great. I dream about driving all those cars." He pointed to the walls.

"Maybe on Saturday you can show your friends your room."

"I can?"

"Sure. Friends like to hang out in each other's rooms."

When Ryan didn't respond, she asked, "Are you looking forward to your party?"

He grinned. "I can't wait to be Robin Hood. Jimmy said he's gonna be Spiderman. His mom made his costume."

Jimmy and five other seven and eight-year-olds would be invading the house Saturday evening. Ryan had decided himself who he wanted to invite. "Do you and Jimmy play together much at school?"

Ryan shrugged. "Sometimes."

She could tell she wasn't getting anywhere with that angle. "You know, you don't have to wait to have a party to invite someone over. Maybe sometime Jimmy or someone else can come and stay overnight. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Ryan shrugged again.

"Friends make life more fun."

"I have you and Dad," Ryan mumbled into his bear.

"Sure, you do. But it's nice to have all kinds of different friends to do things with—go to the park or movies, play games."

He raised his head. "Do you have lots of friends?"

She had a few friends, but mostly she had neighbors who brought in her mail, acquaintances who met her at a club, colleagues who discussed work. "I don't have too many friends because I move around so much. But I had a very best friend once—your mom."

Ryan squinted his eyes as if he were trying to remember Leslie. "She was pretty. Dad has pictures."

"She was pretty and wonderful and she loved you very much." Tessa wished Ryan could have known Leslie longer, could remember her better.

Ryan regarded Tessa carefully for a moment, and she thought he was going to say something, but he didn't. She held him a little tighter. "Honey, if there's anything you ever want to talk about, anything that's bothering you, you know you can tell me or your dad."

Ryan avoided her gaze and played with the ribbon on his bear.

Tessa waited but when he still said nothing, she didn't want to push him. Kissing the top of his head, she moved away. As she stood by the side of the bed, Ryan scooted down under the covers.

She adjusted them under his chin. "Good night, pancake. I'll see you in the morning." She switched on the night light on his chest of drawers, turned off the overhead light, and closed his door.

***

Max heard Tessa come down the stairs as he emptied the dishwasher. He knew every creak in the house. He knew the sound of Tessa's footsteps. He also knew the smell of her shampoo, the softness of her hair, the crinkle of her nose right before she smiled. He didn't know if his "friendship" idea was working for her, but it wasn't working for him. He'd thought the decision would be enough, that the attraction would abate, that he could treat her as he treated...a colleague. Wrong.

She'd been quiet this evening. He suspected something was bothering her. Was she ready to fly off to somewhere new? Was she getting bored? He'd better prepare himself for that because it could happen at any time. He was surprised she'd lasted in Jenkins this long. He glanced at the baking supplies she'd left stacked on the counter. He had to admit she was giving Ryan her all and he should be grateful for that.

Tessa's sneakers squeaked on the tile as she walked across the kitchen. She held out her hand for a dish.

Max smiled and gave it to her. She stowed it in the cupboard where it belonged.

"Ryan all tucked in? He appreciates hearing a story read by someone other than me."

"Max, do you think I should find a room somewhere or move into a motel?"

He felt as if she'd sideswiped him. "Where did that come from?"

She closed the cupboard that held the dishes. "Maybe my being here is confusing for Ryan. When I leave—"

The phone's shrill ring interrupted. It rang again.

Max snatched up the phone with a sharp, "Hello."

After listening for a few moments, he said, "Sure, that's not a problem." He kept his eyes on Tessa as she put away the glasses. Her sweatshirt was oversized, but Max could envision her curves all too well from when he'd felt her pressed against him. "I'll see you at seven-thirty." He hung up, ready to return to his discussion with Tessa.

She shoved a juice glass onto the shelf and closed the door. "You have an appointment in the morning?"

"The principal wants to see me," he said quickly, wanting to get back to the subject of her moving out.

She glanced at him sideways as she took the silverware from its holder. "Do you know why?"

Something in her voice caught his attention. "No. It could have something to do with a student, scheduling, basketball."

"And it could be something else," she mumbled, opening the drawer.

"Like what?"

The forks clanked into place. "Like me living in your house."

"You can't be serious!"

She separated the spoons from the knives, still without looking at him. "I overheard two women at the grocery store today. It was as if they were talking about some scandal. High-school teacher lives with reporter."

"You're overreacting."

"Not if there are rumors about you and me flying all over town. Even Mr. Weaver said..."

Max took the remaining silverware from her hand, dropped it in the drawer and closed it. "What did Al say?"

"That he knew we were 'close.' How does he know anything?" Her gaze met Max's and he could see the worry there.

He blew out a breath and hooked his thumbs in his back pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to caress her face and soothe the worry away. "This is Jenkins, Tessa. It's a small town. People talk. Ten percent of what they repeat is true. Ninety percent isn't. Everyone knows that."

"Maybe your principal doesn't. Max, you're a teacher. I don't want to put your reputation or your job in jeopardy."

Tessa was worried about him. It was an unfamiliar feeling. No one had cared or worried since Leslie... "Is this why you were thinking about moving out?"

She turned and picked up a towel lying on the counter. "I don't want to cause problems for you or Ryan."

He wished she'd just be still. But that wasn't Tessa. "The best thing for Ryan is for you to be here. Can't you see that?"

She folded the towel in half, then in half again. "But if he gets too attached and I leave..."

"He's already attached, Tessa. In between your visits, he talks about you often. He looks forward to you coming the same way he looks forward to Christmas. I wonder if you aren't more afraid that you're getting too attached to him. Do you want to move out?"

She hesitated, and he saw her grip tighten on the towel.

"You're starting to feel closed in, aren't you?" He moved a step closer to emphasize his question. "We're taking up too much of your time, aren't we? Cutting into your work, keeping you tied down. That's what family does, Tessa."

A hurt look came into her eyes. "I wouldn't know."

He reached for her, but she backed away. The silence separated them as much as the physical distance she'd put between them. Wasn't that best for both of them?

Maybe so, but he didn't like it. He couldn't keep the edge from his voice. "You don't have to help with this. I know you probably have something you need to do. By tomorrow evening, we'll know whether your living here is an issue. We can deal with it then." It unsettled him to think about Tessa moving out. But he'd better get over it. She'd be leaving soon, anyway.

He returned to the dishwasher and pushed in the top rack. By the time he lifted a casserole from the bottom one, Tessa was gone.

***

Tessa worked on Ryan's costume the next day while waiting for Max to get home from school. Leslie's sewing machine was temperamental, and she'd ripped out more seams than she'd sewn in. But then her patience was in short supply today. She was anxious to learn about Max's meeting.

She'd asked herself over and over if she felt crowded, if she was resentful of Max and Ryan cutting into her work time. Neither was a problem. She had plenty of time all day to work. Being with Max and Ryan in the evenings felt "right." That's what scared her. Since when had staying in one place felt "right?" And when she thought about leaving, she had this sinking feeling in her stomach she didn't understand.

She pulled the forest green material away from the needle and examined the puckered cloth. According to the instruction book, she didn't have the tension set right.

Hearing the back door open, Tessa went still. She recognized the thump of Max's briefcase on the counter and followed the sound of his footfalls as he came into the living room.

"Where's Ryan?" he asked as he came around the sofa and gazed at the Halloween decorations that had been stored in the garage. Earlier today she'd set a scarecrow on the hearth next to the fireplace and perched a stuffed black cat near the television. In the windows she'd hung pumpkins. She noticed that Max didn't miss the Indian corn arrangement on the mantle.

Her gaze traveled up Max's long legs to the wide breadth of his shoulders. He was wearing charcoal dress slacks and a blue-and-grey cardigan sweater. His grey striped tie settled in the V neck was still knotted and straight. She didn't think he'd ever looked more handsome...or more serious. She was almost afraid to hear what he had to say. Suddenly she realized she didn't want to leave. That thought almost panicked her because of its hidden ramifications.

Remembering he'd asked a question, she laid the tunic on the cushion next to her. "Ryan went with Flo to pick up Scruffy at the groomer's."

"Even trimmed, that dog still looks like a mop," Max said ruefully as he restlessly paced across the room and picked up the black cat.

"Well?" she prodded.

He set the cat back in its place. "You were right about rumors. The principal asked me about you."

She couldn't seem to find her voice. When she did, it was husky. "Should I leave?"

His brown gaze bored into her. "Do you want to?"

"No." The word came out in a rushed puff and hung in the silence that followed. She couldn't be sure, but some of the lines on Max's face seemed to relax with her answer.

He loosened his tie and tugged it open, letting it hang around his neck. "Weaver attended the meeting, too. I told them both that you were a friend of the family, and you're helping me with Ryan."

"They accepted that?"

"Why shouldn't they? It's the truth!"

It was, but maybe not the whole truth. "There still might be talk."

Max savagely pulled the tie from around his neck. "Look, Tessa, you know nothing's going on between us, I know it and now the powers-that-be know it. I told them I had to do what was best for Ryan and for the time at hand, your being here is what's good for him. Anyone who has a problem with that can talk to me face to face."

He was making it perfectly clear he wanted her in his house for Ryan's sake, not his. What else could she expect? She'd left him once before, and he expected her to leave again. And she would be leaving in a few weeks.

Wouldn't she?

"It's probably a good thing I'm going to New York next weekend. The word will get around, and people will realize I'm not here to stay."

Max didn't seem relieved. "When are you leaving?"

"Early Friday morning."

"And when are you coming back?"

"Sunday."

"Have you told Ryan yet?"

"Yes."

"And?"

She felt as if he were giving her the third degree. "He didn't ask any questions. I think he's excited about the Halloween party and that's foremost in his mind."

Max looked around the room again at the decorations Leslie had either bought or made. "Do we have everything we need?"

"I'd like to buy pumpkins to make jack-o-lanterns."

He brought his attention back to her. "I know a farm on the outskirts of town that sells apples, cider and pumpkins. We could take a ride after supper. Ryan would probably like that."

But what about you? she asked silently. "I've been cooped up all day with this. I could use the fresh air."

He frowned. "Tessa, if you'd rather be working..."

"I didn't say that, Max. A ride in the country will be nice."

He gazed at her speculatively for a moment. "I'll go change. Anything started for dinner?"

She waved at the sewing machine. "Sorry. I didn't have time."

Max crossed to the hallway. "We'll stop and get fast food. Ryan would eat it every night if I'd let him."

As he walked down the hall, Tessa sank deeper into the couch, letting her head rest against the back. He didn't expect anything of her. In a way, that made her sad.

Chapter Nine

Max stepped into the kitchen Thursday after school and entered...chaos. Three pumpkins sat on the table, their tops crookedly chopped off. Scoopfuls of pumpkin pulp and seeds lay on last night's newspaper, making it soggy. The smell of burnt something lingered in the air, and he thought traces of smoke hung in the corner above the stove. The kitchen window was open, and cold air blew in. But it was the flour that really caught his attention. It was everywhere. Across the pastry cloth spread on the counter, in bold fingerprints on the cupboards, across the front of the sink, but most of all—smudging Tessa.

She stood at the mixer, dipping a spatula into... He didn't know what it was. It was white and drippy. Her jeans were covered with white splotches from where she'd wiped her hands.

As Max closed the door, Ryan ran into the kitchen. "Tessa, somethin's wrong! One side's longer than the other. And it's so long. And it waves on the bottom. And it won't stay up!"

When Tessa turned toward Ryan, she looked...devastated. "Oh, Ryan. Come here. Let me see."

She crouched down in front of him. The costume, if one could call it that, had slipped off one shoulder. One sleeve was definitely longer than the other. The seams puckered and the bottom hem looked like a drunken scallop.

"It's like a dress!" Ryan wailed.

"That's because it's long," Tessa explained. She slipped her belt from her jeans and held it around Ryan's waist for effect. Avoiding Max's gaze, she muttered, "That's worse."

Ryan looked up at her with wide brown eyes. "Do I hafta wear it?"

Max intervened. "Come here and let me see." Hunching down, he folded the longer sleeve under and settled the tunic up on Ryan's shoulders. "Maybe if you wear a shirt under it—"

"Honey, you don't have to wear it. I guess I'm just not a very good seamstress. I thought I could do it without a pattern."

"What am I gonna wear for the party? I told everybody you were makin' me Robin Hood."

Knowing he had to do something to allay his son's dismay, Max held Ryan's shoulder. "We can go buy a costume."

Ryan's lower lip trembled. "That's not the same."

"I know it's not," Max commiserated with his son. "But Tessa did her best and—"

Dismissing his platitude, Tessa crouched down again next to Max. "Honey, I will make you a costume. Let me think about it until after supper, okay?"

Ryan hesitated for a moment, then solemnly nodded.

Max stood, his knee brushing Tessa's. A jolt of current forked through him. Friends, he repeated to himself. Simply friends.

Tessa straightened, too, and rumpled Ryan's hair. "Go take that off. Toss it into my room on the bed." As Ryan left the kitchen, she avoided Max's gaze and went over to the mixer.

Last night, he couldn't believe his relief when she said she'd stay in his house. Yet, he'd told himself it didn't mean anything because she was merely doing it for Ryan. "I know how much time you put into that."

"It wasn't my best, Max. I don't know why you said it was. If I had more time, I could do it right. Just like I could do the jack-o-lanterns and the cookies and the icing..." Her voice broke.

Max had never seen Tessa in this state. She was actually close to tears! He'd always thought of her as composed and confident and not giving a damn. Taking her by the hand, he tugged her toward the living room.

"Max, what are you doing?"

"We're going to talk." When they reached the sofa, he gave her a little push and she sat. "Tell me what happened today."

Tears welled in her eyes as she glanced at the sewing machine sitting on the coffee table. She blinked fast as Max stretched his arm along the sofa behind her. "Not much. After I finished his costume, I had to run to the store again. I didn't know what a pastry cloth was. The dough wouldn't stick together and I guess I rolled the cookies too thin because the first batch burned. The bowl of icing got too hard to spread because I was working on the pumpkins, so I guess I added too much milk the second time and... Oh, Max. I was trying so hard to make this special for Ryan like Leslie would have—"

Max couldn't keep his arm from coming around her shoulders. "You're not Leslie."

She sucked in a breath and paled. "Don't I know it. You're used to the way she cooked, the way she took care of Ryan—"

"You can't take Leslie's place."

Tessa moved away from him. "No, I can't and I was stupid to try."

He stilled, shaken by her words and their underlying implication. "Are you trying to take Leslie's place?"

Tessa's chin came up and fury blazed in her eyes. "Are you trying to be purposely cruel?"

"No. I want to know why you're so upset. The Tessa I know wouldn't give a damn about all this. She'd cut her losses and move on."

"I told you. I wanted to make Halloween special for Ryan."

"And?"

She glared at him defiantly, but her lower lip quivered. "And you have certain standards. I can see it in your eyes. You expected Leslie's meals to be perfect and they were. You expected her to be a wonderful mother and she was. You knew she'd never embarrass you and she didn't."

"You're competing with her," he concluded.

"I am not!" Tessa wrapped her arms around herself.

"Yes, you are. You've never done that before. Why now?" Tessa was more complicated than any woman Max had ever known. He was filled with the need to understand her in a way he'd never tried to before.

She scooted away from him toward the front of the sofa. "This is getting us nowhere."

"Running away again, Tessa?" An old hurt pierced his heart.

She looked angry enough to slap him. "I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is I've tried my best to be what you and Ryan need—"

Max pushed the hurt away. "And you've done a terrific job." He hadn't expected to say that, but he realized he'd never meant anything more.

Tessa seemed stunned. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

He could kick himself for letting the weeks go by without telling Tessa how much he appreciated everything she did. He'd tried so hard not to put any demands on her, not to expect too much, not to get too close. "I'm saying that because it's true. You're great with Ryan. You've supported him and talked with him and played with him in the past few weeks in a way that I can see has made a difference. You've pitched in and helped around here with meals and shopping in a way I never knew you could. And when do you think you embarrassed me?"

"By dancing with Kevin at the dance, staying here with you and causing gossip..."

She had a smudge of flour on one cheek. He stroked it with his thumb and pushed a few of her curls behind her ear. "Oh, Tessa. Chaperones dance with kids all the time. I was proud of how you could communicate with Kevin and Jenny and fit right in at the dance. And as far as you staying here, I'm too old to care what the town thinks as long as I know I'm doing what's right for me."

A few tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and she ducked her head.

Max lifted her chin with his knuckle. "I've been a fool not to show you some appreciation."

She waved toward the kitchen. "I thought you'd be angry that all this work didn't turn out right for Ryan."

"We'll figure out something. Tessa, you're not Leslie. Don't try to do everything as she would have. Do what you want." He glanced at the sewing machine. "But I don't think you should try to sew another costume."

She gave him half of a smile and attempted to wipe away her tears.

He did it for her, relishing the feel of her skin, practically drowning in her beautiful green eyes. Tessa was a Siren, drawing him to her with a mysterious song. She always had been.

He leaned toward her with the word friendship focused in his mind. He reminded himself of it again right before his lips met hers. He kept the kiss quiet, chaste, but the singeing heat of their lips meeting surged through his blood like liquid flame. He laced his fingers in her hair and stroked. The gesture was meant to soothe but with each pass through her hair, he wanted to take her tighter into his arms, pull her over onto his lap, feel her body—

He didn't attempt to slip his tongue between her lips and the kiss couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but it was no less arousing than any other they'd shared.

When he leaned away, Tessa pulled in a breath and expelled a sigh.

"Friends?" he asked, reminding himself again.

She looked confused for a moment, then nodded. "Friends."

And at that moment Max knew he was lying to himself.

Chapter Ten

Six little boys chattered and laughed and giggled on Saturday as they scrambled from kitchen chair to kitchen chair set up in the middle of the living room. Tessa stopped the CD of children's songs, and Jimmy ended up on Ryan's lap while Ryan yelled, "No, no. It's my chair!"

Standing at the CD player, Tessa called to Jimmy, "You can help me play the music."

Jimmy's pout turned into a smile as he ran up to Tessa. She wondered what she'd do with the next four boys who lost their place in the game.

When Max came to stand in back of her, she felt his presence. She remembered his "friendly" kiss and almost forgot about Jimmy and the music. "Okay, Jimmy, stop it again."

This time Ryan didn't get a chair.

Max said at her ear, "Pizza's here. If we're going to roast hot dogs in the fireplace, we'd better get them started."

His breath was a hot slash along her neck. His cologne, freshly applied after his shower, wove around her. If she leaned back, his hard chest would be a sturdy bulwark, the place where she'd most like to lay her head. The thought startled her. Since when had she progressed to that fantasy?

As Ryan ran over to the CD player, his mouth turned downward into a frown because he hadn't won the game. Max slung an arm around each of the boys. "You can help me put the hot dogs on the skewers." He winked at Tessa. "As they lose their chairs, send them out to me."

Tessa smiled. Max was wonderful with kids—there was no doubt about it.

After Thursday had turned into such a disaster, she'd thought about doing the party "her" way. Talking with Ryan about possibilities for costumes, she'd fashioned a robot costume out of cardboard boxes and tinfoil. He'd seemed pleased, wearing it around the house for most of today. Then, of course, like the other boys, he'd discarded it a half hour after his friends had arrived. Costumes got in the way of serious play.

Tessa had found a piñata in a specialty store in New Haven and it had been a terrific ice breaker. Max had attached it to a rafter in the basement and each boy took a turn swinging and finally scrambling to fill his Halloween bag with the treats that had scattered over the floor. From that they'd progressed to spritzing silly string across the living room then Musical Chairs. Tessa had decided kids would rather have pizza than a fancy pumpkin cake. Ryan had asked if they could roast hot dogs in the fireplace.

Tessa watched the boys push another chair from the circle. One of Ryan's classmates claimed the last chair and she presented him with a miniature car for his prize.

Ryan and his classmates enjoyed cooking the hot dogs more than eating them. They devoured the pizza and the cookies with equal enthusiasm. Max had helped her with a batch of icing that had finally turned out the appropriate consistency.

The party almost over, the boys curled on the floor in front of the fireplace, finishing cookies and soda. Max sat on the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, the flames leaping in the fireplace casting shadows across his face. Tessa felt warm, cozy...and strangely content, not something she felt often.

When the phone rang, Max picked it up and answered, listened, then above the boys' chattering said to Tessa, "You'd better take it in the kitchen so you can hear."

Setting her plate on the hearth, she went to the phone in the kitchen. She was used to getting calls any place, any time. But Max's brows were raised as if he were wondering who could be calling her now.

When she clicked on the handset and heard Linc Granger's voice, she smiled.

He said, "You didn't answer your cell. So I called the back-up number you e-mailed me."

In the living room, Max heard her, "Hi! How are you?" and he replaced the receiver on its stand.

It had been a man's voice asking for Tessa.

After a few minutes of foot tapping, he suggested to Ryan, "Why don't you show your friends your room?"

"And all my cars?" Ryan asked.

"Sure. The boys' parents will be here soon to pick them up."

All six boys scrambled to their feet, and with Ryan leading, clomped up the stairs.

Max figured they'd be occupied for at least five minutes so he could find out what was happening with Tessa.

When Max entered the kitchen, Tessa had the phone cradled against her cheek and she was smiling. "Oh, Linc. I'd love to do the interview for you with the governor and his wife. " She quickly glanced at Max, then away. "But I can't."

Max suspected this man on the other end of the line was giving her all the reasons she should do the interview.

"I know his situation is getting more press and rumors are rampant," she responded. "But this time I have to pass. You're the best, though, for asking me first. Thank you."

Max didn't like the eagerness in her tone or the degree of friendliness. He wished he could hear the other end of the conversation because she said, "I'll be in New York for a meeting with Williamson next weekend. Sure, we can get together. I'll be checking in sometime Friday. Give me a call at the Bennington if you have time."

Max watched her as she listened intently to the speaker on the other end. Her smile disappeared and she frowned. "I know it's a great opportunity. You've handed me a few of those." She laughed at some comment he made and joked, "I know you'll simply call the next journalist on your list. You always have a list."

Max's stomach tightened at her easy laugh, her warmth to another man.

After a few more moments, she said good-bye, hung up and pensively put the phone on its cradle. Remembering he was there, she asked him, "You left those whirlwinds alone?"

"For a few minutes. Ryan has enough cars to keep them all occupied for a short while." Max motioned toward the phone. "It sounds as if you turned down an opportunity."

She shrugged, a Tessa shrug, sort of a half lift of her shoulders. "There are lots of opportunities. I can't take them all."

Max had to ask, "It's not a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?"

"No. The Summit is. This isn't."

That was a subtle warning. She was telling him Ryan came first now, but come mid-November, she'd be gone. That's what he expected, wasn't it?

Tessa picked up a cookie from the plate on the counter and took a small bite. "I got a call yesterday from Mark Thompson at WHBT TV in New Haven. He wants to interview me on their morning talk show." Tessa broke off another piece of cookie and popped it into her mouth.

As her lips closed around it, Max remembered the taste of her. "How did they know you were around?"

"When I was doing research last week, I called someone I know at the station."

"You have connections everywhere."

"I have to in my business."

He willed his blood to cool, his pulse to slow down. "Are you going to do it?"

"Monday morning. After I get back from New York. I wondered if you and Ryan would like to go along to the taping, see the inside of the station and what goes on."

Max's first inclination was to say "No." But then he realized it could be a valuable experience for Ryan. "I'll see if I can take a personal day. I don't think it will be a problem with Mrs. Bartlett because it will be an educational experience for Ryan."

The doorbell rang, and Max glanced at the clock on the wall. "Parents are arriving. I'll get it."

Max and Tessa sorted the boys' jackets and helped them bundle up as their parents arrived. When they'd all left, Ryan sat in front of the fireplace, zooming a car across the coffee table. Remnants and debris from the party lay scattered from one end of the living room to the other.

Max went to his son and sat on the sofa. "Did you have fun?"

Ryan stopped the car for a moment. "Yeah. I liked Musical Chairs the best."

As Tessa perched on the hearth, she asked him, "Wasn't it nice to have friends over?"

Ryan resumed running the car across the table and shrugged.

Tessa exchanged a worried look with Max.

Max picked up a car turned upside down on the floor. "Jimmy liked your room."

Ryan's face lit up. "He says I have ten times the cars he does. That's a lot!"

Max was sorry there weren't any children Ryan's age on their street. "You know, Jimmy only lives about four blocks away. Anytime you want to play with him, I can take you over there or bring Jimmy here. What do you think?"

Ryan shrugged again.

Max ran his hand through his hair. He wished he knew what was going on inside Ryan's head. Maybe he was just tired. It had been a long, exciting day for him. "It's time to put the cars away and get ready for bed."

"Do I hafta get a bath?"

"No. That can wait until tomorrow. Grab as many cars as you can so they don't get lost when we clean up."

Tessa rose from the hearth and stacked paper plates.

At the foot of the stairs, Ryan asked over his shoulder, "Are you gonna come up and say good night?"

Max wondered at Ryan's question. Tessa hadn't missed a night yet. How was his son going to take her leaving?

"I'll be up before you have your pajamas on," she said.

After they tucked Ryan in, Max put the kitchen chairs back where they belonged. He returned to the living room and watched Tessa pluck the papery string confetti from the sofa. One of Ryan's friends had sprayed it a few places other than the prize-winning area.

"I think he had a good time," Max concluded. "He was asleep before we left the room. I just don't get why he doesn't want to be with other kids more."

Tessa dropped the pieces of confetti into her cupped hand then transferred them to the trash can. "I think we should push his friendship with Jimmy. Maybe we can invite him over one day after school."

Max gathered soda cups scattered from one end of the room to the other. Each boy must have used three. When Max looked up to see Tessa still working on the sofa, he was struck by the fiery lights of red in her tumbling curls. The flickering flames cast her in a glow. She looked like she belonged...in his living room, in his life.

She straightened and caught him staring at her. Did her cheeks turn a little rosier? Tessa never blushed, did she?

Grinning at him impishly, she picked up the small can of string confetti. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"Who had time to think about fun?"

"I bet I know how we can have some fun." The devil danced in her green eyes.

"Uh-oh. I smell trouble."

She tossed him the small can and picked up another. "I challenge you to a...duel. Whoever can empty their can on the other person first wins."

"Tessa, I don't know..."

She pressed the button, and orange string confetti shot across Max's chest.

He couldn't believe she was serious. Taking a step toward her, he protested, "Tessa, it will be a mess to clean up."

She winked. "That's why it's fun. Come on, Winthrop. Loosen up." She sprayed the can again, and the string landed on his head and dropped across his face.

"That's it," he growled. "I'll show you how to have fun." In a flash, his thumb pressed the nozzle and strings flew across her head and down her arm. But he didn't let up. He squirted her sweater, her jeans and a dangling string landed on her nose.

But Tessa was quick. Darting away from him, she danced around the sofa. He chased, and she squirted. She targeted his hand. "Score another one for me!"

He shook his can. "But mine's almost empty. And look at you."

She didn't fall for the bait but launched another attack until he sprayed her again and most of it stuck to her sweater. "No fair," she protested. "Your arms are longer."

He chuckled. "I guess you'll have to be inventive to compensate."

Wrinkling her nose at him, she jumped up on the sofa for a better aim. Max couldn't let her get the upper hand. Scooping her up in his arms, he plopped her on the sofa before she realized his intention.

She clambered to her knees, sputtering, "You...you...caveman!" She squirted the confetti.

Max sprayed her back, both of them attacking non-stop until they were laughing and out of breath. Lodging one knee on the sofa, he leaned toward her for one last winning spurt. Suddenly he didn't care about winning the game. Tessa's face glowed. Her lips were pink from pursing them in concentration. Her cheeks were rosy from their game and the warmth of the fire. She looked absolutely silly wreathed in orange confetti, but, oh, so lovely.

His laughter was a rumble in his chest when she stopped giggling. They seemed locked in place for an eternal moment, then inexorably drawn together. He gathered her in his arms and pulled her toward him. She was warmth and loveliness, softness and adventure, fun and passion. Friendship could never describe the desire roaring through his blood with only one destination. Lifting her onto his lap, he kissed her with the fervor he'd denied, the wanting he'd tried to ignore, the need that had built up for too long.

He didn't wait for her to open her lips, but pushed inside. Her small moan told him he'd done the right thing. And as she welcomed his probing tongue, he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He was familiar with needing and wanting. He just wasn't used to having the sensations satisfied. Tessa gave as much as he did, took as much as he did.

Still, he wanted more. Tasting her wasn't enough. He wanted to touch her, too. The hem of her sweater stretched easily, giving him access. The skin of her midriff was hot, satiny, inviting. As he ran his fingers across it slowly, she moved against his hand as if she wanted more, too. His fingertips slid along the edge of her bra. It was silky and wispy and not at all what he'd expected. Tessa was so self-reliant, so strong. But so feminine, too. He shouldn't be surprised. That's what he loved about Tessa—she constantly surprised him.

Loved? No, it couldn't be. He loved Leslie. Didn't he? This passion for Tessa was just that, wasn't it? Passion mixed with caring.

Tessa felt Max's hand on her breast. The silky material was thin, but not thin enough. She wanted to feel the ridge of his fingers, the warmth of his palm. He was kissing her as if he never wanted to stop. And she didn't want him to stop. He'd lit a fire in her heart, her soul, her body. She loved his arms around her, she loved his lips on hers, she loved his scent, his texture, his consummate maleness. She loved him.

The shock of the realization made her go still. Loved Max? Everything inside her cried, No! That can't happen. But it had. She knew the truth when she saw it...heard it...felt it. Had she loved him all these years and denied it? Had the fire in her heart that had begun when they'd dated been burning since then? If he and Leslie hadn't become involved, would she have come back and stayed? No, she hadn't been ready then. Was she ready now?

He must have sensed the change in her, the reversal from passion to panic. Her stomach felt queasy. Her heart pounded in her ears.

His hand left her skin and he pulled away.

She was afraid to look at him for fear he'd see the truth in her eyes, on her face. Wishing the corner of the sofa was in her flat in London and she could be there with a blink of her eyes, she slid from his lap as gracefully as she could. She couldn't face him now. She simply couldn't.

Max was silent, and the silence was worse than denials and excuses. He thought their passion was wrong. He didn't have to say it. She knew.

The orange string confetti sticking all over her sweater reminded Tessa of her foolishness.

"We have a mess to clean up," Max said in a low tone, his voice husky.

He shifted on the sofa, and Tessa realized how uncomfortable he must be. "Max, you don't have to say anything. I know you haven't dated since Leslie died and the pressure builds up—"

"I'm not a balloon ready to pop!"

She curled up tighter, swinging her legs underneath her. "Max, think about it. This close proximity, the old feelings we shared..."

"I don't have to think about it," he snapped. "I have to deal with it."

"And you think I don't?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I suppose the situation is hard for you, too. Neither of us expected—" He inhaled a deep breath. "We only have a few more weeks. Do you know when you're leaving?"

"November seventeenth."

He went silent again.

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Even if there had been, Tessa couldn't sit still another minute. Too much was going on inside her, and she wanted to escape it all.

Hopping up, she plucked a long string of confetti from the sofa arm. Moving quickly, she cleaned off the back while Max watched.

Finally he pushed himself up. His face was still and set, the nerve on his jaw working. "This could wait until tomorrow."

She had to get them back on comfortable footing or she'd never get through the next few weeks. "Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today."

He didn't even grimace at the old proverb. Rather, he picked up the cups that had landed on the hearth when they'd begun their confetti battle. With an "I'll load the dishwasher," he strode into the kitchen.

Tessa sighed with relief. She needed time to be alone. She needed time to think. Maybe she could think her feelings into a semblance of order. She fervently hoped so.

Chapter Eleven

Tessa sat on the bed in her room Monday evening, typing notes on the practicality of Americans buying property overseas into her computer. Her fingers didn't fly over the keys as they usually did. Nor did she organize in her head as she went along. Tonight organization seemed impossible. She typed words, statistics, phrases, but the information wasn't jelling.

Since Saturday night, Tessa had thought about loving Max, she'd feared loving Max, she'd resented the panic that overtook her each time the feelings welled up. She'd tried not to act differently around him. But knowing she loved him changed everything! Except her life. She was a foreign correspondent with a good record and interviewer with high ratings, a reliable reputation and a bright future. But most of all, she had no indication Max felt anything but desire, desire he obviously didn't want to feel.

On Sunday, they'd taken Ryan roller skating again. And they'd avoided each other. Tonight, Max had driven Ryan to his Cub Scout meeting and had said he'd run errands before picking up Ryan to come home. It was obvious he didn't want to be alone with her. Did she want to be alone with him, knowing what could happen?

Thinking about it made her body tingle.

She heard the back door open and before she could even think about shutting down her computer, Ryan pounded up the stairs and burst into her room.

Max's voice boomed from the stairway. "Knock first, Ryan."

It was already too late for that.

"Sorry," Ryan mumbled.

She smiled and waved him toward the bed. "That's okay. How was your meeting?"

"Fine." He shifted back and forth on his feet and played with the yellow tie of his uniform.

"What did you do?"

"Made a Halloween mask. It's downstairs."

Max stood in the doorway, one hand high on the door jamb. His jeans were snug and showed wear at the knees. He wore no belt and the waistband rode low on his hips. His red and black flannel shirt clothed his upper torso with rugged, lumberjack appeal.

His gaze as it found and held hers was as neutral as his expression. He'd make a terrific poker player.

Ryan came closer to the bed.

Max said softly, "Go ahead and ask her."

Ryan looked terribly uncertain. Tessa set her computer on the bed and slid to the edge, dropping her legs over the side. She patted the spread beside her. "Come here and tell me what's going on."

Ryan glanced at Max, then crawled up beside her. "We're havin' somethin' special at school."

"It's a pageant," Max explained. "Ryan didn't tell me until tonight that he has a special part."

"I'm gonna be a Pilgrim!" he declared proudly. "It's about the first Thanksgiving. Dad always comes to watch. Can you come, too?"

Tessa thought about going into the school again, seeing all the families together, the hordes of kids, the noise and chatter that had always resoundingly reminded her that she didn't fit in, that she didn't have a family to care whether or not she took a part in a play, or a concert, or a pageant. She shivered as old memories haunted her. A half-hour meeting with Mrs. Bartlett was one thing. A few hours smack dab in the middle of all the commotion was another.

There was something else to think about, too. She and Max and Ryan weren't a family. She was becoming more and more attached to Ryan. How did he feel about her? The more she did things with him and for him, the harder it would be for him when she left.

Max was watching her closely.

"Ryan, I don't know. With leaving for New York this weekend, I'm going to be pretty busy."

"But you're not leavin' till Friday! You marked it on the calendar." His lip quivered. "And the pageant's Thursday night."

She felt awful. She wanted to give him everything she could. But the truth was—she would be leaving. She'd been entirely available to Ryan and Max since she'd arrived in Jenkins. Maybe that had been a huge mistake—for all of them.

"Honey, I need to think about it, okay?"

His face fell with disappointment and he looked to his father for encouragement.

Max straightened and filled the doorway. "Let Tessa think about it, slugger. You go get your pajamas on. We'll talk about it again tomorrow."

Ryan's tone was somber. "Okay." He turned back to Tessa. "I really want you to come."

Tessa's breath caught in her chest. What was the right thing to do? Right for Max and her and Ryan.

Ryan slipped by his father and went to his room.

Tessa expected Max to leave, too. But he didn't. Instead, he stepped closer to the bed, his forehead creased, his scowl manifesting his frustration. "How could you do that to him?"

Tessa felt guilty enough. "I'm not doing anything to him, Max."

Max advanced on her, his eyes a deepening brown. "He wants you to be there."

Squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin, a response gathered force and exploded. "And I wanted my mother to be there, too!"

He looked taken aback for a moment. "So you want Ryan to suffer as you did?"

Max had the power to rattle her the way no one else could. "I'm not Ryan's mother. And it's not good for him to pretend I am."

Max cocked his head and studied her for a moment. "You think that's what he's doing?"

All the defensiveness she'd felt when Max attacked her deflated and she was left with confusion. "I don't know. But if he is, it's got to stop. I won't be helping him, I'll be hurting him. Maybe I've hurt him already."

Where Max's advance before had been quick and angry, it was now slow and cautious. "You can't believe loving him is hurting him."

"I'm saying his depending on me might be."

Max eyed her curiously. "What else is going on, Tessa?"

"I don't know what you mean." She lowered her head a fraction so she wasn't meeting his probing regard. Sliding around on the bed, she shuffled her notes into a neat pile.

"You're a lousy liar." Max rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You were jittery when we talked to Mrs. Bartlett. You couldn't sit still or get out of that school fast enough. Was school difficult for you?"

He was stabbing in the dark. But she knew how unremittingly persistent Max could be. "We all have rough years."

He wouldn't accept the generality. Before she could take a breath, he stood beside the bed...beside her. "Which year was rough for you? Second grade, like Ryan? Third? Seventh?"

The papers on the bed next to her became all important. "I'd rather not discuss it."

His large, warm hand came down on her shoulder. "Look at me, Tessa." When she didn't, he said gently, "You have to stop running from things you don't want to see."

Now she looked at him, filled with resentment and pain. "What do you know about it? Why do you think you know how I should live my life?"

He crouched down in front of her, much as he would with Ryan. "What don't I know? Tell me."

Suddenly she was swept back into being a seven-year-old again, sitting in that echoing hallway while the principal tried to call her mother—the mother she'd never see again. Her hands trembled and she closed them into fists.

Max covered both of her hands with one of his. "Tessa?"

The gentleness and caring in his voice undid her. "My mother left me at the school. She dropped me off in the morning and she never came back." Tessa wouldn't open her eyes because she didn't want to see Max's pity. She didn't need pity. She never had.

Stroking her hair away from her forehead, Max pushed it behind her ear. "And the rest of your school life reminded you of that day."

She nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Until college. Everything was new there. I felt I could really start to be somebody important, not different. My profs accepted me for who I was, not what I came from."

"You are somebody important—somebody special."

Her eyes grew moist. More than anything she wanted to burrow into Max's arms and let him hold her. But they were too volatile together now. "I don't want to hurt Ryan."

Max's hand kept comforting, stroking, soothing. "Then tell him the truth."

She reared back away from his touch. "About my mother?"

Ryan called from his room, "Dad! Tessa! I'm ready."

Max rose to his feet. "It'll help him understand if you decide not to go."

Tessa started practicing what she'd say in her head because she knew Max was right.

***

The Pilgrims stood on one side of the long table on the stage, the Native Americans on the other. Ryan, as leader for the Pilgrims, crossed to the Chief and extended his hand in friendship.

Max's arm nudged Tessa's shoulder and she could feel him leaning forward to watch more intently. He made her feel safe and protected sitting here, and for a good part of the last hour, memories had washed over her not causing their usual pain.

Tessa had briefly explained to Ryan about her mother leaving her in a school and not coming back. She'd told him how she felt unhappy and sad whenever she entered a school. His eyes had grown huge and round, and she'd thought she'd seen questions there. But he didn't ask any. He'd said quietly, "You don't have to come if it makes you feel bad." It was as if he understood with the wisdom of someone much older. Then and there she'd decided going to his pageant was the best thing she could do for him to show him that her love for him could overcome the past hurts.

And it had.

She gazed around again at the audience in the auditorium. Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. People she'd longed for in her life. Yet, seeing the families together now didn't hurt so much. Tessa watched a toddler two rows in front of her as the child laid her head on her mother's shoulder and popped her thumb into her mouth.

Tessa had never thought about having children. Her own childhood had been so unhappy. And she'd dismissed marriage. With her career, it would be impossible, wouldn't it? Yet the past few weeks, living with Max, taking care of Ryan, she could almost envision it.

As the Pilgrims and Native Americans shared a feast on the stage, Tessa realized Ryan loved her unconditionally. She also realized something else that made her shake in her shoes. She'd love to be his mother. More and more, she felt as if she belonged here. Could loving Max assuage the feeling of apartness she'd always experienced? Dare she love Max when he'd belonged to Leslie? Did he feel anything for her besides physical attraction? Sometimes he was so understanding, so gentle... But then, that was Max. He'd act that way toward any woman.

Exactly what was she contemplating? Changing the life she led? Didn't she want to travel? Fly to exciting new places? Did she dare think about a life with Max?

Thank goodness she was going to New York this weekend. Maybe she could get some perspective away from here.

Chapter Twelve

On Friday evening, Max and Ryan gazed inside the glass and chrome jewelry case in the New Haven department store. Max remembered the chain around Tessa's neck when she'd shown him her mother's ring. It had looked old and worn. The chain he spotted inside this case was shiny, fourteen carat and sparkling as it caught and reflected the light.

"When are we gonna give Tessa her presents?" Ryan asked as he pressed his nose up against the glass case.

"When she gets back on Sunday."

"She marked it on the calendar so I'd know she was coming home that day for sure." Ryan's hands joined his nose on the glass. "I miss her."

Max couldn't believe how much he did, too. He'd picked up Ryan at the sitter and they'd come home to an empty house. It was an odd feeling. For the past month, Tessa had been there every day. Some days she was cooking, some days on the phone, some days typing on her laptop. But she'd always been there.

"Dad, Tessa's gonna have her birthday alone."

"When she gets back, we can have a cake."

"But her birthday's tomorrow. She'll be all alone."

The idea didn't sit well with Max, either, especially after Tessa's latest revelation about her childhood. He crouched down beside Ryan as he always did when he wanted to talk to his son about something important. "What do you think about me going to New York and keeping Tessa company?"

Ryan forgot the jewelry in the case and turned toward Max.

"I can't go?"

"New York is mostly for grown-ups. But they do have a museum with dinosaur bones. Maybe another weekend you and I could go look at them."

Ryan scrubbed the toe of his sneaker against the tile floor. "What are you and Tessa gonna do?"

"Probably get all dressed up and go to dinner."

Ryan wrinkled his nose in distaste. Then he said thoughtfully, "New York's not very far away. Tessa showed me on the computer."

"Not too far. Only about two hours."

Ryan thought about it. "I think you oughta go and make sure..."

"What?"

Ryan ducked his chin. "Nothin'."

"Ryan, you're sure it's okay with you if I go?"

"Can Flo and Scruffy come over?"

"We can ask."

Ryan took a few moments to decide. "Yeah, you go and bring Tessa home soon."

***

Tessa sat in the most luxurious suite of the best hotel in New York City. Linc Granger always reserved the best.

They were sitting in the sunken living room area on the beige and blue beautifully covered yet comfortable furniture. Linc's wife Emma was sitting on the plush carpet with her daughter helping Becky dress an American Girl doll. "She loved the store," Emma said. "I think she would have spent all day there."

Emma was a pretty woman. Since she married Linc, she had a glow about her that made her absolutely stunning. And Linc... He was staring at her and Becky as if they were his world.

"Talk shop if you want, " Emma said. "I don't mind. Who have you interviewed lately that I might know?" she asked Tessa.

Tessa remembered her interview with Emma and the distress Emma had been experiencing at the time when her sister had disappeared. That had been an emotional interview watched by millions of viewers. Emma had been honest and straight forward and the hearts of the television public had gone out to her. Now she looked peaceful and so happy.

"Well...," Tessa drawled. "I interviewed the First Lady. Does that count?"

Emma laughed. "A little. Did it air yet?"

"No. Another month. After the Summit in Oslo."

Becky tugged on her mom's arm. "Does this look good?" She'd wrapped a stole around her doll's shoulders.

"That looks wonderful. Maybe you'll be a dress designer some day."

Becky shook her head and glanced at Linc. "Daddy says I'm gonna be an engineer and build bridges!"

A proud smile curved Linc's mouth. "I guess you have to keep your options open. Engineer or designer. That's a tough choice."

Becky stood and ran over to him, crawling up on the sofa beside him with her doll. "I'm hungry. Can we eat now?"

Linc cuddled her under his arm. "As soon as we decide what we want. Though I guess you want a burger."

Becky thought about it and nodded. "And fries."

"And something green or orange that might be good for you," Emma added.

The five-year-old wrinkled her nose. "Okay."

Something about sitting here in the midst of this family made Tessa's chest tighten like it did when she was with Ryan and Max.

Max. It was odd but she missed not being with him.

Emma rose to her feet and reached her hand out to Becky. "Why don't we get the menu. It's in the bedroom. And you can decide if a burger is really what you want."

Linc crooked his finger at his wife and she crossed to the sofa. Bending down, she gave him a kiss. He touched her face and then she and Becky left the room.

"You're happy," Tessa commented.

"Happier than I ever thought I could be." His gaze followed his wife and daughter as they went into the bedroom. Then he turned to Tessa. "So what's so important you can't do the interview with the governor. We never got into that. You just turned me down cold. Do you have another assignment?"

"No. I'm helping out a...friend. With my godson."

"The little boy in Vermont you sometimes talk about?"

"Yes. Ryan. He's eight now and having some problems in school. I went to Vermont for his birthday—I do that every year—and decided to stay a little longer."

"His dad is your friend?"

"Actually his wife was my best friend. Since she died Max has tried to be mom and dad to Ryan, but that's tough. So I'm trying to figure out what's bothering Ryan...if he misses having a mom or if there's more to it. But I can only stay until mid-November and then I'll be taping all sorts of segments for the Summit." She hesitated a moment then said, "But I'm afraid Ryan is getting attached to me and I'll have done more harm than good staying with them."

"Giving a child love can't hurt." He looked thoughtful. "So you're living with this...friend?"

For some reason she didn't feel awkward talking about this with Linc. Maybe because they'd always been honest with each other...maybe because she knew what he'd been through before he married Emma. They'd had some honest conversations over drinks when they worked together on a project and she wasn't flying off somewhere right away.

"I am. And that could be a problem for him. He's a teacher. "

"What does he think?"

"He wants me there for Ryan's sake."

"Is that the only reason?" Linc asked perceptively.

"I'm not sure," Tessa answered glancing away.

"Do you care about him as well as his son?"

She'd admitted it to herself. Maybe if she admitted it to Linc, her loving Max would become more real. "Yes, I do. But nothing can work out. Not with the work I do. He's traditional. Leslie was a homemaker. I'm not his type."

"Emma and I had extraordinarily different lifestyles. But we're happy."

"You're both in the same place."

Linc's brows arched. "Maybe you should figure out how to do work you love yet stay in the same place. It is possible."

Was that possible? Would her restlessness abate if she felt she actually belonged somewhere? If she'd be part of a real family?

That idea would take a lot of reflection. Because what if she stayed and Max didn't feel as deeply about her as she felt about him?

"If you need anything, Tessa, you know I have contacts."

"I'm not worried about contacts," she told him. "I'm worried about how much risk I want to take."

"Loving is a risk," Linc agreed. "But it sure can make life worthwhile."

Becky ran into the room again, waving the menu. "They have chicken nuggets. I changed my mind."

Tessa was glad for the interruption. Because loving Max was a concept that was still just too hard to wrap her head around...let alone her heart.

***

After Max put Ryan to bed, he went to his bedroom and dialed Tessa's cell number. To his disappointment, he reached her voicemail. He wondered where she was and who she was with. The man who'd called? He could try the Bennington, but she probably wouldn't pick up there, either. Leaving a message, he simply asked her to return his call. When she did, it was almost midnight.

"Max? I just checked my messages. Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong," he assured her quickly. I'm calling because tomorrow...actually today is your birthday. Happy birthday!"

"Thank you."

Max felt a little awkward but continued, "I thought you shouldn't spend your birthday alone. I thought I'd catch a train and join you in New York tomorrow. For a late lunch...or dinner."

"Will you bring Ryan?" she asked as if searching for his motive.

"No. I'd come alone. Flo and Scruffy are going to babysit." He tried to keep his voice nonchalant.

"It would be fun to spend some time with you in New York," she said cautiously. "But I have a lunch meeting and I'm joining friends for a late dinner."

Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Were you with friends tonight?" He was hoping there wasn't a man still in her room with her.

"Yes. Linc Granger and his wife Emma."

"His wife was with him?" This was the man who'd called, who Tessa had been so warm with.

Tessa laughed. "Don't you think any of my friends are married?" When he didn't respond she went on, "Linc and Emma married last year. He had business in New York, so his wife and daughter came along."

"Daughter?"

"Emma was a single mom. She and Becky went to the American Girl doll store while Linc was tied up. We had dinner in their suite so they could put Becky to bed at a decent time. You know how that is."

Yes, he did. "And these friends tomorrow night?"

"They're more colleagues than friends. Why don't you come up and we can get theater tickets. We can see a show then you can go to dinner with me."

"You'd enjoy the theater?"

"Very much."

"Your friends won't mind?

"No. They like meeting new people."

He felt relieved...and excited, too. "I'll see what tickets I can find online. I'll surprise you."

"I like surprises, Max," she said softly and he wished he was in New York with her now. He was glad he'd bought her the chain.

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow. What's your room number? I'll call you after I check in."

She told him. Then she said, "I'm looking forward to tomorrow night. Good night, Max. Thanks for wishing me a happy birthday."

"Good night, Tessa."

When he closed his phone, he realized how much he was looking forward to tomorrow night, too.

***

Max could feel the warmth of Tessa's leg as the cab swerved around a corner. The taxi driver honked his horn at the car double-parked in front of him. With another honk and a screech of wheels, he veered around the vehicle. Tessa's hip bumped Max's as she slid against him on the cracked vinyl seat.

Max didn't mind and he didn't move away. He wondered if her beige coat was new. It wasn't easily packable like her trench coat. And the dress underneath—

The royal blue dress with its high neck, short puffed sleeves and slim short skirt brought out the sleek lines and tempting curves Tessa usually hid underneath jeans and a sweatshirt. She wasn't hiding anything tonight. He'd wanted to give her her present before leaving for the theater. But they'd been short on time. So he'd decided to wait for the right moment...maybe after they returned tonight.

He'd managed to buy tickets for a popular show, but he really hadn't cared about the play. He'd cared about being with Tessa. Now, after the performance, the taxi wove in and out of traffic toward the restaurant.

Like many restaurants in New York, HENRY'S didn't look like much on the outside. But as soon as Max stepped inside, he could feel the understated elegance. It was dimly lit by gleaming brass chandeliers. Wrought iron partitions afforded diners a modicum of privacy. Rose linens trimmed in black set off the sparkling crystal goblets and spotless silverware. After Max checked Tessa's coat, they walked up to the maitre d' at his little black podium.

"Ms. Kahill. It's good to see you again. Your friends have already arrived. I've placed you at the back round table."

"Thank you," she said with a bright smile as she followed the tuxedo-clad man to the rear of the restaurant.

Max had often wondered about Tessa's world. Now he was glimpsing it.

A woman and two men sat at the round table. They were involved in lively conversation, but it stopped when Max and Tessa reached the table. One of the men whistled, another pretended to wipe his brow as his gaze ran up and down Tessa's dress.

The woman gave both of them a "down-boys" glare. "Ignore them. They've been on assignment too long."

"After that trek south of our border, Tessa looks mighty good. Of course, so do you, Louise."

The petite brunette laughed. "Still a master at tact, Dan." She turned to Tessa. "How are you? It's been a while."

Tessa nodded. "Capetown. Last year."

"I hear you're covering the Summit," Louise commented. "Lucky girl."

Max nodded to the maitre d' that he would seat Tessa. As he pulled her chair out for her, she said, "Before we start talking shop, I want everyone to meet Max Winthrop." She introduced him to Dan Holloway, Louise Shaeffer and Joe Christopher.

The men shook his hand. Louise smiled. As he seated Tessa and took the chair beside her, he examined Dan Holloway more closely. He was obviously interested in Tessa in more than a professional way. Max could tell by the guy's frown of disapproval that she'd brought him along...by the way he was eyeing Tessa in her dress. The journalist was in his early forties with thick but salt and pepper hair. His blue eyes seemed to concentrate on Tessa much too long. Unfortunately, he was sitting across from her so he had a good view. But Max was close enough to touch her. His body responded to the thought.

Tessa spread her napkin on her lap. "Have you ordered yet?"

"Just drinks," Louise answered. She addressed Max. "How do you know Tessa? Are you in TV? What's left of print?"

Max glanced at Tessa, not knowing how much she'd told any of these people. "We've known each other for years. I came to New York to help her celebrate—" A sharp kick to his shin made him turn in her direction. She was smiling sweetly, but he got the message. "To help her celebrate her upcoming trip to Oslo."

"Prime assignment," the man introduced as Joe muttered.

Louise added, "I'm just glad Tessa has climbed the ladder and cracked the glass ceiling."

It was obvious that Tessa's colleagues respected her. And it was even more obvious during conversation over dinner that Tessa and the others spoke their own language and were much more knowledgeable about the world's affairs than Max was, though the world seemed to be growing smaller every day.

By the time dessert arrived, Louise poured cream into her coffee and said, "Enough about politics. Don't we have anything else to talk about?"

The others around the table looked at each other, were silent a moment, then broke into smiles.

Tessa laughed. "I guess not." She looked at Max. "You must be bored to death."

His eyes connected with and held hers. "No. Fascinated, actually. Do you realize all of you are part of history in the making?" He nodded to Joe. "You being present when we withdrew troops from Iraq." He gestured to Dan. "Making environmental concerns an issue." Covering Tessa's hand with his on the table, he instantly felt a sensation that was more than skin touching skin. He remembered what he'd been about to say. "You'll be recording what will happen at the Summit. Do you feel as if you're part of history when you're doing it?"

Joe shrugged. "I guess we're too close to each event to see the sum total. What do you do, Max?"

"I teach high-school math and try to make it applicable to kids' lives when I can."

Louise's lips puckered in a small O. "Now that's a job I wouldn't want. I don't see how you can deal with teenagers day after day. You must have a ton of patience."

"And I don't see how you travel constantly, remember what city you're in and don't have constant jet lag," Max returned.

Dan responded. "Every job has its trade-offs. I guess it all boils down to what you like to do and what you want out of life. My camera keeps me seeing the world differently every day." He grinned. "The excitement ain't bad, either."

Quiet descended on the table, and Louise and Joe agreed with secret smiles that said they shared Dan's view. Max surveyed Tessa, but she just looked pensive as she took another bite of cheesecake.

Music began playing on the other side of the restaurant. It was easy and slow, and Max suddenly wanted Tessa in his arms. He leaned closer to her and the elusive fragrance of her perfume teased him. "Would you like to dance?"

Transferring her napkin from her lap to the table, she answered, "Yes, I would."

They excused themselves, and Max kept a protective hand on her back as they wove around the partitions and tables. The fabric of her dress was smooth and slippery under his fingers.

Once on the small wooden dance floor, Max took Tessa in his arms, her right hand in his, her left resting close to his neck. The tantalizing but discreet contact made his heart beat faster. "I hope I'm not cramping your style. If you'd rather be back there talking about your work—"

"I talk about work every time I see them. I've never danced with you before."

"Sure, you have. Two weeks ago."

"That wasn't quite like this."

As he pulled Tessa slightly closer, strictly for comfort's sake of course, he had to agree. That had been nothing like this. "Why didn't you want them to know it's your birthday?"

Her shoulders lifted and fell, making the material slide under his hand. "I don't like a fuss. Besides," she teased, "a woman my age soon stops counting."

He chuckled. "A woman your age? Did you add on a few years that I don't know about?"

A lingering smile turned up her lips. "Only that day I finished Ryan's lopsided costume and grew a few grey hairs."

Max played with the curls on her back. "I can't thank you enough for helping Ryan the way you have."

The pulse at her throat fluttered in rhythm with his. "We still don't know what's bothering him."

If Max kept touching her hair, kept looking at her perfectly curved mouth, he'd have to kiss her. "Maybe it will work itself out," he said gruffly.

"I don't know, Max. Childhood problems don't just disappear. They carry over no matter how old you get."

Max guided Tessa for a few moments in silence. "I worry about Ryan being an only child. There are inherent problems in that. He doesn't have to share. He gets all my attention. And I wonder if he's lonely."

"He doesn't have to be an only child forever. You could remarry." The slight tilt of her head, the quirk of her brows, seemed questioning though she'd uttered a statement.

It was on the tip of Max's tongue to ask if she was applying for the job. But he realized he couldn't ask in a teasing way because her answer would have too much significance. "Yes, I guess I could."

She seemed startled by his reply. Her green eyes grew as dark as an evening forest and just as mysterious. Would she ever think about settling down? He couldn't imagine her ditching her career. It meant too much to her. A nagging voice inside his head whispered, She stayed to help Ryan. But he couldn't listen to the voice and take any comfort from it because her staying was strictly short term.

As other couples crowded the dance floor, Max tightened his arm around Tessa and brought her hand into his chest. The sensation of her softness against him went straight to his head and other more elemental parts of his body. The burning realization that he wanted more than to simply be pressed against her made him finally face up to the facts. He wanted to take Tessa to bed. He wanted to make love to her, hold her throughout the night and wake up with her in the morning. Did that mean he was ready to put his marriage to Leslie in the past? Did that mean he wanted an affair with Tessa? Because that's all he could ever have.

Tessa succumbed to the delicious tingling that had begun as soon as Max surrounded her with his arms. She told herself this was simply one dance, nothing more. But the feel of his wool suitcoat against her cheek, his arm possessively holding her, his fingers intertwined with hers, led her to believe this was where she wanted to stay for longer than one dance.

If she lifted her head just a smidgen, her lips would brush his jaw. She imagined pressing them there, whispering...I love you? What could that mean for them? Max was as traditional as ever. Time hadn't changed that. Even if she'd find a job in New York, could he accept a woman whose career was as important as her personal life? Whoa, girl. Reality check. You have no idea what Max feels.

As he closed her tighter in his arms and his lower body pressed against hers, she did know he desired her. She thought he'd back away, but he didn't. Swaying with her, guiding their small steps, it seemed he needed to just feel and enjoy the desire and closeness, too.

After another dance and another hour of conversation with Tessa's cohorts, Max and Tessa caught a cab and went back to the hotel.

When they stepped into the elevator, he pushed the button for her floor. "I'll walk you to your room."

Before this stay with Max, she might have protested. Before this stay with Max, he never would have joined her in New York. Everything had shifted and changed between them.

At her door, he took a package from his pocket. It was a small rectangular box wrapped in silver paper with a tiny white bow. "Ryan has something to give you when you get back. I'd rather give this to you now. Happy Birthday, Tessa."

Her fingers trembled as she unwrapped the box. She did it slowly, stalling, prolonging the moment. She'd received few gifts in her life. Leslie had always remembered her birthday. But this...this gift she'd remember forever. "Are you sure Ryan was all right with you coming to New York?"

"He was fine with it. He wanted me to come to make sure you came back to Jenkins."

An alarm went off inside Tessa. Was Ryan afraid she'd leave him as Leslie had? She was becoming more and more sure she didn't want to leave...

Max took the paper from her fingers and stuffed it into his pocket. She stared at the box, almost afraid to lift the lid.

"Open it," he urged gently.

Nestled on the soft bed of cotton, she found a sparkling gold chain. Her hand shook as she gently slid her finger under it, bringing it from the box. "Oh, Max. It's beautiful."

"I noticed the one holding your ring looked worn. The salesclerk said this would be strong enough to hold the ring, plus it's something called diamond-cut so you can wear it alone.

Tessa's eyes misted over at Max's thoughtfulness. To do something like this...didn't that prove he cared? "Will you put it on for me?"

He smiled a slow, lazy smile that made her pulse leap. "Isn't it a little late? In a few minutes you'll be getting undressed."

That thought created pictures that made her shake because she thought of him undressed, waiting in bed for her. Holding the chain out to him, she turned around, not able to find a suitable reply. She wanted to feel the gold next to her skin. She wanted to see it gleam. She never wanted to take it off.

Max clasped it, then lifted her hair to let the necklace slide properly in place. The pads of his thumbs along her nape under her coat collar, his tall presence behind her, his caring, caused her breath to come in short puffs.

Gently, he turned her around. Gazing into her eyes, he said, "Beautiful."

She leaned closer to him, wanting an intimacy that scared her to death because she'd never wanted it before—not like this. As he bent to her, their lips touched and clung. The kiss was so tender that a longing and yearning and aching greater than Tessa had ever known swept through her. Breathless from the impact, she parted her lips.

Max caressed the small of her back, bringing her slightly closer. Everything about Max excited her, intensified the desires that had lain dormant for so long. He was stability and comfort and safety, but passion and adventure, too. And she loved him. Irrevocably.

Max gauged his response, called on his self-discipline and restraint as his tongue glided against hers. He'd known her kiss would arouse him easily, just as dancing close to her had. But tonight he'd wanted to steal whatever he could get without going too far. Now he was at his limit. Why couldn't Tessa want the same things from life he did? Why couldn't she be...more like Leslie? No. Then she wouldn't be Tessa.

He slowly ended the kiss, wishing, hoping, dreaming. But when he opened his eyes, he had to face reality—Tessa standing at a hotel room door. Tessa's life.

Her cheeks were rosy, her mouth shiny from his kiss. Clearing her throat, she reverently touched the necklace. "Would you like to come in?" She quickly added, "We could make coffee...or call room service...or something."

If he stepped into that room, they'd both regret it in the morning. "It's late. I'd better not."

Her fingers hadn't left the chain. "Thank you, Max."

All the sensations rushing through him were bittersweet, both enjoyable and painful. "You're welcome. Do you have your key card?"

Taking it from her purse, she slid the card into the lock. The green light flickered, and she opened the door. "Good night, Max."

"Good night, birthday girl. Sleep well."

Her shy smile, her just-kissed expression, the longing in her eyes, almost led him to throw caution and reality to the wind by hauling her into his arms again and carrying her to the bed. But his conscience and his discipline took him a step back.

Tessa went inside and let the door close behind her.

Chapter Thirteen

Dancing in New York was but a dream as Tessa sat on one of the sets at WHBT, waiting for the camera to roll. Since this was a live show, the host, Mark Thompson, watched the monitor, waiting for his cue after a briefing of news and weather.

Tessa hadn't met Mark before this morning, but he seemed personable enough and eagerly interested in her career. They'd had a brief discussion about her past experiences and the upcoming Summit, and he'd told her he'd stick to those topics.

Tessa smoothed her skirt over her knees. The dress she'd worn to the school dance had seemed appropriate. Because of the flared skirt she wouldn't have to worry about too much leg showing. Not particularly nervous about the interview, she was nervous about Max sitting in the audience watching. Ever since they'd returned from New York, his regard had been penetrating, his silences disturbing. Even as she'd blown out her candles on the birthday cake Ryan and Flo had baked for her, his gaze hadn't missed a pucker of her lips or the tears that had collected in her eyes as the familial feeling of belonging overwhelmed her.

One of the cameramen gave her the signal they'd be "on" in ten seconds. She took a deep breath.

Smiling, Mark introduced Tessa then led her through a brief résumé of her career, from her first job in New York to the break when a fellow correspondent had gotten the flu and Tessa had been offered the assignment to travel overseas to cover a government coup in his place. Using her wits and daring, she'd discovered where the deposed leader had been hiding and obtained an exclusive interview. Her freelance career had been launched and her articles demanded attention.

As the station broke for a commercial, Tessa's gaze met Max's. His frown cut deep into his cheeks. Because of his attitude about her lifestyle, she'd never told him much about her career. She supposed he was hearing a lot of this for the first time. Evidently, he didn't approve. A deep sadness filled Tessa's heart. If Max couldn't accept who she'd been, who she was now, they'd never have a chance at a—

Readjusting his microphone, on cue Mark Thompson looked into the main camera and reintroduced Tessa and the segment. But this time instead of proceeding to the subject of the Summit as Tessa expected, he took an entirely different tack.

Facing her more squarely, he asked, "So what do you see yourself doing ten years from now?"

She kept from glancing toward Max. "I don't plan that far ahead."

Thompson smiled again disarmingly. "Give it a shot."

With a small shrug, she said, "I love my work. I wouldn't have taken the chances I have or traveled so much if I didn't. Even when I'm sixty, I hope I'll still be involved in this business somehow."

The host shifted in his chair, obviously not expecting her to be so vague. "I imagine your career makes a personal life difficult."

"It does." She didn't elaborate.

"Have you managed close relationships? Exciting affairs? Cross-country romances?"

Tessa thought about Ryan sitting in the audience and could have slugged Thompson gladly. But that would only increase his ratings. "People outside of my profession like to glamorize it. I do my job. Whatever happens along the way, happens." Tessa was aware of Max in the audience. His scowl. His tense posture. Was he perturbed with her or Thompson?

"But, Ms. Kahill, I'm sure the viewers want to know exactly how your profession affects your personal life."

Hoping to throw him off-guard, she retorted, "Inquiring minds want to know?"

He accepted the jibe and grinned. "Of course, they do. Tell us about at least one of your experiences. It would be something for a young journalist to think about if he or she were considering doing what you do."

She'd give Thompson what he wanted and hopefully he'd move on. "Once I met another journalist in a foreign country under siege. We turned to each other when the going got dangerous. I thought I'd found someone who could share the excitement and the travel. He thought..." She sighed. It didn't hurt any more but reminded her how naive she'd been. "He didn't care about sharing his life, just the six weeks while he was there."

"So...are you saying to have a career like yours, a woman would have to put her personal life on hold?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "That's for each individual to decide. My career is important to me. To have a relationship, I'd need someone special in my life who could understand that and give me the freedom I need."

Her serious, honest answers stopped Thompson from probing any further. He went to commercial.

***

Max didn't say much as he and Tessa and Ryan toured the television station. Tessa didn't like silence between them, the uncertainty it caused. But she also knew from experience that Max would tell her what was on his mind when he was ready.

They stopped at a family diner for lunch where Ryan chattered about everything he'd seen at the station. When they returned to the house, Tessa was halfway up the steps with the intention of changing her clothes when her cell phone beeped. She stopped mid-step to reach into her purse for it.

From the foyer Max said, "You could wait till you get to the top."

She scrunched her nose at him and answered it.

"Tessa, it's Linc. I know you said you're tied up. I know you're..." He hesitated, "...involved. But I didn't know if you'd want to pass up this opportunity, too. Unfortunately, brushfires in California are out of control. I'd like you to cover what's happening for at least a few days. I have people lined up for interviews."

Slowly she descended the steps. "I need to think about it."

"You realize I need someone on this ASAP. I can give you an hour."

Linc was the consummate businessman and she knew he was doing her a favor by allowing her that amount of time to make her decision. "I'll get back to you in an hour," she promised him.

Ryan had run out to the kitchen but Max was watching her. He said, "You'll let who know what in an hour?"

"It was Linc Granger." She explained to Max what he'd wanted.

"I think you should go."

Tessa couldn't have been more surprised. "What?"

Max stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks. "You want to go, I know you do. You missed that last opportunity. You've given me and Ryan five weeks. We can't expect you to put your life or your career on hold."

He was saying all the right words, but something about them didn't ring true. "What about Ryan?"

A glittering hardness entered Max's eyes that allowed no glimpse into his emotions. "You'll be leaving in two weeks, anyway. He might as well deal with it now."

She dragged her hand across her forehead. "I don't know, Max."

"It's best for everyone if you go. All our lives have to get back to normal."

If Max didn't want her here, if he thought this would be best for Ryan... She could use some time away to consider what she wanted, too. Before she had the opportunity to think about it longer, Max decided, "I'll go tell Ryan. You call Granger back."

"Maybe I should tell Ryan."

Max pulled his hands from his pockets and strode to the kitchen without even looking over his shoulder. "If you have time, you can talk to him, too. But I imagine you'll have to get to the airport." And with that he disappeared from sight.

What was wrong with Max? What had she said that had made him so...distant? Or had he finally realized she had a career and she'd never be the type of woman he wanted, the type of woman Leslie had been?

Chapter Fourteen

Tessa's suitcase stood ready by the door. A weight much heavier than that travel bag lay on Max's chest. Brushfires. Why the hell had he encouraged her to go?

Because she'd wanted to go. He'd seen it in her eyes. Tessa's wanderlust couldn't be cured by him or anyone else. Her TV interview had made that abundantly clear. She wanted freedom. What kind of relationship could two people have if one of them was always traipsing off to God knew where? Let alone raise a child, or children. Watching Ryan now with his wide, questioning brown eyes, Max suspected his son was as unsettled by this trip of Tessa's as he was. But they both had to get used to the idea that nothing about Tessa was permanent.

Tessa came down the stairs looking uncertain, her trench coat hung over her arm. Ryan sat on the sofa next to Max, quietly fidgeting with his fingers. Even when he heard Tessa, he didn't move.

She crossed to the sofa and knelt down beside him, kissing his forehead. "I'll only be gone a few days. A little longer than when I went to New York."

He looked up at her with quiet, sad eyes and didn't say anything.

Tessa rose to her feet.

Max pushed himself up. "I'll walk you to the car."

As soon as they stepped outside, she laid her hand on his arm. "Max, maybe I shouldn't go."

Her hand on his arm felt too good, too right. "What good will that do? You'll be leaving for the Summit. Eventually he has to accept the fact that you're not staying."

"But maybe we didn't prepare him enough. Maybe this was too quick after New York—"

The front door pushed open, and Ryan came tumbling out. "Tessa, Tessa. What did I do wrong? Please don't go away again." Tears ran down his cheeks unchecked.

Max's heart twisted and he lifted Ryan into his arms. "You didn't do anything wrong. Why would you think that?" When Ryan ducked his head and wouldn't answer, Max looked at Tessa. All the color had drained from her face. Holding Ryan in one arm, Max cupped her elbow. "Tessa?"

Tessa tried to absorb the full impact of Ryan's question. California was much farther away than New York City. Just as when she'd gone to New York, she'd shown the state to him on an online map, hoping it would be a another learning experience. But this time, she wasn't exactly sure when she'd be back. She hadn't been able to mark the day on the calendar for him as she had when she went to New York. Bits of conversation she'd had with him fell into place. Her own unresolved hurts from childhood flooded in and she suddenly understood exactly what was bothering Ryan, what had been bothering him for a long time.

She dragged up her voice. "Let's go inside."

"But you'll miss your plane..." Max began.

"Let's go inside," she repeated.

Once in the house, she sank down on the second step of the stairway and held out her arms to Ryan. "Come here, honey."

Max lowered him to the floor, and Ryan didn't hesitate to come to her. She patted the step next to her and he sat. Curving her arm around his shoulders, she asked, "Do you know why your mom died?"

Max's brows arched and he looked as if he was going to protest when Ryan said, "She got sick and went to the hospital and never came back. When I get sick and go to the doctor's, I come back home!"

Tessa's arm tightened around his shoulders. "Your mom got a kind of sickness that doesn't get better. She wanted to come home, honey, honest she did." Tessa's voice caught. "Because she loved you so much. But the sickness made her weak and tired and it took her away. Her dying had nothing to do with you. If she could have come home and been your mom forever, she would have."

Ryan focused on one point. "She still loved me? Even after she went away?" he asked, his gaze and voice hopeful.

"Yes, she did. And she still loves you now. Mommies love their children forever, even if they have to go away." Tessa squeezed his shoulder. "You did nothing wrong. Her getting sick, her not coming home, had nothing to do with you. It was just an awful thing that happened."

Ryan looked down at the strings of his sneakers. "But one of the kids at school, his dad left and didn't come back. Brian said it's because he was bad and his mom and dad yelled about him all the time...and I thought I did something to make my mommy go away..."

Tessa laid her head against Ryan's and hugged him tighter. "You are the best little boy anybody could want. Sometimes things happen and we can't do anything about them."

Max crouched down in front of Ryan. "What did you think you did wrong?"

Ryan shrugged. "I thought and thought and thought. But I don't 'member Mommy very much."

Tessa lifted Ryan's chin. "Ryan, if I tell you I'm going to come back, will you believe me?"

He glanced away into the living room and murmured, "California is way far away. Not like New York." Then he faced her again and studied her. "Can you promise?"

Feeling her heart lift a little, she smiled. "Yes, I can promise. And I can call you from California. I can't promise to call every day. I don't know where I'll be and I might not have a signal some of the time. But for sure I can call you when I get there and I can call you before I come home. If I can call in between, I will. Do you believe me?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

"Good. And I'd like you to do something for me. Every day I'm gone, you draw me a picture of something you did and you can tell me all about it when I get back. Okay?"

Ryan's grin spread from one side of his face to the other.

Max brushed Ryan's hair from his forehead. "We love you, Ryan. No matter what you do or what you say or how old you get, we'll always love you." Max gave his son a hug, and Tessa brushed a loose tear from her cheek.

Ryan hopped up and ordered, "Don't leave 'til I come back. I wanna get something." Turning, he ran up the stairs.

Tessa said to Max in a low voice, "I should have known."

He frowned. "How could you know?"

Her eyes lifted to his slowly as the pain rose up and spilled over. "Because I wondered the same thing for many years. I figured for my mother to leave me, I had to have done something terribly wrong. My father left, my mother left...how could I possibly think I was all right? And because I thought something was wrong with me, I didn't make friends, either. I was afraid to risk becoming attached...afraid of loving. I bet that's why Ryan isn't making friends."

"But he's attached to me and you."

"You're the constant in his life. And like you said before, I was more like Santa Claus. But this time I stayed longer, and he got attached. Sometimes we can't help getting connected even though we're trying to protect ourselves from it."

Max's hands clenched at his sides, but his voice was even. "It sounds as if he's been thinking about all this quite a bit. That could be why he's distracted at school. I'll talk to Mrs. Bartlett so she knows what's going on."

Pounding feet down the stairs brought Tessa to her feet. Ryan hopped down the last step and held out his hand to Tessa. It was his favorite car, a red Ferrari. "You take this along so you don't forget about us."

Tessa realized Ryan still needed reassurance, and probably the best thing she could do was to leave and then return as she said she would so he'd understand he could trust her. She took the car and put it in her purse. "I'll take very good care of it." Leaning down, she kissed him on the cheek and gave him a final hug.

But she realized she didn't like leaving...she didn't like it at all.

***

Away from the fires, bustle and confusion Friday in her hotel room, Tessa wrapped a fluffy white robe around her after her shower and checked the bedside clock next to where Ryan's miniature Ferrari sat. Too early to call Max and Ryan. They wouldn't be home from school yet. She'd managed a call to them Wednesday evening. Picking up Ryan's small car and turning it over in her hand, she smiled. When she'd called the night she'd arrived, he'd still seemed somewhat anxious. When she'd called Wednesday, he'd jabbered to her for a good fifteen minutes about school and Scruffy.

Now Max...he was another story.

He'd been civil...polite...as if nothing had happened between them in the past six weeks. Didn't he care at all what she was doing? Didn't he care if she came back? He certainly didn't sound as if he did. So much had changed during her stay with him this time. She had changed. Because right now she didn't care about what had been going on around her...or her interviews. All she cared about was getting back to Max and Ryan. She felt like a different person. Even Linc had noted a change and commented on her lack of enthusiasm for a story that would engender publicity and add another distinguished notch to her career belt.

She glanced at the clock again. Might as well check messages. When she picked up her phone, she realized there was a missed message that must have come in when she was in the shower. As she investigated further, she saw the call had been from Jason Vandemeer! He was an important name in cable TV. It was rumored he was planning to start up another twenty-four hour news network. But after she pressed the button to return his call, she only reached his voicemail. She left a message. After another fifteen minutes of returning other calls that had stacked up while she was in the field, she decided to try Max and Ryan.

Pressing a speed-dial number, Tessa waited expectantly for Max to answer.

But an eight-year-old voice piped up, "Is that you, Tessa?"

Her thumb rimmed the hood of Ryan's toy car. "Hi, pancake. What's cooking?"

He giggled and launched into a description of the clubhouse Jimmy's dad was building for him. When he was finished, he asked tentatively, "When are you comin' home?"

"Home" was taking on new meaning for her and today she could give him a definitive answer. "Tomorrow."

"For sure?"

"For sure."

As if satisfied, he asked, "You wanna talk to Dad now?"

"You bet." She heard Ryan say to Max, "She's comin' home tomorrow."

When Max came on the line, he asked, "Your work is finished?"

"Yes."

"Where are you now?"

"In a hotel in LA."

Could Max miss her? The idea made her smile...and hope. "Are you going to compete with Jimmy's dad?" she asked softly, wanting to get back to an easy footing with Max.

"A clubhouse? Ryan and I talked about it. But I think a jungle gym might be better. Come spring, we'll see."

Come spring. The phrase hung between them. "Will you be home tomorrow when I get back? My flight will get in around noon. I'll be there early afternoon."

"We don't have any plans. I'm sure Ryan will want to stay home and wait for you."

And what about you? she asked silently. Taking a risk, a giant step forward with her heart pounding, she admitted, "I've missed you and Ryan."

Silence met her so she filled in with, "I had to make a return call and couldn't reach a man –Jason Vandemeer."

"I've heard that name mentioned in the news."

"He's important in cable news. When I couldn't reach him, I told him I'd be flying back to Connecticut tomorrow. I left your number, too. I just wanted you so know so—"

"So I wouldn't delete the message thinking it was a telemarketer? Got it, Tessa. Don't worry."

But she was worried...about her love for Max and his feelings for her. If he had them. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Ryan wants to say good-bye."

She spent a few more minutes talking to Ryan, then hung up, her heart sinking. She wanted so badly to tell Max that she loved him, but she wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. And she didn't know if she could risk another rejection in her life.

***

The tension between Max and Tessa was a palpable fog. She'd been back for three days and each had been the same. If she got too close to Max, he backed away. She stepped into a room, he left it. Except when Ryan was around, he treated her like a stranger. The only productive conversation they'd had alone concerned Max's conference with Mrs. Bartlett. She'd agreed with Tessa that they'd probably discovered the root of Ryan's problem. Now that it was out in the open, they could all give him the reassurance he needed.

By Monday, Tessa was hurt and overwhelmed by a love for Max that was as confusing as his actions. To distract herself, she'd tried to phone Jason Vandemeer all weekend, but had still only reached his answering service.

Finally Monday morning, the man returned her call, explaining, "I was out of the country for the weekend. I'd like to discuss some business with you but prefer not to do it over the phone. Can you meet me at my office in New Haven this afternoon?"

She quickly said she could.

Three hours later, thankful for the distraction, Tessa waited in a reception area of a plush office building. She'd be leaving for the Summit on Saturday and didn't know what to do about Max. Did he expect her to leave and not come back for a few months? Did he want her to spend Thanksgiving with him? Christmas? If he didn't love her, she didn't want to force her presence on him. If he did love her, wouldn't he ask her to stay? And what would she say? I'll give up my career for you and Ryan? Could she do that?

"Ms. Kahill?"

She looked up to find an older gentleman, silver-haired, spectacled and distinguished-looking, motioning for her to come into his office. His eyes skimmed up her black tailored slacks and white oxford shirt. When she reached the doorway, he extended his hand. "I'm Jason Vandemeer."

Tessa nodded and shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He let her precede him into the office and instead of taking the chair behind his desk, he sat in one of the two in front of it as did she. "Are you curious why I asked to see you?"

"Intrigued, actually. Is it true you're starting your own cable news channel?"

When he grimaced, his glasses slipped down his nose a little. He shoved them up. "No secrets in this business, are there?"

She smiled. "Do you want to keep it a secret?"

"Until I got more backing, I did. But we're ready to roll now. A press release went out today."

She waited.

"I saw your interview on the local channel. I've looked into your background, your TV interviews, your blogs and print and online articles. I'd like you to join our staff. I'd like you in not only production but as the face of foreign affairs in our after-lunch hour."

The offer hit her like a streak of lightning. "You're kidding!"

"I couldn't be more serious, Ms. Kahill. May I call you Tessa?"

She nodded, stunned beyond words.

"You have experience, name recognition, and you're young enough to appeal to our twenty to thirty-five age range demographic. You've worked with editors, producers, other journalists, photographers, and from my research on you, you're a team player. I need a good team if I'm going to succeed. And I do intend to succeed."

Vandemeer was legendary at succeeding in any business venture he jumped into. That was the type of genius he was.

He went on, "The question is, can you give up one kind of excitement for another? You'd be stuck in New Haven most of the time, but I think the challenge of producing other segments for us would more than make up for the traveling you'd give up. And, of course, there could be some traveling if you want it for those special times when we need someone right in the thick of events."

"You'll be here? Not in New York?"

"There are advantages, cost-cutting measures becoming ever more important. With digital technology, New Haven is perfect."

"Producer and on-air host," she said more to herself than to him.

"I know you're covering the Summit. I'd like your answer when you get back." He gave her a sly smile. "I don't suppose you could give me your decision today?"

She shook her head, mentally listing the pros and cons, thinking about Max and Ryan. "This would be a big change. I wouldn't have much time to freelance."

"Maybe when you're on vacation," he teased.

What would Max think if she took the job in New Haven? Would he realize she needed to be close to him and Ryan? Would he accept the career move as a compromise? Would he understand she wanted to stay here and love him?

***

Tessa had planned to talk to Max about the job offer, but after they put Ryan to bed and she stopped in her room to fluff her hair, he'd disappeared. He'd honed his avoidance skills to an art form.

She hurried through the first floor, her palms sweaty. This conversation could be the most important one of her life. Going down the hallway to his bedroom, she saw his door standing open. When she peeked inside, she felt she was trespassing. Black socks lay in balls beside the bed. His jeans tilted over the side. One of the drawers in his dresser wasn't quite closed. The king-sized bed drew her eye over and over.

Pulling herself away, she went to the kitchen. Where could he be?

Listening to the house's silence for a hint, she heard a thump-thump she thought she recognized. She went to the door and opened it. The garage light cast its glow on the driveway. Max pounded the basketball against the pavement over and over.

Closing the door behind her, she crossed to the driveway. The November chill nipped at her and she folded her arms, rubbing above her elbows. Max didn't hear her or see her as she approached.

He was amazing to watch. The white T-shirt was damp with perspiration and molded to his shoulders, showing the play and purpose of every push on the ball. His navy jogging pants rode low on his hips, the string dangling from the waistband.

Abruptly, he stopped dribbling, pivoted and shot for the basket. The ball hit the backboard, circled the rim and fell into the net. Max caught it, slapping it against the macadam in the same driving rhythm as before.

Tessa didn't know how long she stood watching, fascinated by this man she loved.

***

Max couldn't work off the wired feeling that had been fed by worry and concern as each day had passed with Tessa in California. What was she doing? Was she in danger? And when she came back, she'd acted as if she hadn't been away with her smiles and her damn green eyes inviting him to talk to her, be friends, forget she'd be leaving again in a few days, this time for a long time. She had a life. She'd taken time out of it for him and Ryan. So why in blazes couldn't he be grateful?

Because...he didn't want her to leave! He slammed the basketball against the garage door with every ounce of strength he possessed and watched it bounce crazily toward the house.

Then he saw her. With her arms wrapped around her, she was protecting herself from the cold. He didn't feel cold. He'd only felt heat since Tessa had returned. A burning, consuming heat that defied who he was and who she was and a life they couldn't share.

He knew he looked like hell. He was sweated, breeze-blown and disheveled. Tucking his T-shirt more securely into his jogging pants, he muttered, "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you." Her gaze attached to his hand as it slid from the back of his waist to the front.

Feeling his body respond to her hungry stare, he answered gruffly, "You've found me. What do you need?" He couldn't tell in the play of shadows and light, but he thought he saw her blush.

"I wanted to talk to you. But that can wait. What about a little one-on-one?"

Damn, if she didn't usually take him by surprise. "You think you have a chance?"

"There's no harm in trying. I can use the workout."

"You might want to get your sweatshirt—"

Scooping up the ball, she bounced it in front of her. "I'm fine. Let's play."

He was amazed at her speed if not her finesse. And she was sneaky. Slipping under his arm, sidestepping and managing a shot he never expected her to make. She couldn't guard him, though. All he had to do was reach over her...around her. Trouble was he could smell her, feel her, touch her, and she was driving him crazy with her hair tousled, loose curls bobbing around her face, her breasts lifting her sweater each time she breathed, her tongue snaking over her lips as she concentrated on defending her territory.

Eyes on the ball, she danced in front of him, her arms ready to reach, lower or grab.

He thought he was quick enough. He thought he could out-maneuver her. After all, he was a lot bigger, a lot stronger and a lot more experienced. He jumped. She blocked. The ball sailed high and off-kilter. Her cheek met his chest, his arms went around her, their feet tangled and they fell against the garage door. His shoulder hit the wood, but he held Tessa to him to protect her as much as he could.

Once they were steady, he felt her take a deep breath and wondered if he was crushing her. Loosening his grip, he lowered his chin. Tessa's hold on him didn't ease. But she raised her head and the longing in her beautiful green eyes burned into his soul. Coherent thought, logic, reality, swirled around in his head as passion exploded. His lips sealed to hers, branding her, claiming her, possessing her.

Plunging into her mouth, his tongue swept against hers with a ferocious intensity he couldn't restrain. She responded by stroking and tasting him, digging her fingers into his back and pressing against him. Inflamed beyond caution and control, he slipped his hand under the hem of her sweater to touch her softness and assuage his need.

When she arched into his palm, he hastily pulled up her bra and finally felt her in his hand. She was everything he imagined. Everything he could want or need. His finger sought and found her nipple—peaked, hardened, ready for him. Brushing his finger back and forth, back and forth, she moaned into his mouth and slid her hands down his back into the waistband of his pants. She pulled out his T-shirt, and when he felt her fingers on his backside, he separated her legs with his knee.

He broke off the kiss and took a detour down her neck so he could hear her as well as taste her. Each small, erotic sound took him to a new height of arousal until Tessa was all he heard, thought or felt. Pushing her sweater and bra out of his way, he bent to her breast.

As his lips closed around her, she cried out. And when the tip of his tongue probed her, she murmured, "I love you."

This was a Tessa he didn't know, one he'd only dreamed about. Responsive, loving, free.

Free?

The cold night air wound around him as a more penetrating cold invaded his heart. She wasn't free. She was married to a job that took her from country to country, through fires and wars and floods. His love could never replace the excitement of her work. His love and Ryan's would only tie her down. She'd resent him, she'd resent them, and he'd lose her just as he'd lost her nine years ago.

Tessa had never intended to say those three words just now, just this way. But the emotion had escalated and overflowed from her heart, until the words were as natural as Max's kiss, his touch, her body's ready response. Had he heard her? Had he realized she'd taken the biggest risk of her entire life?

When his mouth left her breast and he straightened, she thought he was going to respond. She thought she was finally going to learn how he felt—

He stepped back as if she were the last woman on earth he wanted to touch. The expression on his face was so stony, she wondered where the passionate man who'd been creating a firestorm inside her had gone. "Max?"

"What are we doing to each other, Tessa? Five days and you'll be gone. Why do you think I've been avoiding you? So this kind of thing wouldn't happen."

She reached out to touch his arm.

He stepped back. "Don't play with fire. I'm at my limit, Tessa. Go into the house before I forget I'm a gentleman and I take advantage of a miserable situation." When she didn't move, he said louder, "Go on. Find something else to do to make the time pass before you're off on your next assignment."

His words hurt as much as his rejection. She'd given him her heart and he didn't want it. He wanted her gone. She was a temptation...a miserable situation. How often she'd felt like that in the past. In the orphanage, in the foster homes, in school. If Max loved her, he'd accept her the way she was. He'd accept her career and be willing to work on some sort of compromise. She'd said she loved him, and he didn't care.

So why would he care if she told him about the job in New Haven? She could never be what he wanted. And she'd learned long ago, if she wasn't herself, she was nobody at all. He wanted her to leave him alone, so she'd do just that.

Fighting tears that would serve absolutely no purpose, she straightened her sweater, squared her shoulders, avoided Max's gaze and marched into the house, wishing it were her home, wishing Max and Ryan were her life.

Chapter Fifteen

Silence surrounded Max as he stepped into the kitchen Thursday afternoon and closed the back door. The quiet seemed unnatural. Usually, he heard Ryan playing or chattering, Tessa rattling pots and pans or talking on the phone. Then he remembered. Last night Tessa had said she'd pick up Ryan at school today and take him shopping for new sneakers and jeans. He was outgrowing everything.

The past week had been pure torture for Max, seeing Tessa, living with her, avoiding her because it hurt too much to love her and not ask her to stay. He couldn't ask this time. It had to be her choice, a free choice. No pressure. No coercion.

Tugging down his tie, Max picked up the mail lying by the phone. The light blinked on the answering machine. He automatically pushed the button.

"Tessa, Vandemeer here. I left a message on your cell, but thought I'd try this number too. Just a double reminder that I need your decision about the job with our network as soon as possible. I'll wait until after the Summit if I have to, but there's something else I'd like to talk to you about, too. I'll be available. Give me a call."

A cable news channel. So Vandemeer was going to do it. Rumors had multiplied and Max had read something online about the man being as rich as Bill Gates and his news channel could possibly be based in New Haven.

Apparently Vandemeer had offered Tessa a job. A permanent position? Why hadn't she said something?

Max slapped the envelopes in his hand back down. The answer was simple. Tessa wasn't going to take it. If she did, she'd be around New Haven more. Obviously she didn't want that.

Max had heard Tessa's murmured "I love you" when they'd almost made love in the driveway. And as he suspected, it had been uttered in the throes of passion. That kind of love wasn't enough. He'd been right to pull back. Just two more days to go and she'd be gone. The emptiness in his heart rivaled the emptiness in his soul.

***

While Ryan rushed to find Max, Tessa took off her coat and found a scrap of paper on the kitchen counter with the scrawled message, "Call Vandemeer. He'll be available tonight."

She'd been so distracted lately she'd forgotten to charge her phone. So she'd left it behind when she and Ryan had left for their shopping excursion. Apparently Vandemeer had called here as well as her cell. She hadn't called him back yet because she wasn't sure what to do! Did Max now know about the job offer? Had Vandemeer himself talked to Max or had he left a message? If Max knew—

She went to her room and tapped in Vandemeer's number so she'd know where she stood before she approached Max.

"Vandemeer, here, " he said, answering his cell phone.

"Mr. Vandemeer, it's Tessa Kahill. I received your message."

"I know it was probably overkill but I left a message at both numbers so I'd be sure you'd receive it. Some people call me compulsive, but that's how I make deals others don't. Are you still considering the position with us?"

"I am."

"Good. To make it more difficult to turn down, I'm going to e-mail you material you might want to read before you make your decision. In fact I'd like your input on all of it."

"What if I decide not to take the job?"

"I'd still like your input. Is that a problem?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Can you come by tomorrow around one to meet a few people I've already hired on?"

"Do you think my meeting them will convince me to take the position?"

He chuckled. "I can hope. The more interested and involved you become, the more I'm hoping you'll be convinced this job is the right career move for you."

"I appreciate your candor," she said, liking the man more each time she spoke with him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Tessa clicked off the phone. As she'd suspected, Vandemeer had left a message at the house. So if Max knew about the job, maybe he'd realize she was willing to change the direction of her career. Maybe it would make a difference.

She went downstairs and following the sound of Ryan's voice, she realized he was in Max's bedroom. The door was half way open. She peered around the door and saw Ryan beside Max on the bed, still wearing his coat. His head was bowed as Max gestured to something across his knees. It was a photo album.

Max pointed to a picture. "And that's your mother baking your first birthday cake."

Ryan hunched over the pictures as if by getting very close, he'd remember Leslie better. Slowly and silently, Tessa backed into the hall, upset, hurting, afraid to interrupt the private moments between father and son. Apparently Max had been paging through the album when Ryan went in.

It was obvious that Max was still grieving. He still loved Leslie more than he could love a woman in his present. That's why he couldn't ask her to stay. He was still too wrapped up in the past. She didn't mean enough to Max for him to ask her to spend her life with him.

Maybe this was a payback for her leaving him nine years ago. Maybe this was a sign that her fragile dream of roots and a home could never come to be. The pain welling up inside of her was much too familiar. But this time, unlike so many before, she let the tears fall and she climbed the steps to the guest room to get her notes together for the Summit. That was all she had left.

***

Saturday morning the suitcase sat open on Tessa's bed. It wasn't as though she had a lot to pack. Folding a sweatshirt, she laid it in neatly.

A small rap sounded on the door.

"Come in."

Ryan pushed the door, and it swung open with a creak. He looked as if she were going away forever, with his long face and sad eyes. She wished she could change things for both of them.

Crossing to the bed, he held out his red Ferrari. "I want you to take it with you again so you don't forget me."

She'd returned the car to him after her trip to California. "I'll never forget you, pancake. But I'll take it if you want me to." He nodded, and she wished she could pack him in her suitcase and take him with her.

"You're not gonna live here anymore, are you?"

"No. But I promise I'll come back and visit as I always have."

His expression told her that wasn't much comfort. Maybe he needed something tangible to hold onto, too. She pulled her chain out from under her sweater—the chain she hadn't removed since Max had clasped it around her neck. Holding the ring, she slid the chain through it, put it on her pinkie and reattached the chain.

Sure she was doing the right thing, she crooked her finger at Ryan and perched on the bed. He came over with questions in his brown eyes that were the same dark shade as his father's. Taking his hand, she opened his small fingers and set the circle of gold in his palm. "This was my mother's. It's the only thing I have of hers and it's very important to me. I want you to keep it someplace safe so you'll know I will be back. I won't forget about you. And if ever you and your dad need me..." That had just slipped out, but she meant it. "All you have to do is call."

"Across the ocean?"

"If it's very important, you can call across the ocean. Your dad has my numbers."

Ryan threw his arms around her, the ring closed tightly in his hand. "I love you, Tessa."

"I love you, too, honey." She blinked back tears, not wanting Ryan to see how upset she was. By tomorrow at this time, she'd be on a plane to Norway and Max's and Ryan's lives would return to normal. That would be best for Ryan.

Remembering that the next afternoon, she said her final goodbye to the eight-year-old who she'd come to love so deeply. He stood in the kitchen looking out the window as Max carried her bag and computer to the car. Always the gentleman.

As she stood at the edge of the driveway with Max after he'd set her luggage in the trunk and closed it, she felt she had to take one final stab at a chance for a future with him. "Do you want me to come back for Thanksgiving?"

Something hot and dark and hungry flickered in his eyes for the briefest moment. Then it was gone. "That's up to you."

So much for that last chance. "I'll let you know," she murmured. Thinking about whether she should or shouldn't consider it hurt too much right now.

Walking away from Max was the hardest thing she'd ever done. But she did it. She opened the door to the driver's side. "Take care of yourself, Max. And Ryan."

She didn't wait for his response. She couldn't or her tears would blind her.

***

The Monday before Thanksgiving, Max went into Ryan's room to put his son's clean clothes away. Ryan was sitting on the floor by his bed, a shoebox between his legs. Max knew his son kept his treasures in that box—a six inch long feather he'd found in the park, rocks of all shapes and sizes that had grabbed his attention for one reason or another, a few baseball cards, a cats-eye marble that had belonged to Max. But in his hand now, something gold and round glittered.

Max shoved Ryan's socks in a drawer. "What is that, slugger?"

Ryan closed his hand around the object, reminding Max of Tessa's protective gesture when...

Max walked over to Ryan slowly. Tessa had been on his mind even when he was teaching. She'd been gone over a week. He couldn't sleep. He didn't care if he ate. If it weren't for Ryan...

He sat on the floor beside his son. "Can I see it?"

Ryan opened his hand. "Tessa gave it to me."

Max's heart raced. "When?"

"Before she left."

Max gently rubbed his thumb over a fiery opal. "It's very special to her."

"She told me it was her mommy's. She gave it to me so I know she'll be back."

"But maybe not very soon," Max murmured.

"Dad, did you ask Tessa to stay?"

A sharp pain stabbed Max's heart. "She couldn't stay, Ryan. She has a job to do." He'd seen Tessa on the news last evening in Oslo, reporting the first word on negotiations there. His heart had hurt yet he'd watched every bit of it until she'd vanished from the screen.

"But did you ask her?" Ryan pressed insistently.

Max turned the ring over in his hand. "No, I didn't."

"But, Dad, she'd stay if you'd ask her. She'd live with us. I know she would."

"Ryan..."

"She said if you or me need her, she'll come. She said it. And we need her, don't we?"

Was it as simple as Ryan made it sound? If he had asked Tessa to stay, would she have stayed?

"Don't we, Dad?"

With increasing clarity, Max realized his son was right. They did need her. "Yes, we do."

"She said if it was really important, we could call her 'cross the ocean. Honest." Ryan made a cross over his heart.

"I believe you. But I have a lot of things to think about first. Do you mind if I hold on to Tessa's ring for tonight? I promise I'll be very careful with it, and I'll give it back to you tomorrow."

"Will it help you think?"

"It might."

***

Hours later, Max stared at the circle of gold as the bedside lamp made it glow. The turmoil he'd felt earlier had been nothing compared to now. He loved Tessa. He loved her so much, every part of him ached for her. And he'd let her walk out of his life.

He'd been an absolute fool!

He'd been so caught up in his own wants and needs, he hadn't seen hers. With a childhood like Tessa's, she needed reassurance. She needed a hand held out to her. Before she could commit herself, she needed the sure knowledge that he loved her. He mentally kicked himself again for being so self absorbed that he'd been deaf and blind to all the signs.

She'd proven her love over and over again every day she'd been with them. He could see her love for Ryan so clearly. But he'd been afraid to see it for himself. She had even said she loved him. Dismissing it as passion talking, he'd ignored it. Now he realized Tessa never said anything she didn't mean. But he'd been afraid to hear those words probably as much as she'd been afraid to say them. Because he feared love wasn't enough. Because he was afraid she'd leave him again as she had nine years ago.

Tessa was afraid of being abandoned, being rejected yet another time. So was he. Because of her leaving before, because of Leslie's death, he, too, was afraid of being abandoned. He just hadn't wanted to admit it. As he'd studied the pictures in the photo album, he'd realized he'd looked on Leslie's death as a betrayal. He'd been angry at Tessa for leaving. He'd been angry with Leslie for leaving.

But now it was time to let go of the anger and move on. His actions the past couple of weeks probably had convinced Tessa he didn't love her. Max shook his head, disgusted with himself. So now what could he do?

Only one thing gave him hope—her question before she'd left. Do you want me to come back for Thanksgiving? Yes, he did. And maybe if he told her he loved her, she'd reconsider taking the job in New Haven, or another one in New York, or one anywhere else in the same country so they could share a life. She mattered too much to let her get away a second time. He'd made her career an insurmountable stumbling block, but it didn't have to be one. They could work something out.

Flexibility had never been his strong suit, but somehow he'd adjust. To be with Tessa, he'd do almost anything.

Max checked his bedside clock. It was probably around five a.m. in Oslo. The summit wouldn't be over for another day. If he called now...

Before he lost his nerve, he found the number that Tessa had given him for the hotel where she'd be staying and dialed. The hotel rang her room, and he held his breath.

"Hello?" She sounded sleepy.

"Tessa? It's Max."

"Max! What's wrong? Has something happened to Ryan?"

"No," he was quick to reassure her. "Ryan's fine."

He heard her sigh of relief. "Then I don't understand..."

He turned the ring around on the tip of his thumb. "I wanted to know if you've made plans for after the Summit."

Her hesitation tortured him as he prayed she hadn't. Clearing the morning huskiness from her voice, she answered, "Not exactly."

What did that mean? He had visions of her and Dan Holloway or some other journalist who realized how special Tessa was skiing down a mountain.

She went on, "Yesterday, I extended my reservations here for a few days. I was going to do some research."

Now was the time to put his heart on the line. As it pounded so loud he was sure she could hear, he asked, "Will you come back and spend Thanksgiving with us?"

The dead silence almost killed his hope until she asked, "Do you want me to come back for Ryan?"

Knowing he had to take the risk, he laid his heart in her hands. "I want you to come home for me." When she didn't respond, he asked, "Tessa?"

Her voice was husky, but he could hear her clearly. "I heard you, Max. I can be there Thanksgiving Day."

***

Holding herself in check so she didn't break all the speed limits, Tessa pulled up in front of Max's house, not bothering to turn into the driveway after what seemed to be an endless trip. Since Max's call, she hadn't been able to think straight, let alone work efficiently. She'd wanted to drop everything she was doing and fly back immediately. But history and caution made her finish her assignment in Oslo before rushing into—

She wasn't sure what yet. But she was hoping. She was filled with more hope than she ever thought she could hold.

The late-afternoon sun was descending behind tall maples as she pulled her bag from the backseat and practically ran to Max's front door. He opened it before she put her hand on the knob. The longing on his face, the desire in his deep brown eyes, his uncertain smile, turned every bone in her body to wobbling sticks.

Dropping her bag, she said softly, "I'm home."

Max swept her into his arms and kissed her long and hard with a breathtaking intensity that brought tears to her eyes. Kicking the door shut with his foot, he carried her into the living room and finally put her down in front of the fireplace. It was lit, filling the room with its coziness and warmth.

But it was Max's gaze and the caress of his fingers on her cheeks that warmed her inside and out. And his words as he said, "I love you, Tessa. I didn't want to say it for the first time over the phone. I should have said it long before now. But if you'll let me, I'll say it and show you how much I mean it for the rest of our lives."

His words shook her so terrifically, she could hardly stand. Holding onto his broad shoulders, she murmured, "I love you, too. But, Max, I can never take Leslie's place. I'm different. I'm..."

"You're you. The woman I love. I don't want you to take Leslie's place. I'll keep her memory alive for Ryan. But it's time for me to let go of the past. I love you for who you are—for all the excitement you bring to my life, for your loyalty, for your passionate caring. I love you, sweetheart. And I'm sorry I put us both through hell the past couple of weeks. I guess I was too afraid to risk admitting what I felt as well as saying it."

"Max, about my job—"

"We can work something out. I know you can't give up your career. I don't expect you to. But—"

She laid her fingers over his lips. "I was offered a job with a new news network out of New Haven."

"I thought you didn't tell me about it because you weren't considering it and didn't want to stay."

She lovingly stroked his jaw. "I didn't tell you because I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know if you wanted me to stay."

He lifted her chin and gave her a thorough, deep kiss that she knew would keep their heartfire burning forever. She had no more doubts about his love or where she fit into his life.

When the intensity became almost too much to bear, he tore his mouth from hers and held her tight. After a few moments of their hearts beating in unison, he leaned back. "Do you want to take the job in New Haven?"

"Yes. I'm not afraid to settle down anymore, Max. I'm not afraid to belong. Not if I can be with you. It still might involve some traveling, though. How do you feel about that?"

"I know how important your work is to you. I'll miss you when you're gone. So will Ryan. But we'll be waiting here for you when you come home." He saw the emotion his words evoked and he caressed her face. "I guess I haven't asked the most important question. Will you marry me?"

A tear rolled down her cheek as she answered softly, "Yes, I'll marry you."

The back door slammed shut, and Ryan came running into the living room. "Is the turkey done yet?" Then he saw her. "Tessa!"

He swooped toward her, and Tessa caught him in her arms. Lowering herself to the hearth, she cuddled Ryan against her.

"Did you call her, Dad?" Ryan wanted to know.

Max nodded, not taking his eyes from Tessa's.

"I knew she'd come. Can you stay a long time again?"

"A very long time."

Max added, "She might have to make a trip now and then. But she'll always come back to us."

"Like California?" Ryan asked.

Tessa answered, "Like California."

"Like now?" He was trying to wrap his mind around the idea and wanted to make sure.

"Like now," she assured him.

That seemed to settle the whole thing for Ryan. "Are we gonna eat soon?"

Max laughed. "It won't be too long. We are missing one thing, though. Dessert. The bakery sold out of pumpkin pies before I got there."

Tessa looked over her shoulder at the beautiful fire leaping and dancing with the warmth and love that filled her heart. "What about toasted marshmallows for dessert? We can make them our tradition."

Max sat on the hearth beside her, curving his arm around her shoulders. "I can't think of a better dessert or a better tradition."

With Ryan on her lap, Max's strong arm around her, Tessa knew she finally belonged. When Max softly kissed her lips, she was happier than she'd ever been in her life.

Belonging came from loving and being loved. She'd searched the world but had found her heart and her place because of one man...one boy. This Thanksgiving, she knew the true meaning of gratitude.

When tears threatened to overflow again, she said, "Let's go peek at the turkey and find the marshmallows. We have a Thanksgiving to celebrate."

Ryan's enthusiastic "yeah!" and Max's gentle smile guaranteed this would be a Thanksgiving to remember for always.

AUTHOR NOTE:

HEARTFIRE was originally published as HEARTFIRE, HOMEFIRE by Silhouette Books. With editing, updating and revising, this romance fit perfectly into my Search For Love series. Readers might remember Tessa as the journalist who interviews Emma in ALWAYS DEVOTED. Linc Granger, hero from ALWAYS DEVOTED, also plays a part in Tessa's career in HEARTFIRE. HEARTFIRE is sensually sweet and has a special place in my heart because it is one of my first books. I have gone on to write and publish over seventy more. My intention is always to keep the focus on emotion and my characters. I use family themes in many of my books because I think they're so important to us all. It is a joy to bring a couple, as well as a family, together in a book. I hope readers enjoy reading about the process as much as I enjoyed writing it.

To families and the net of love they share with everyone around them.

For more about me and my latest releases, including excerpts, photos and short stories, please visit my website at www.karenrosesmith.com. To keep in touch day to day, follow me at Facebook, on Twitter @Karenrosesmith, on my blog—Cats, Roses...and Books! and on my monthly e-zine—IN TOUCH with Karen Rose Smith. Look for more of my books on Smashwords.com.

Thanks to Judy Bullard for my beautiful new cover.

KAREN ROSE SMITH BOOKS AVAILABLE ON SMASHWORDS:

A Man Worth Loving

Because of Francie

Everyday Cinderellas

Everyday Prince Charming

Forever After

Garden of Fantasy

Kit and Kisses

Mom Meets Dad

Love in Bloom

Ribbons and Rainbows

Toys and Wishes

Wish on the Moon

SEARCH FOR LOVE SERIES:

Nathan's Vow, Book 1

Jake's Bride, Book 2

Always Devoted, Book 3

Always Her Cowboy, Book 4

Heartfire, Book 5

Excerpt from ALWAYS DEVOTED:

Chapter One

"What do you believe happened to your sister?"

Emma Henderson felt her throat tighten and she found swallowing difficult. She hated the glare of the television lights and found her gaze swinging away from the camera to offstage where Linc Granger stood. The successful TV producer, who garnered high ratings with his specials, had convinced her this interview might help find Paige. That was the only reason she'd agreed to do it.

"I don't know what happened to Paige, Ms. Kahill. She left one afternoon to drive to San Francisco for the weekend and I haven't seen her since." Emma's voice cracked.

She almost felt Linc Granger take a step forward. To do what? Stop the interview with journalist, Tessa Kahill? To comfort her? To tell her everything was going to be okay when she knew it wasn't?

"Her car was found on the shoulder of the highway and she was missing. Can you tell me what your thoughts were when you found out?" the world-renown journalist asked.

"I was stunned. I couldn't believe it. At first we all thought she might have been kidnapped. But there was no call...no note for ransom...nothing."

"You were on the police list of persons of interest for a while, weren't you?"

"Tessa!" Linc Granger's deep voice rent the air with authority. He told the technicians to cut and take five. Then he strode up beside the interviewer.

His gaze connected to Emma's for a heart-stopping moment.

She tore her eyes from his and took a deep breath. She shouldn't have this reaction to him. He'd been compassionate toward her, protective even, and she was grateful. That's all there was to it.

But as Linc and the beautiful, curly-haired interviewer argued over the questions for the remainder of the interview to be aired later in the week, Emma knew she felt a spark of something with Linc Granger she'd never felt with her late husband Barrett.

After another minute or two of discussion, Linc crossed over to her chair and towered over her. He raked his hand through his dark brown hair, his green eyes turbulent. "Tessa insists she has to go this route. She thinks it's better if everything is out there in the public's face. I don't necessarily agree. I know you lost your husband a year ago and this is hard. If you'd rather Tessa go in a different direction—"

As Emma shook her head, her honey-blond hair fell over her shoulder. "The family is always questioned. The family is always of interest. It's okay, Mr. Granger."

"It's Linc," he said gently. As cutting as his voice had been a few moments before, it was so different now.

Ever since their first meeting, she'd felt strangely out of breath. She was a mother with a four-year-old, and her sister was missing. She couldn't think about anything else.

Squaring her shoulders, she assured him, "I can handle Ms. Kahill's questions."

As Linc Granger studied her, she felt almost all of the air get sucked out of the room. What was it about him that made her so flustered? He was older, between thirty-five and forty she guessed, and she felt young at twenty-six for the first time in years. She'd taken on a lot of responsibility early.

After a few moments, he reassured her again. "If anything makes you too uncomfortable, you can say so. I'm sorry I wasn't here when the interview started. I would have laid down some ground rules." He glared at Tessa as she was studying her notes.

"When you offered me the opportunity to publicize Paige's disappearance again, you said Tessa Kahill was the best. Maybe you should let her do her job. Before we started, she told me she has to be on a plane out of L.A. tonight to Afghanistan."

"You like her," Linc noted with a wry smile.

"We talked before the interview. Yes, I do. And I respect her."

"Good." He sounded relieved. "Then I'll let her continue and I won't interfere again. But I would like to discuss something with you when this is over. Do you have time?"

What could he want to discuss with her? They'd spoken at length about what had happened to Paige, the little bit she knew, and Emma's desire to stay out of the spotlight for her daughter's sake. But he seemed to have something important to say and she did want to hear it.

"My next door neighbor is watching Becky. I'll have some time."

He was quiet for a few moments, but the intensity of his expression suddenly gave her the knowledge that Linc Granger was a very different man than Barrett Henderson had been.

It shouldn't matter.

But she found herself wanting to listen to Linc, even though she suspected that simple conversation with him could unsettle her life even more.

#

What a stupid thing to do!

Linc never interrupted the flow of an interview. When he'd asked Tessa to do this, she'd told him she could fit it in during a layover in L.A. She'd been in Mexico interviewing some diplomat, and then she was gone again for Afghanistan to tape a special report.

So why had he jumped in?

Because Emma Trent Henderson fascinated him. She and her four-year-old daughter had been through the cable newsringer when her sister had disappeared three months ago. Yet she'd somehow retained her dignity and poise. Still, the lost look in her expressive brown eyes when she spoke about her sister, Paige, haunted him.

From her first press conference, he'd been intrigued by her and her story. Maybe because he knew someone who could help her if she wanted to be helped. Unorthodox means weren't for everyone, but he had the feeling Emma had exhausted the usual channels.

The cameras were rolling again and Tessa was asking more questions. As he listened to the rest of the interview, he became more sure about the information he wanted to give Emma. When he heard Tessa end her questions with, "Tell me how you feel as a widow, with a four-year-old to raise and no idea where your sister is," he listened hard.

Emma didn't hesitate to say softly, "Sometimes I feel as if I'm in limbo. I'm searching for answers and I don't know if I'll ever find them."

Linc knew he had to tell Emma about Gillian Bradley and her special gift.

#

When Emma finished the interview, she felt wrung out. Not a new feeling these days. But after she thanked Tessa, she turned to find Linc waiting for her. It was easy for her to think of using his first name and she wasn't sure exactly why.

She'd worn a flowered sundress for the interview, a dress she often wore when taking sales orders in her gift basket shop, Occasional Baskets. But now she wished she'd worn something a little more sophisticated...because Linc Granger in his custom-tailored suit, tie and expensive shirt shouted sophistication.

Who was she kidding?

She'd never been sophisticated. Hard working and tasteful, maybe, but never sophisticated.

After the camera lights shut down and she stood, Linc took her elbow. She felt the heat from his fingers through her whole body. It was an odd, wake-up feeling that she'd never experienced with Barrett.

Barrett. He'd only been gone a year. How could she even be attracted to someone else?

Okay, so that's what this feeling was toward Linc Granger...attraction. So much for that. He certainly didn't drive his car in her neighborhood.

Linc glanced around the set where techs were bustling by and men in suits strode purposefully here and there. He frowned.

Even frowning, his face was ruggedly handsome with character lines around his eyes that cut deep. From laughter? Or worry?

Turning his focus back to her, he asked, "My car service picked you up, right?"

"Yes, thank you. It was nice to relax for a change driving into the city."

He smiled, and then the smile slipped away. He actually looked uncertain for a moment, but only for a very fleeting moment. "We're not going to find privacy here," he explained. "Even in my office I'm constantly interrupted. Would you consider taking a drive? I have a place on the beach—"

At her surprised expression he held up his hand in a "stop" gesture. "This is not a proposition," he assured her, his voice lowering. "I can even provide you numbers of a few good friends if you want to check me out. I just believe we need privacy for this discussion."

And just what discussion was it? "I checked you out before I agreed to do this interview," she admitted. "At least as much as I could."

He looked mildly amused. "So, what did you find when you checked me out?"

"I found out that everything you do pretty much turns to gold. You went to Cal State for a degree in Cinema and TV Arts. You directed a couple of small films, afterward turning that money over into investments. Then you started gathering professionals around you who wanted to make the same films and then TV shows that you did. You've produced cable documentaries as well as network hits. But that all involves business, not your character or your personal life."

"My personal life is off limits to reporters." That was said without any amusement at all.

"I did find a couple of Google images with you escorting celebrities or models to charity functions and social galas. But that really didn't tell me much."

His eyebrows arched, thick eyebrows over deep green eyes that made her feel a little fluttery inside. Okay, maybe a lot fluttery inside.

"So why did you decide to do the interview?" he asked.

"Because I found transcripts of other interviews you produced. They were honest and considerate of whomever was being interviewed. I also liked your..." She hesitated. "Your point of view when we talked. I didn't feel you were going to sensationalize what had happened to me. You proved it just now when you stepped in."

The nerve in his almost-square jaw worked for a moment. Then that small giveaway of tension was gone. "I want to discuss something other than letting the police direct the investigation to find your sister."

That's all she needed to hear. "Let's go for that drive."

A half-hour later they were in Linc's sporty silver luxury sedan, heading toward the ocean. Up until now they'd made small talk about the interview, about Tessa, about Emma's daughter who was learning so fast and growing so much. She'd called Becky's sitter before they'd left to make sure Maris and her daughter could find something for supper if she wasn't back in time.

At a lull in the conversation, Emma watched Linc's large hands on the steering wheel. He'd discarded his suit jacket and tie and opened the top two buttons on his shirt before he'd climbed into the car. Sitting beside him like this, the atmosphere seemed oddly intimate as the day started winding down and the sun sank lower on the horizon.

"Not much longer," he told her.

She sent him a small smile. "Am I looking impatient?"

"No, just a little nervous. Are you sure you don't want to call my best friend?"

That probably would have been wise. But Linc seemed straightforward. "Tell me about your best friend."

After Linc cut her a glance, he focused on the highway again. "His name is Nathan Bradley. He's a family man with two daughters from his first marriage he sees a lot, and a little boy, Matthew, from his second marriage. He's an internet security expert who flies all over the country, taking care of important people's networks."

"I like the fact that you put his family history before his work."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I baby-sit for Nathan? I did before he married Gillian and I do now. Their kids call me Uncle Linc."

She laughed. "Maybe I should talk to them."

He laughed, too, and glanced at her again. Something intangible passed between them that she seemed to feel in her heart. How crazy was that?

Fifteen minutes later, Linc turned off the highway and took a series of turns. After he drove down a long drive, they exited the car and Emma looked around.

A one-story house sprawled before her and she could see the ocean beyond. "What a beautiful setting," she murmured.

"I like it. It's worth the commute. We're alone here. If you prefer to walk the beach instead of going inside, I'll understand."

Alone with Linc Granger. Maybe she should have trepidations about that, but she didn't. She felt excited. Because they were going to talk about a way to find her sister? Or because he was one very sexy man?

Because he was going to give her information to find a way to find Paige, of course.

"I'll shed my shoes and we can walk the beach," she decided, taking the safer route.

"Give me five minutes to get comfortable and then we'll walk. There's a deck around back. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Be right back."

Emma found cushy chairs and chaises on his deck, but she was too fidgety to sit. Instead, she stood at the railing, looking out at the ocean, wondering if her sister was still alive and if she was, where she was. She'd spent so many hours while Paige had been gone thinking about that—praying, hoping and trying to stay positive. But how could she when such dark visions invaded the others? Paige's car wasn't worth the bald tires it had been running on, so no one would have wanted to hijack her car. Had she had engine trouble again, left the vehicle and started walking? Had someone picked her up and then—

There were those dark thoughts that Emma didn't want to have, but knew she had to be realistic about.

When Linc emerged from the house he wore a blue polo shirt and denim cutoffs. His feet were bare.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready to find my sister," she agreed.

She kept her shoes on until they reached the bottom of the wooden steps where grass and sand began. Then she took them off and laid them on the step. Seagrass tickled her legs as they made their way across the sand to the packed beach.

As they walked along the shore, the wind tossing their hair, Linc asked, "Do you believe in things you can't see?"

Her gaze met his. "You mean religion?"

He blew out a breath. "No, that's not what I mean. I'm just going to lay this all out," he said. "If you want to walk back to my house, get in the car and go home, that's fine. But I felt this was an option you should consider."

"You're not talking about a private investigator, are you?" The spray from the ocean misted them as they left their footprints on the shoreline.

"Sort of."

"Linc, I can't afford one. I hired someone the first week after Paige disappeared. But he couldn't find anything and I couldn't afford to have him go on looking. When Barrett died, he didn't have life insurance. It was one of those things he kept putting off doing. Thank goodness I had my business, but with insurance costs and the mortgage, I don't have much left over each month."

Linc stopped and took her arm. Again his touch made her tummy somersault and her pulse race. But she had to focus on what they were discussing, not her reactions to him.

"Emma, this isn't about money. It's about a gift my best friend's wife has. Nathan's wife, Gillian, works with another friend of mine, Jake Donovan. Jake used to be a cop. Then he turned to private investigation. But after he met Gillian, his life changed. For the most part he and Gillian find missing persons, especially lost children. They started a foundation for this purpose. People they've helped have donated a lot of money. Funds just seem to stream in because it's a good cause."

"So Nathan's wife, Gillian, is a private investigator, too?"

"No, she's not. Nathan found Gillian through Jake as a last-ditch effort when his ex-wife disappeared with his daughters. Gillian found them for him. She has a gift. Some people would label her a psychic. She doesn't think of herself that way. She just seems to be able to tune in to missing persons. She gets sensations and feelings and in themselves they're not enough. But when family members are questioned, or Jake does research tracking down information Gillian gets, they've got a 99% success rate."

Emma was astonished by what Linc was telling her. He was a rational businessman and yet he obviously believed in what he called Gillian's gift.

"Let's walk some more," she said to Linc, pulling her arm from his clasp because she couldn't think straight with his hand on her skin.

Silent as they walked, he glanced at her every now and then. She could feel that glance, feel his concern and compassion for her.

Finally she said, "My dad left after Paige was born. We never heard from him again. My mom was really hurt by his abandonment. When she felt hurt, she went to church, taking us with her for the same comfort she found there until she died of breast cancer."

Linc stopped walking again. "I'm sorry."

She could see he wasn't just saying the words, he was sorry. And there was a deeper understanding in his expression that made her wonder about his background. "Thank you. The reason I'm telling you this is—before mom died, she took my hand and she made me promise that I would take care of Paige and if I ever had children that I would take them to church. She thought everyone needed to believe in something outside of themselves, just like she did and just like Paige and I did."

"Do you take Becky to church?"

"I do most weeks. She attends Sunday School while I go to the service. So what I'm trying to say is that I believe in something outside of myself." She looked toward the ocean and waved her hand. "I believe in the power behind this."

Facing him again, she requested, "So tell me more about Gillian."

"The way I understand it, when she was ten she was hit by lightning. It was after that the sensations started to come to her. She's a caring person. She loves her husband and son, and Nathan's daughters accept her as a second mom."

"And she teamed up with a former cop."

"Jake had heard about her, looked into her success rate and then recommended her to Nathan. After she found Nathan's daughters, Jake was a believer."

"Are you sure there's no fee, Linc? I can make a donation, but I don't know how much."

"They don't charge."

"But you've donated to this foundation," she guessed.

"I have. I believe in the work they do."

Emma stared at the sun beginning to set, the sky shot through with pink and orange. She thought about Paige and the empty car and dark nights when she couldn't sleep wondering where her sister was, crying because she was afraid Paige had been hurt, crying because she was afraid she was dead.

"Let's walk back," she said, needing to think about all of this.

Linc didn't initiate conversation as they walked, as gulls screeched, as waves pounded the shore. The tide was coming in, creating puddles in the sand that she was barely aware of as she sloshed through them. Linc stayed by her side, walked where she walked, a force to be reckoned with himself.

She would have kept walking, but Linc tapped her shoulder and pointed to his house across the expanse of loose sand and grass. When they reached the steps, she wiped the sand from her feet and slipped them into her shoes. He let her precede him.

Once they were standing on the deck, she made a decision. The ocean wasn't as loud up here but it still carried a resonant voice, a pounding that was a backdrop.

When she turned to face Linc, for a few moments the sound of the ocean faded away. The brush of the breeze on her face hardly registered because she got lost in his green eyes. But then she remembered why she was here, at his house on the beach.

Her voice was loud and clear above the sound of the surf. "I'd like to meet Gillian."

Excerpt from ALWAYS HER COWBOY:

Chapter One

When Lucy McIntyre heard the roar of a motorcycle breaking the solitude of the Rising Star Ranch, she went to the kitchen window and pushed back the lace curtain with its ivy pattern. The man on the Harley brought the machine to a halt at the path to the house. She watched him climb off, hang his helmet on the handlebar, and stand with his hands jammed into the back pockets of his jeans as he studied the barn, corrals, indoor arena, and outbuildings. Then his attention turned toward the porch that wound around the house. Although she'd expected someone by the name of Zackary Burke to apply for the job of temporary hand, she'd never expected him to look like this!

He wore boots and jeans, typical attire for men living in and around Long Brush, Wyoming. But the black leather jacket and the motorcycle told her he was from another place. His midnight hair—thick, wavy and unruly—needed a trim. He stood over six feet. She could tell even from here. With his broad shoulders and slim hips, all he needed was a Stetson and a horse to make him look as if he belonged.

Lucy didn't think she moved, but the man's eyes met hers through the window. Caught, embarrassed and mesmerized by something in the man's demeanor and gaze, every question she'd prepared for their interview vanished from her head.

Without any warning, he winked, gave her half a smile and started up the walk.

Flustered and determined not to be, Lucy crossed the kitchen, willing the heat in her cheeks to subside. But when she opened the door, the man was even taller and more powerfully masculine than he'd looked twenty feet away! The curiosity and male appraisal as his blue eyes drifted from her long brown hair to her boots brought even more heat to her cheeks and a dryness to her throat.

The man extended his hand. "Zack Burke. I saw the job notice at the feed store in Long Brush and talked with Tom McIntyre about it at the day before yesterday."

Lucy shook his hand, surprised by the heat of his skin, its rough texture and the sparks that zipped up her arm. "Tom McIntyre is my father." A McIntyre by name rather than birth, it had never seemed to matter because she'd never doubted that her adoptive parents loved her or that her older brothers accepted her. Always grateful for that love and acceptance, she knew without it, her life might have been much different.

"Is your father around?" Zack Burke asked with a lift of a black brow.

"Dad and my brother are mending fence. I'm going to talk with you a little more to see if we should hire you. This is a family-run ranch so family is involved in everything." She motioned toward the kitchen table.

Unzipping his jacket, Zack waited for Lucy to sit before he pulled out a chair at the large pine table. His knee brushed hers and he nonchalantly shifted in the high-backed chair with that half-smile back on his lips. "Your father told me how much the job pays, including room and board. He said it's temporary—until your brother gets back on his feet. But if he's out mending fence..."

"That's my older brother, Rick. You'd be standing in for my other brother, Marty. He...hasn't been himself lately. Too unreliable to depend on. With winter setting in soon, we need a reliable, all-around hand. We tend some cattle, but our main focus is our Quarter Horses. Dad's family has raised them for generations."

"If you check the references I gave your dad, you'll see I know how to ride, can cut calves, and I'm handy with a hammer."

Along with her father's estimation of the man after his phone conversation with him and inquiring about him at the boarding house in Long Brush where he'd been staying, her dad had given her Zackary Burke's references and she'd called all three of them. Zack's last temporary job had been on a ranch in southern Wyoming and the two before that on spreads in Colorado. His former employers had answered all her questions and agreed he was hard-working and dependable. But Lucy wanted to interview him herself, to rely on her own instincts for one very important reason.

"Why do you want this job, Mr. Burke?"

"Zack," he suggested with a full smile that was meant to disarm her completely. It almost did.

But she had learned her lesson about charm and appearances, and a man's definition of a woman. If this man didn't want her to stand on formality, she wouldn't, but she would get the answers she needed. "All right...Zack. Why do you want to work on the Rising Star?"

Giving a casual shrug, his gaze met hers. "When I like a place, I stop and work. Wyoming has enough wide spaces that a man can breathe, move around and not feel trapped."

Lucy felt a sudden fascination to know more about Zackary Burke and why he felt trapped. The light in his intense blue eyes had changed. The devil-may-care sparkle had disappeared and was replaced by shadows.

Knowing she was maybe probing where she shouldn't, she asked, "Why don't you stay anywhere more than a few months?"

His strongly chiseled jaw tightened. "I suspect you know how life on a ranch changes with the seasons. When the work's finished, I move on."

"But..."

"Miss McIntyre," he drawled. Again he gave her that nonchalant smile that showed her how mobile his lips could be and made her wonder how he kissed. The thought shocked her! Well, not the thought, but her having it.

"I like to travel," he continued. "Working like this, I've seen more of the United States than most people can only dream of seeing. And I like ranches—the miles of fence, the pine and larch, the bunkhouses where no one cares where you came from or where you're going."

If that was a subtle hint for her to back off with the questions, she wasn't going to take it. "Then you might not want this job, Mr. Burke."

"Zack," he reminded her.

"Zack. We don't have a bunkhouse. My older brother lives in the house up the lane, and Marty lives here. You'd have a room in this house with the family."

He pushed back his chair as if to push away from her and the whole idea. "You're kidding!"

Lucy shook her head. "No, I'm not. You'd have a room on this floor down the hall and you'd take your meals with us."

Before the man across from her could respond, the telephone rang. With an "Excuse me, I'll be right back," Lucy stood, went into the living room and picked up the phone.

After another glance at Zack, she answered, "Hello, McIntyres."

"Lucy, is that you? It's John Buckley."

"Mr. Buckley! How are you?"

"I'm fine. Do you have a minute?"

John Buckley was the family lawyer. What could he possibly want with her? "What is it?"

"I'd like you to stop in at my office. I have something I want you to see."

"I don't understand."

"The lawyer who handled your adoption died. Records were sent on to me. There's not much, but there is a picture you should look at."

"What kind of picture?"

"I think you should see it before we decide what, if anything, we want to do about it. I'd email it to you but I'd like you to see the original. When are you coming into town?"

Long Brush with its quaint shops, professional offices and small hospital was a fifteen-mile trip, and she usually combined shopping and errands when she made it. She could make time on Monday...

She hadn't thought about her origins and her adoption in a long time. All she knew about her birth-mother was that the woman had been too poor to keep her and take care of her so she'd given Lucy up for adoption as soon as she was born. That's it. Nothing about her father. No memorabilia. Nothing else. Lucy had been perfectly happy all her life in the McIntyres embrace. Did she want to tamper with that now?

But curiosity was a potent force. "I can be at your office on Monday around one. Will that suit you?"

"I'll be in my office all day. One will be fine. I look forward to seeing you."

After Lucy said good-bye and hung up, she wondered if she should tell her parents about the call. But why upset them? It might be nothing. She'd wait until after her meeting with Mr. Buckley to decide. Right now, she had another decision to make—whether or not she should hire Zackary Burke.

#

Glad for a chance to regroup, Zack watched Lucy McIntyre walk into the living room and answer the phone. Her warm brown eyes slid over him once more before she looked away and concentrated on her call. Disconcerted by his body's reaction not only to her gaze but to her mere nearness, he tried to dismiss it as a fluke. For a very long time he'd felt no desire for a woman, the same as he'd felt no inclination to go back to practicing medicine. He knew they were connected. He knew he rode across the western states to escape his thoughts as well as the past. Whenever he stayed in one place too long, all of it came rushing back.

But from the moment he'd taken Lucy McIntyre's hand, smelled lilacs—a scent he associated with long-ago and far-away dreams and white picket fences, and seen the light dusting of freckles across her nose, he'd felt the very real response of a man to a pretty woman. How could he stay when he was attracted to her? How could he stay when he knew any attraction would have no place to go? Not after Kay and what had happened to her and their baby...

Lucy came back to the kitchen, her expression pensive.

"Bad news?" he asked, then wondered why he had. For the past fifteen months he'd tried to stay uninvolved in other people's lives.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about the call." She smiled. "Actually, I was thinking about you and whether I should hire you."

As she drew closer, the lilacs wound about him again, tempting him with more than a job on a ranch. The freshness of her smile packed the same mighty punch. So he asked gruffly, "Why would you want hired help to stay in your house?"

"That's the kind of people my parents are. But that's also why we checked your references carefully."

"How do you know I'm not an escaped convict?"

"Are you?" she asked with a challenging tilt of her head.

He felt an unexpected laugh rumble from his chest. It had been a long time since he'd really laughed. "Do you honestly think I'd tell you?"

Planting her hands on her hips, she gave him another good once-over with her warm brown eyes. "Yes."

Her certainty drew him out of his seat as much as the scent of her perfume, and he approached her slowly. "Either you're very naive or a very good judge of character."

"Neither, Mr. Burke...Zack," she amended. "I've learned to trust my instincts, and they're telling me my family has nothing to fear from you."

Lucy was slender and tall, but he still towered over her a good five inches. Yet he could tell she wasn't intimidated. "You're right. Your family has nothing to fear from me...if I take the job."

"Do you want it?" Her hands dropped to her sides and he realized he'd like to feel the touch of her skin against his once again.

Impressed with Lucy and her directness, he took a deep breath, knowing he should jump on his Harley and head for far away places right now. But he wanted the work. He needed the satisfaction of physical labor so he could sleep at the end of the day. A ranch would provide plenty of that. "I want the job."

Their gazes held. The awareness between them almost hummed in the kitchen as the full realization that they'd be sleeping under the same roof hit him. Maybe she was thinking about it, too.

Lucy broke eye contact first and took a step back. "Well, good. I'll give you a brief tour, then show you where to put your things. By then—"

The kitchen door opened and a little boy—about five—came running in. When he saw Zack and Lucy, he stopped. "Are you the man who's gonna help Dad and Gramps and Lucy till Uncle Marty's okay again?"

Zack watched Lucy's chagrin and he guessed this child heard a lot more than the adults wanted him to hear. Zack wondered what the story was with "Marty." Not that it was any of his business.

Lucy said, "This is my nephew, Josh. My oldest brother's son. Josh, this is Mr. Burke and he is going to be working here for a while."

Josh stood in front of Zack and stared up at him. "Is that your bike out there?"

The boy's brown eyes twinkled with curiosity. His reddish hair spiked in more than one direction, while his sweatshirt proclaimed he was a COWBOYS fan. Zack's heart ached for the son he'd lost, the child who'd lost his life before he'd had the chance to begin it. He hadn't been around children since Kay and their baby died. He'd avoided contact just as he'd avoided the feelings that hurt too much to name.

But he guessed he wasn't going to be able to avoid Josh. "Yep. That's my bike."

"Can I have a ride on it?"

"Josh..." Lucy scolded.

Zack grinned. "I bet we'll have to ask a few grown-ups before I can give you an answer on that."

Turning to Lucy, Josh pleaded, "If you ask Dad, I'll ask Mom. Please?"

Zack could tell Lucy was putty in her nephew's hands. He was sure of it when she gave the boy a hug and said, "I'll see what I can do."

"Josh, I told you not to run ahead of me like that." A pleasantly rounded woman, wearing a down coat smiled at Zack from the doorway. As she stepped into the kitchen, Zack realized she belonged here as much as the hand-woven multi-colored place mats on the table, the green vines sitting in planters on the window ledge, and the homey aroma of something braising in the oven.

Coming right up to Zack, she extended her hand. "I'm Esther McIntyre."

The manners he'd thought he'd left back in California but that had emerged with Lucy and now with her mother, urged him to say, "It's good to meet you, Mrs. McIntyre. I've accepted the job on the ranch. That is unless you'd like to interview me, too."

Esther smiled at him, squeezed his hand and looked him straight in the eye. "I trust my husband's judgment and Lucy's, too." Unzipping her coat, she said, "Now, I've got to get supper ready. Lucy, you show Mr. Burke around. And Josh—"

"I wanna go with them."

It didn't look as if Zack had to worry about anything happening even if he was attracted to Lucy. There were lots of chaperones. Maybe this stay at the Rising Star was exactly the distraction he needed. And if it wasn't?

He'd leave. He'd gotten very good at that.

#

With Josh along on the tour chattering and pointing to his house that was as close to the all-purpose barn as the home where Lucy had grown up, she felt comfortable walking beside Zack. At least that's what she told herself as he responded to Josh's questions and comments with patience and interest.

When the five-year-old ran ahead, she couldn't help but say, "You're good with Josh. Have you spent much time around children?"

Zack stopped for a moment, keeping his gaze trained on the little boy. "Not nearly enough," he answered softly.

Lucy thought she heard longing in his voice and analyzed what it meant. Like most men, he wanted children. Like Pete Cantrell. And when she'd told Pete she couldn't give him a child... He'd practically left a cloud of dust behind him as he'd rushed to escape their relationship. Since Pete, she'd concentrated on her family, the ranch, business management courses, and thought about adopting a child herself someday. She knew better than to repeat past mistakes. She knew better than to expect a man to give up the idea of blood heirs to take care of someone else's children.

She had no reason to believe Zackary Burke was any different. As she gazed at his profile, the defined bone structure, the angular line of a strong jaw, the thick vitality of his black hair, her heart sped up. Yes, she was attracted to him. But attraction was as insubstantial as smoke. There was no point exploring her attraction to him...no future in letting sparks catch fire. Because after the fire, she had nothing to offer.

Zack started walking again and she did, too, keeping her distance, reminding herself he was a drifter and would not be staying.

Glancing at Lucy as she grew quiet, Zack realized she had to take two steps to his one and he slowed his pace. "Tell me about the ranch."

She smiled then, and he realized it was an automatic response to the place where she'd grown up. "When I was little, I thought it was the world," she said. "It seemed to have no boundaries. I could run in any direction until I was too tired to keep going, and I was still on the ranch. I can't imagine living in a big city with no land around me, no cottonwoods or fence or as much grass as sky."

"You love it here."

"I always have, and I always will."

Stopping again, he faced her, suddenly filled with the need not only to get closer to smell her perfume, but to know more about her. "You don't have a desire to venture beyond the town of Long Brush?"

"I'd need a very good reason. Even to live in town. I like being out here with my family."

He itched to touch the glossiness of her hair as it swept across her cheek. "You don't feel crowded? As if they're in your business all the time?" He'd never known real family. He and Kay had been planning to put down roots...

"That's the greatest advantage to living on a ranch. When I feel crowded, I have plenty of space to catch my breath."

Wanting to keep her talking, he asked, "Do you sell your horses locally?"

Lucy raised her chin a notch and stuffed her bare hands in the pockets of her jacket. "Rising Star has a reputation. We sell to customers all over the country. The Quarter Horse isn't only a cow pony. He's a great all-around horse. And Quarter Horse racing is picking up again, too, though most of the horses we sell are trained for cutting events."

The late October breeze carried the forecast of winter as it suddenly buffeted Zack with more force. When Lucy's hair blew across her lips, he couldn't keep himself from reaching out, smoothing it along her cheek. Her brown hair was as silky as it looked. Would her lips taste as sweet as he imagined? Could her hands make him remember passion and the fire that drove it?

If he lowered his head, he could taste her...maybe taste desire again...

"Hey, Mr. Burke," Josh called from the barn door. "Come see my saddle."

Lucy's lashes fluttered and she avoided his gaze. Zack pushed desire away and said to Josh," "We'll be right there." More disappointed than he wanted to admit that he hadn't kissed her, he was also grateful for the interruption. What if he'd kissed her and found he was still frozen inside? And what if she thought a kiss meant something other than curiosity?

As he saw Lucy's cheeks redden not only from the fresh air, but also from the embarrassment she was trying to hide, he knew a kiss would mean more to a woman like this than a moment of desire.

Then all of a sudden, she faced him squarely and asked, "When you leave Rising Star, where are you headed?"

The question took him by surprise—but only for a moment. He realized Lucy, like most women, had permanence on her mind. He'd learned too well that nothing about life was permanent. "Trying to get rid of me already?" he teased.

"Of course not. I just wondered, that's all."

He could tell Lucy wasn't the type of woman who could be easily sidetracked. "Probably Texas."

"Any place in particular?"

Frowning, he shrugged as if he hadn't given it much thought. "San Antonio, maybe."

"Why?"

"Is this still part of the interview?" he asked, impatient with her questions because he didn't have the answers.

"I guess you can say that. Where a man is going can be just as important as where he's been."

He'd been to hell and was finding his way back to earth. Holding on to anger that simmered beneath his impatience, he answered, "I'm going to San Antonio because I've never been there."

"And after that?" she pressed some more.

Raking his hand through his hair, he said, "I haven't planned it out. Maybe I'll head up to Alaska and climb a few glaciers."

Lucy didn't blink an eye. "What are you running from, Zack?"

Her insight brought his anger to the surface. "I'm not running. I'm exploring. And I didn't realize when I accepted this job that I'd be grilled about my life. Or are you reconsidering your offer?"

"No, the offer holds. If you still want the job."

For some insane reason, he wanted it more now than when he'd ridden his bike under the wooden sign where letters carved into the wood read RISING STAR.

"Mr. Burke. Aunt Lucy. Are you coming?" Josh yelled again, holding the door open for them.

After waving to her nephew, Lucy waited for Zack's answer.

When her brown eyes searched his face, Zack realized this woman might have the power to make him feel again. "Look, I want the job. But I want my privacy, too. Let's just stick to the here and now."

Her brows arched. "A man without a past and without a future. We can try it, Zack. But I can't promise my family won't ask the same questions I have. You might get tired of fending them off."

With a grimace, he shook his head. "Let's go look at Josh's saddle. I'll worry about fending off your family when I have to."

As he strode toward Josh, Zack realized Lucy's words were more of a prediction than a warning. At least he'd be ready.

And he would be prepared. He wasn't about to open wounds that were finally starting to heal.

#

Zack met the McIntyres as they straggled in for Saturday night supper. Josh introduced each member as if it was the most important job he ever had. Zack suspected Esther McIntyre had suggested the procedure to Josh as an exercise in social skills but also to make Zack feel more comfortable. He was definitely a fish out of water in this family atmosphere.

Mary Jo McIntyre, Rick's wife, dressed in jeans and flannel blouse, her light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, sparkled with the same enthusiasm for life as her son. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Burke. I hope Josh hasn't been too much of a bother."

"No bother at all. He makes a great tour guide."

Mary Jo smiled and ruffled her son's hair. "He knows more about this ranch than I do. He sees and hears everything."

Zack laughed. Twice in one day. How long had it been since laughter had been part of his life?

When Rick McIntyre shook Zack's hand, his grip was firm, his gaze friendly. "Lucy asked me Josh's very-important- question. How about you and I take a turn around the place on your bike sometime before I give Josh the okay?"

Zack heard the amusement in Rick's suggestion. "No problem. In fact, you might even want to try it by yourself."

Rick grinned like a teenager. "I was hoping you'd say that. I think you and I will get along just fine."

When Tom McIntyre came in, he went to the kitchen, hugged his wife and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Then he joined the group in the living room. With a grip as strong as his oldest son's, he shook Zack's hand. "I understand you roared in here on a motorcycle. Maybe we can convince you a Quarter Horse is a much better means of transportation."

Lucy crossed to her father with a smile. "Better watch it, Zack. He's the best salesman in the state of Wyoming."

Her father grinned at her affectionately. "You know as well as I do our horses sell themselves. I just find them good riders." He looked Zack up and down. "Something tells me, this man is a good rider."

Before Zack could respond, the door flew open and everyone turned toward it. A younger version of Tom McIntyre stood in the doorway, a load of firewood stacked high in his arms.

Tom said in a low voice to Lucy, "We actually got some work out of him today. Maybe he's gonna stop mopin' about that girl."

"Dad...," Lucy chided.

"He's got to get on with his life. You know that better than anyone."

Lucy glanced quickly at Zack, then looked away. But not before he saw the shadows in her eyes, not before he saw her chagrin that he'd overheard her dad's remark. Apparently something...or someone...had hurt her.

Marty dumped the logs on the hearth by the fireplace, then turned toward the group gathered around it. Unlike the other McIntyres, he made no move toward Zack.

After a moment of silence where the atmosphere in the room suddenly became awkward, Lucy introduced the two men. "Marty, this is Zack Burke. He'll be working with us for a while."

Marty's dark brown eyes focused on Zack, switched to his sister, then back to Zack. "So you did it. Fine. I didn't know bringing in hired help was an occasion for a party, though. We usually only have this commotion on Sundays."

Esther, standing in the doorway to the living room, addressed her son. "We're a family everyday. I wanted Zack to feel welcome."

"Welcome to the ranch," Marty said automatically, with no real feeling, but because it was expected of him, then he headed for the stairs and disappeared before he could be chided for his rudeness.

Zack couldn't help but be curious about this member of the McIntyre family who was so different from the others.

Lucy came to stand beside Zack, her arm brushing his. "I'm sorry about his attitude. He's had rough going lately."

Rick frowned. "A lot of that rough going is his own fault. More than once I told him Angie wasn't ready to get serious, but he wouldn't listen. He wouldn't take advice then, just like he won't take advice now. He's as hard-headed as they come."

Mary Jo nudged her husband's arm with a small smile. "As if you know nothing about being hard-headed. Lucy's the only one of the McIntyre siblings who knows how to bend."

"Are you saying I'm stubborn?" Rick asked with mock indignation.

Mary Jo laughed. "That's a pleasant way of putting it."

Tom shook his head. "Stubborn or not, that boy better get his head together. Lucy, try to talk some sense into him again, will you? Of any of us, he listens to you best."

"I'll try, Dad."

When she turned toward her father and her elbow brushed Zack, electric charges danced up his arm.

Esther beckoned to them. "Come on! Supper's ready. When we're sitting around the table, maybe Marty will realize how much he still has."

Josh maneuvered to sit on Zack's left. Lucy sat on his right. When Marty rejoined his family, he positioned himself across from the two of them.

It had been over two years since Zack had sat down and eaten a home-cooked family dinner. The night before his camping trip with Kay...

Rick asked, "So...Zack. What do you do besides ride around on a bike?"

Zack accepted the platter of roast beef Lucy passed to him and considered his options. He didn't want to lie to these people but he also didn't want to answer questions that would lead to areas he'd rather avoid. Noticing Lucy's "I-warned-you" look, he answered, "Along with working on ranches, some construction jobs. I've done a little bit of everything. Mr. McIntyre, I hear that construction is particularly slow in Wyoming. Why do you think that is?"

Fortunately for Zack, the conversation turned to the housing market and the economic conditions in Long Brush and the surrounding area. Then he concentrated on his food and tried to keep his mind off Lucy as she reached for the salt shaker. Her hair swayed along her cheek—silky, soft, natural.

Suddenly, she leaned close to his shoulder. "You managed that one like a pro."

If Zack turned his head, his chin would brush her hair. He tightened his hand into a fist, inhaled her scent, and said as casually as he could manage, "I know a secret. Most people like to talk about what concerns them."

"I'll remember that," she said with a smile in her voice.

He turned his head then and his chin did brush her hair. His chest tightened and all his senses went on red alert until suddenly Josh tugged on Zack's arm. Turning from Lucy, he felt Marty's stabbing gaze on him as he leaned down to the five-year-old.

#

After supper, Marty followed Zack to the living room.

Zack stood at the fireplace and waited. If Lucy's brother had something to say, he might as well get it off his chest.

It didn't take long until he did. "Lucy hired you mighty quick."

Zack faced Marty squarely. "You don't trust her judgment?"

"I don't trust a stranger who looks at her the way you do. I'm just warning you—we protect our own. So watch your step."

Zack wondered just how he did look at Lucy. As if he wanted to touch her, and kiss her, and wrap his body around hers? He thought he was more guarded than that. Yet, there was no point denying his attraction to her, and he wouldn't lie about it. "Lucy and I are adults. What happens between us is our business."

"Lucy is a McIntyre."

"That doesn't mean you can run her life."

"No, but I can watch out for her like I always have."

As Rick and Mary Jo entered the living room, Marty moved away, leaving Zack to realize more fully what it meant to be a member of a family. An ache for the wife and son he'd lost filled him...an ache he'd managed to deny for over two years.

Excerpt from TOYS AND WISHES:

CHAPTER ONE

"What in blazes is going on here?"

Lexa Kittredge almost dropped the porcelain figurine she'd lifted from Clare Flannigan's bookshelf. Before she could answer, Clare slipped from behind the desk she'd been dusting.

"Josh! You're back!" She pushed her blue glasses farther up her nose. "Lexa, this is my nephew, Josh Flannigan. Josh, meet Alexandra Kittredge."

Lexa only had time to nod before Clare rushed on, "So how was Colorado, Josh? You deserved that long vacation. Anything exciting happen? Meet any bears?"

Lexa suppressed a smile, recognizing Clare's attempt to turn the focus of the conversation on her nephew, rather than the disordered state of her apartment.

"Aunt Clare, what's going on?"

His question was directed at Clare but his gaze was on Lexa. Suddenly she wished they'd opened a window. She hadn't noticed it before, but the heat in Clare's apartment was stifling. Her sweatshirt was sticking uncomfortably to her shoulders. It wasn't supposed to be this hot in Pennsylvania in October, Indian summer or not. Or did the sudden rise in temperature have something to do with Josh Flannigan's piercing blue eyes, the same startling blue as Clare's?

"I'm moving."

Josh's attention flew to his aunt. "You're what?"

Clare climbed onto the step stool to remove books from the top shelf of the bookcase. "I'm moving. Some friends and I have invested in a lovely old house," she explained airily as if she did something like this at least once a week.

Josh's fingers dashed through his shaggy black hair. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

Lexa set the figurine back on the shelf and took a step forward, deciding it might be time to help Clare explain the situation to her nephew. She offered her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Flannigan. Clare's told me so much about you."

Josh's gaze switched back to her. "And just who are you?"

"Joshua, don't be rude!" Clare scolded.

He took Lexa's hand but also took the time to give her a more thorough looking-over. She didn't have to guess at what he saw. Sweatshirt and jeans. Curly blonde hair that probably looked as if she'd just escaped a stiff wind. Shiny face. "I'm a friend of Clare's."

He dropped her hand. "Since when?"

"Josh..."

"It's all right, Clare. About two months ago Clare came to a workshop I was giving," Lexa explained.

"About?" Josh looked at Clare as if she'd been bitten by some strange bug.

"Senior citizens developing second careers."

"Oh, great. Just what Clare needs when she's finally retired."

"You don't know what I need." Clare's tone matched the fiery hue of her red hair.

"Mr. Flannigan, your aunt has acted very responsibly."

"Where did you get the money?" Josh asked his aunt.

"I had money saved."

Josh's hand slashed through the air. "But that was your nest egg. I don't believe you've done something so...

impulsive."

Clare exploded. "It's about time I'm impulsive if I want to be impulsive."

Lexa took a deep breath. She had to do something to prevent a full-blown fight. "I've directed Clare to an experienced financial advisor."

Josh shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "Clare, you can't be serious about moving. You've lived in this apartment all your life. I've lived here much of mine. The rent's always been reasonable, you don't have to worry about mowing grass or shoveling snow." He looked around the room at the chaos. "My God! I go away for six weeks and when I come back, you're packing boxes."

Clare shrugged and took Lexa's place at the bookshelves. She reached to the top shelf for two volumes of poetry. "I'm doing the right thing. Ask Lexa."

Acting as a buffer wasn't Lexa's favorite position. She'd had to do it too many times between her younger sister and their stepmother. But at least she'd had practice. "I think you're doing what you want to do. That makes it right."

Striding toward Clare, Josh took the books from her hand and dumped them into an open carton. His denim jacket emphasized the width of his shoulders, and the snug fitting jeans encased long legs and muscular thighs. He wasn't drop-dead handsome, but even with the beard stubble, he'd certainly do. Do for what? Lexa asked herself, then pushed every possible answer out of her head.

"I want to know where you got this crazy idea," Josh was saying. "Do you know the work you're letting yourself in for? The hassles?"

Clare's eyes threw rebellious darts. "What about the joy? The challenge? The thrill of a new adventure? Just because I'm over sixty, Joshua Flannigan, is no reason to put me out to pasture. I'm still alive and kicking more than ever. Thirty-five years of teaching English to teenagers is not enough to wear me out or put me in a rocking chair."

She pointed her finger at him. "You thought I'd be happy retired, you thought I'd be happy living a life of leisure. Well, if it wasn't for the senior center this past year, I'd have gone crazy! Lexa thinks this is a magnificent idea and I expected more support from you."

Josh pushed his jacket flaps aside and stuffed his hands in his back pockets as if he were considering the best way to reason with his aunt. "Don't you thing you're acting recklessly?"

Lexa squared her shoulders. This was going to be more difficult than she'd expected. "Mr. Flannigan, your aunt came to talk to me because she was bored, because she was feeling useless, because sitting here by herself was making her feel ancient."

Josh's blue eyes were steady and concerned as they swung back to Clare. "Aunt Clare, all you have to do is call me. I can spend more time with you."

"What nonsense!" Clare planted her hands on her hips. "You're thirty-four, You have your own life to live and so do I."

Realizing her presence increased the tension, Lexa stepped forward. "Clare, it might be better if I wait in the other room."

"Don't let Josh chase you out."

Lexa crossed the room. "He's not. I think you two need to hash this out on your own. I'll take down the wall decorations in the living room."

Josh moved aside to let Lexa pass, wondering how to keep his aunt from making the biggest mistake of her life. He cared about her too much to let her put herself in financial jeopardy, let alone create more work for herself than she needed.

Lexa's delicate perfume lingered, teasing him. After weeks of smelling only damp earth and woods, the scent affected him. Or maybe it was her seeming fragility--the big brown eyes, that fluffy blond hair. She certainly looked harmless. So what was she doing meddling in Clare's life?

Josh turned toward his aunt, his black brows pulling together in an effort to concentrate on her problem. "Is a rambling old house going to give you a new life? I think it's going to give you headaches. Think of the money you'll waste on repairs. Something always needs to be fixed in old houses. Who's going to pay for that?"

Clare's tone was defensive. "Lexa says it doesn't need many repairs. The door frames need a fresh coat of paint. That's all."

The last thing he wanted to do was dismiss or hurt Clare's feelings. She had given him a home since he was twelve and he loved her dearly. But the idea of her giving up her nest egg worried him. If Alexandra Kittredge had influenced Clare unduly, there'd be hell to pay.

"How does Lexa know what repairs this house needs?" Josh asked, amazed at the confidence Clare was placing in a stranger who could be a con artist, even if she didn't look like one.

"She knows the real estate agent. She says he's honest and would tell us if anything else was wrong. My partners and I looked at the whole place carefully."

Partners. His aunt was involved over her head; he knew it. "You have no experience dealing with people who might be less than honest. A real estate agent has one thing on his mind--selling. As for your partners, who are they and what do they know?"

Clare's lips tightened. "I do not have the time or inclination to keep arguing with you. I have to be packed in five days."

"Five days? You mean the deal's closed...finished? You did this without consulting me?"

His aunt's voice was even, but silver sparks studded her blue eyes. "I'm an adult. I don't have to consult you. And how could I anyway when you were off in no-man's land back-packing?"

"You could have waited. You knew my timetable."

She gently clasped his arm. "I'm doing this whether you approve or not. We had to move fast on the house. Someone else wanted it. We settle on Friday and I intend to move in Saturday."

Whenever he argued with Clare, he felt as if he was running against the wind. She could be so bullheaded. He wanted what was best for her but he wasn't sure this was it. "You're moving too fast; I don't like the whole thing."

His aunt gave him a pat, then crossed to the desk and picked up a can of furniture polish. "I've made my decision, Josh. You're not going to change my mind so you might as well stop trying. I have a lot to do and not much time to do it. If you're going to help, you're welcome to stay."

Josh closed his eyes for a moment. He was tired. He had driven the last seven hours, anxious to get home, anxious to see how the toy stores were faring without him, anxious to find out what his aunt had been up to. No one had heard him knock, so he'd walked in. He'd never expected this. The deal wouldn't be settled until Friday, so it could still fall through or be cancelled.

"I'm going to talk to Ms. Kittredge."

"You're not going to bully her. This was totally my decision, no one else's."

"I want to know some details."

"So ask me!"

"You're too busy packing."

"Josh--"

"Aunt Clare," he parroted with the same wary intonation.

Clare threw her hands up in surrender. "Okay. But don't make her feel guilty or anything else. She's been an extraordinary help. I wouldn't have been able to do this without her."

Josh believed that. But why had she torn his aunt's life apart? He was determined to find out exactly what Lexa Kittredge had to do with this whole mess, and what kind of influence she obviously held over his aunt.

His footsteps were muffled by the carpet in the hallway. But when he entered the living room, Lexa turned toward him, as if sensing he was there.

She propped the painting she was holding against a sofa arm and sat down next to it. "Clare is sure about the plans she's made."

Josh's expression was grim. "Are they her plans or someone else's?"

Lexa stared up at him and didn't seem to take offense at his protective concern. "They're her plans."

There were smudges of blue under Lexa's eyes. Did she stay up late? Did she live with someone? He glanced at her hand. No ring on her finger. He wondered how she spent her free time and whom she spent it with, then immediately banished the thought.

He had to remind himself she could be manipulating his aunt for some gain of her own. His words were brisk. "Convince me. Convince me that you had nothing to do with her pouring her life savings into an old house, nothing to do with her turning her life topsy-turvy at her age. She said you've been advising her. What gives you that right?"

"I have that right because I have the qualifications and because I'm her friend. I have been since the workshop."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I can't believe she was interested in a second career. She can't possibly want to work again. She has a teacher's pension and social security."

"Why wouldn't she want to work again?" Lexa sat farther back on the sofa, clearly making herself at home. "These days, it's almost a necessity."

"She doesn't need to work. She's financially secure. If she needs anything, I'm here to help."

Lexa shook her head. "Maybe she doesn't need to work right now, but she needs--"

"How do you know what she needs? You can't just advise people without knowing their situation."

Her cheeks flushed. "Mr. Flannigan, I majored in social work and I minored in psychology. I run a job counseling and placement center. I didn't go looking for your aunt, she approached me. She was sad and depressed."

Josh felt as if she'd kicked him in the stomach. "Depressed? She's always smiling, whistling, doing something. Clare's never depressed. She's the happiest person I know and you can't seriously tell me--"

"I can seriously tell you she was depressed. Just how much time have you spent with her the past six months?"

During the past six months he had been working more than usual, making sure his management and sales teams were running without a hitch so he could squeeze in a much-earned, overdo vacation before the Christmas rush. True, he hadn't seen his aunt much...

Hell, why was he feeling defensive? Ms. Kittredge was the one who had probably put this hare-brained scheme into his aunt's head. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Relatives always seem to be the last to see discontent. If you had sat down with Clare and really listened to what she was saying, you might have realized..." When he was about to interrupt, Lexa held up her hand like a stop sign. "Please let me finish."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave her a nod to go ahead.

Eye level with Josh's waist, Lexa saw the denim pull across his thighs. Realizing he had noticed where her gaze had strayed, she flushed slightly and raised her eyes to his. "Clare's friends at the center know she's been unhappy the past year. So I'm not telling you anything that's confidential. They persuaded her to come to the workshop and to see me. After we talked, I realized she didn't really want to get back in the work force, but she wanted something to put meaning in her life."

"So you advised a venture that could wipe out her life savings and give her more work than she can handle."

"I advised no such thing. I told her to think about what she liked to do, what she wanted to do, and what she did best. She took it from there. She talked to other seniors and discovered she wasn't the only one who was feeling lonely and empty. She wants to care for people. That's what she did for thirty-five years. She found two other people who want to do the same thing. They want to share their lives, take care of and depend on each other."

Josh was feeling more and more guilty. He didn't like the feeling so he struck out. "And I suppose you don't get anything out of this? You're just a do-gooder who goes around solving people's problems, giving direction to their lives?"

Lexa's eyes told him he had struck a nerve, that she had heard the accusation before. "I've helped Clare find a road that will bring her happiness, the same kind of happiness my volunteer work gives me. You're not thinking about Clare's life, you're thinking about the easiest route for yourself so you don't have to worry about her."

The static between them crackled. "You have no right to judge me."

She stood. "And you have no right to judge my motives or your aunt's capabilities. Clare's an older woman, not elderly, certainly not decrepit. She has wisdom, experience, maturity, and goals. Goals and aspirations don't die because you reach fifty or fifty-five or sixty. She's smart, interesting, and has a lot to share and no one to share it with."

"She has me!"

Lexa tipped her head back. "And you think you're enough to fill her world? Get serious. That might have been true when you were a recalcitrant teenager, but it's certainly not true now."

He felt at a definite disadvantage. If his aunt had told this woman about some of his escapades, Lexa was one up on him. "Aunt Clare's an innocent when it comes to financial matters. How does she know she can meet the mortgage payments, repairs, taxes?"

"If you talk to your aunt...calmly," Lexa emphasized, "You'll realize she's not going into this blindly. The widower who's moving in with her is an accountant."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" he goaded, suddenly wanting to get a rise out of her. To that end he stepped closer. Lexa's perfume wafted around his head; his heart suddenly beat harder. A slice of desire startled him.

"No, I don't. But I've had experience with scores of people."

"The truth is you feel powerful influencing people's lives, changing their direction," he accused.

"The truth is, Mr. Flannigan, it makes me feel good, not powerful. The truth is you don't want to let go of your aunt. The truth is you don't want her to be independent and not need you. And the truth is I don't think you'd know the truth if it bit you in the seat of your too-tight jeans!"

Josh needed to regroup. Alexandra Kittredge had brought up some wrinkles he hadn't anticipated--wrinkles that, if she was telling the truth, couldn't easily be smoothed away. "I want what's best for Clare, what's good for her."

"You might not know what that is. Only she knows. I'll leave so you can discuss this without interference."

He reached for Lexa's arm and when his fingers closed around it, he saw the same jolt of awareness he experienced reflected in her eyes. "Don't leave without saying good-bye to her. She'll think I ran you out the door."

"Clare loves you. She needs and wants your support. This isn't easy for her."

Josh's eyes narrowed. Lexa sounded so sincere. If she was on the level, he wondered what had drawn her to Clare, what made her care so much. He released her arm and let his hand drop to his side. "I want to see her happy. But I want her safe."

"Even people over sixty might have to take risks to find happiness."

Had Lexa Kittredge taken many risks in her life? He decided to find out more about her. But not now. His aunt was his primary concern. He didn't stand in Lexa's way when she started toward the den to tell Clare she was leaving. He watched the sway of her hips as she walked, and he made up his mind. No, he and Alexandra Kittredge weren't finished yet. Not by a long shot.

***

After Lexa returned to her town house from Clare's apartment Sunday evening, she showered and made herself a salad. Wrapped in a chenille robe, she settled at her computer to skim the news feed. But her mind wasn't on the headlines.

Joshua Flannigan was a force to be reckoned with. But Clare was independent enough to do what she wanted. Lexa felt a deep affection for her. Initially, she'd gotten involved with Clare because she needed something to keep her mind off the ramifications of becoming an adoptive mother. She was worried about Dani. Lexa desperately wanted her sister's child, but right now she was more concerned about her sister.

The phone rang and she decided to let her answering machine monitor it. But when she heard Dani's voice leaving a message, she grabbed the phone on the end table.

"Dani, I'm here." Lexa flicked off the tape recording and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"About the same. The doctor says the nausea will pass in a couple of months. I saw a lawyer."

"And?"

"He doesn't feel there will be any problems as long as we're both sure this is what we want. He said to think about it for another month or so then call him and he'll start the paperwork. Lexa, are you sure you want to adopt? It's too hard to raise a child as a single parent. That's why I..."

Lexa's heart tore as she heard Dani's anguish. At that moment she despised the man who refused to support Dani. "Honey, it's different for me. I have a sound income. I have access to good day care here in Chambersburg. You know, you could do it if you really want to. Dad would help you."

Tears threaded Dani's voice. "I can't do it, Lexa. You're strong. I can't believe how you've done everything on your own without Daddy's money."

"That was my choice. But you can accept his help."

"I don't want to raise a child--not alone. And I can't believe you do."

Lexa had loved and protected Dani since their mother died. "Did you tell Dad yet?"

"No. Not yet. And don't you."

"I won't. But you should tell him soon."

"I will. Eventually. He'll think I should get married to save the family name or something. What a laugh. Marriage is the last thing Rob wants to think about."

"Have you seen him lately?"

"Yes. We argued again. Lexa, I love him but he doesn't want to get married. I told him you're going to adopt the baby. He thinks you're crazy."

Lexa knew exactly what she was doing and crazy didn't enter into it. Because of a bout with endometriosis, she might never be able to have children. The knowledge had plagued her for the last two years. No one knew but her sister. When she learned Dani was pregnant but wanted to give the baby up for adoption, Lexa had jumped at the chance. "I can't tell you how thankful I am you're willing to let me adopt."

"You've always been a terrific big sister even though I've wanted to pull your hair out more than once. And I know you'll make a great mother because you care so much about everyone."

"Hey, you better stop before I get a swelled head." The teasing tone disappeared. "I only want you to do what's right for you. I want you to be happy. Okay?"

"Yeah. I know. And after all we've talked about this, I'm sure it's what I want to do. Do you think you can drive up next weekend? My roommate's going home. You can stay in the dorm. Everybody will be at the football game on Saturday. I have tickets if you want to go."

"Since Penn State's having such a good season, I might consider it," Lexa kidded. "We'll see what the weather's like. You don't want to catch cold."

"Yes, mother."

"I'm sorry."

Dani's sigh came through loud and clear. "It's okay." After a pause, she asked, "What time do you think you can be here Saturday?"

"About eleven-thirty? Twelve?"

"The earlier the better. You're the only one I can talk to right now."

Dani expected Lexa to be around whenever she needed her, and Lexa always was. "I'll get there as soon as I can. Take care. Okay?"

"Will do. See you Saturday."

Lexa put down the cordless phone, wishing she could protect her sister better...more. Not unlike the way Josh wanted to protect his aunt. But Clare was mature. Sixty-three years old. Dani was immature, sometimes irrepressible and rebellious even at twenty-one.

Lexa's thoughts returned to Josh. The brilliance of his blue eyes and the strength of his chin remained vivid in her mind. If things were different, she might want to get to know him better. But getting involved with a man now was out of the question.

Excerpt from NATHAN'S VOW:

Prologue

Don't answer it.

Don't answer it.

Do not answer it.

Gillian Moore convinced herself to ignore the intrusive sound of the ringing telephone as the golden L.A. sun swept through her open living room window, along with the balmy June breeze.

Her phone rang a second time.

Plucking the leatherbound volumes from her bookshelf one by one, she dusted them with a soft cloth. She always cleaned and straightened her surroundings when her heart or mind was in turmoil. With a quick glance at the phone on her end table, she knew her mother wouldn't be calling on a Monday evening. Madge Moore called her daughter from Deep River, Indiana every Sunday at exactly seven p.m.

Gillian's phone rang a third time.

She swiped the cloth across the shelf, back and forth. In the three months since she'd relocated to L.A., she hadn't confided in anyone or encouraged close friendships. She needed this respite. She needed to find out whether her "gift" would continue to be the major force in her life or whether she had a right to keep it in the background, maybe even completely under wraps.

Her phone rang a fourth time.

It could only be him\--the man who had called the past two nights, the man with the compelling voice, tinged with authority, commanding in its intensity as it directed her to return his call. She didn't know what he wanted, but she could guess. Heaven knew how he'd gotten her number because no one in L.A. had it, not even the manager where she worked.

Her answering machine kicked on with her brief direction for the caller to leave a message. Her usually lilting tone was serious and cool. She ran her hand through her long, light brown hair. Maybe she should get it cut short...make yet another change in her life. She'd made so many in moving here--she actually had time to herself...to be out in the sun, ride a bike, take long walks. She'd found peace along with the bright California sun and she wasn't ready to let go of either.

"Ms. Moore. This is Nathan Bradley. Again," he added in a deep, almost censuring baritone. "In case you haven't received my earlier messages, I need to speak with you immediately about a matter of great urgency." He paused. "Ms. Moore, I must speak with you. Please return my call." He gave his number slowly, hesitated a moment, then clicked off.

Gillian stopped dusting. He hadn't said "please" in his other messages. This time there was a quiet desperation in his tone. She recognized the emotion because the people she'd helped in the past had all been desperate. Nathan Bradley didn't sound like a man who was accustomed to using the word "please," and the huskiness edging the word made her feel vulnerable and guilty, two of the burdens from which she'd tried to escape.

Now this man had brought them to the surface once more. She wouldn't return his call. She deserved unpressured time to think about the direction of her life, to have fun working at something she'd never imagined she'd enjoy. Nathan Bradley could find someone else to solve his problem, someone else with a "gift" that had begun to feel more like a curse.

Chapter One

Nathan didn't want to be caught dead, let alone alive, inside a beauty salon. As he pulled open the glass door and stepped inside, feminine chatter, strange smells, and the glimpse of a woman with her hair rolled in blue and purple curlers was enough to make him decide he'd rather face ten irate CEO's whose firewalls had been breached in one day than to plow into this women's domain. But he'd do anything to find his daughters.

Anything.

Nathan's determination had pulled him out of the poverty of his childhood, earned him a scholarship to college, and pushed him to start his own company specializing in computer security after only a year with another firm. He'd wanted to be his own boss, bill his own hours, set his own standards. His determination couldn't save his marriage, but by God, it would lead him to his daughters. After six months of dead ends, he'd decided money and rational strategies weren't enough. That's why he was here. That's why he had to speak to Gillian Moore.

At his private investigator's insistence, Nathan had agreed to go this route--the only route left as far as Nathan was concerned or he wouldn't pursue it. He wouldn't debate about methods, not even weird ones at this point. He'd used every skill he'd possessed to find his daughters. So had his P.I. Now he had to put his logic and wariness aside if he hoped to find his children before he lost more time with them.

The woman at the desk inside the door smiled as her gaze traveled from his dark brown hair, down his charcoal pinstripe suit and striped silk tie, to his black winged-tip shoes. She tilted her head and her lips curved up a bit more. "Can I help you?"

Suddenly Nathan felt as if he were the center of attention. Two customers on chairs in the room beyond had craned their necks to avidly assess him along with the receptionist. His shirt collar felt tighter, and he resisted the urge to tug down his tie. "I'm looking for Gillian Moore."

"You want a manicure?" the redheaded, perfectly coiffed and made-up receptionist asked with a mischievous smile.

"No. My name is Nathan Bradley. I need to speak with her as soon as possible," he said in his best authoritarian tone. "Is she here?"

"Hold on a sec," the redhead answered, her smile flagging. Disappearing into the room beyond, she reappeared a few moments later. "She's with a client. She says she'll talk to you in five minutes."

Five minutes. What the heck was he supposed to do for five minutes? He spied several magazines in a basket in the corner beside two director's chairs. "Fine. I'll wait."

Waiting wasn't something Nathan did well. He hadn't become a successful CEO with company locations across the country by waiting. As he flipped one glossy page after the other, he was vaguely aware this publication didn't advertise fast cars or designer clothes. Tuning in to the sound of feminine voices in the next room, he tried to pick out the one belonging to a woman who had helped police departments solve missing person cases. As he had many times in the past few days, he imagined what she might look like. Probably fuzzy, wild hair with a red scarf tied around her head.

He could feel the receptionist watching him as she pretended to study the schedule book. Finally, a customer with bright crimson nails emerged from the room beyond and gingerly opened her purse at the desk.

"Gillian can see you now," the desk-keeper informed him.

Gillian Moore's lack of response to his phone calls had irritated and frustrated Nathan. He was accustomed to being in charge. But his reason for being here brushed all that aside.

Striding into the busy room, he took it in with one glance--the chairs, mirrors, blow dryers, three hairdressers chatting to their customers. But then his gaze fell on the small white wrought-iron desk in the far corner and the woman sitting behind it. Her face turned away from him, she slid a pack of acrylic nails to the side of the glass top and straightened her manicure paraphernalia. At his approach, her gaze met his, and he almost stopped short.

She didn't look like a psychic.

Her long, light brown hair was laced with sunny blond highlights. A few tendrils wisped along her cheek. Her bangs wafted across her honey brows. But it was her huge brown eyes that almost immobilized him. They didn't appraise him physically...they looked into his soul. He didn't like the invasion.

Gillian had wished her client a good day and unnecessarily organized her work table, hoping Nathan Bradley had decided not to wait. When she turned her head and saw a tall man with resolve shouting from his furrowed dark brows, the set of his mouth, and his slightly squared jaw, she realized it would take more than a few unanswered phone messages to deter this man.

Taking a slow breath and maintaining eye contact, she slid her hands into the pockets of her white apron. Nathan Bradley wanted something from her, all right, and she couldn't give it. Not right now.

"Ms. Moore."

It was more statement than question. She nodded.

"Could we talk for a few minutes?"

She gestured to her desk. "I'm working, Mr. Bradley. I really don't have time--"

"You don't have a client at the moment," he countered, his blue eyes steady, his voice firm.

This man could be intimidating. But she was used to dealing with hard-nosed cops, jaded private investigators, and a disbelieving public who wanted her help anyway. "No, I don't. But I am working. Now, if you'd like a manicure..." She almost had to smile at his expression of distaste, but then his next words made her heart beat faster.

"I want a few minutes with you. You're the last option I have."

"For what?" she asked, though she sensed what he needed.

"My two daughters. I need you to help me find them."

As she stood, Gillian glanced around the shop to make sure no one was listening. "Where did you get my name?"

"Does it matter?" As he asked, he slipped a photo from the inside pocket of his jacket.

His movement was quick, but Gillian caught a view of a narrow waist, slim hips, and a physique probably as taut as his demeanor and voice. When he offered her the photograph, her attention returned to the situation at hand and she took a step back.

The two young girls in the snapshot had their father's blue eyes and brown hair. She could tell that he loved them from the way the camera had caught Nathan Bradley' expression as he crouched down between them, one arm around each daughter. The pain in his eyes now attested to the fact.

He tried to hand Gillian the photo, but she wouldn't take it. She knew what might happen if she did. She might see images and feel emotions she didn't want right now. Folding her hands in front of her, she said, "I'm no longer doing that type of work."

But it was difficult for her to tear her gaze from the picture. When she did, the sadness in Nathan Bradley's eyes was almost as difficult to ignore.

"Why?"

For some reason, she couldn't hedge or lie to this man. Checking again to be sure no one eavesdropped, Gillian lowered her voice anyway. "Since I was sixteen, Mr. Bradley, my life hasn't been my own. I came to L.A. to escape the type of work you want me to do and to make decisions about my future." She stopped and tears pricked her eyes as she thought about the last few months before leaving Indiana.

Regaining her composure, she swallowed and went on, "For almost ten years, I've helped others when they've asked. Now I need time and breathing room before I decide if and how I want to use my gift again."

As she spoke, she could tell he listened. There was a spark of empathy in his eyes, but, of course, his need was more important. "Take this one case," he insisted. "I'll protect your privacy if that's what you're concerned about. Your help doesn't have to be public knowledge. I'm an internet security specialist. I know what safeguards we can take. No one else has to know you're here."

She steeled herself against the man's masculine appeal and turned away from the wonderful smiles of the children in the photo as well as the hurt still lingering in her heart. That hurt sprang up every time she remembered Brian Reston and the search for his son, the months she'd dreamed about a future for the three of them.

Despite the time that had passed, despite the miles between L.A. and Deep River, Indiana, she knew she wasn't ready for Nathan Bradley and his search...for any of it. The general public thought psychics could "know" anything they wanted, that they could answer any question, even their own personal ones. That just wasn't true. Gillian had realized early on that she couldn't use her "gift" for her own benefit or to predict events. All she could do was tune into impressions and use them along with her intuition. Words, pictures, and sounds sometimes popped into her head, but she never knew when that was going to happen. It hadn't happened since she'd left Indiana.

With the need for self-preservation being her overriding concern, she said, "If you found me, others will be able to. And I'm not only concerned about privacy. You make my help seem simple, as if all I have to do is close my eyes and give you the answers you want. The process is much more complicated than that. Try a private investigator, Mr. Bradley. It will be best for both of us."

"A private investigator gave me your name."

She sighed and shook her head. "Then he can find someone else who does my kind of work."

"It's difficult to find a reputable psychic," Nathan almost growled as his frustration became evident.

Worry stabbed Gillian. "Sh..." All she needed was her co-workers knowing.

Nathan lifted his hands in exasperation and in a loud whisper asked, "Why is it so all-fired important for no one to know what you do?"

Anger bubbled up inside her because this man knew nothing about the hundreds of letters she received each year, the sleepless nights, the burden of parents and brothers and sisters and children depending on her to find someone they loved, or someone who was missing. What irritated her the most were those who wanted a plan for the future without formulating it themselves. "If they knew what I was able to do, most women in this salon would want a reading. They'd line up for hours waiting with bated breath for me to tell them their future. And if I couldn't tell them anything, they'd say I'm a fraud. My gift creates a three-ring circus, Mr. Bradley. No, thank you."

Harriet came in from the front desk. "A walk-in for nails is waiting, Gillian. How's your schedule?"

Gillian accepted fate's offer of a neat, non-confrontational way to end this encounter. "Tell her to come in. I don't have another appointment until four. If it's all right with you, I'll take my supper break at five."

"No problem." Harriet's interest in Nathan was obvious as she gave him a wink and returned to the front room.

He faced Gillian. "I'd like to continue our discussion."

"There's nothing more to say. I have to get back to work and I'm sure you do, too. Call your P.I. He'll find someone else."

The look the man gave Gillian was not resigned. If anything, it was more determined than ever. But he didn't argue. "I'll call my P.I. But I'll be talking to you again. Soon."

With a lift of his brow and a wave of his hand, he was gone.

Gillian first felt relief, then a strange sense of loss. But she was used to feelings and images not clicking. Eventually they became part of a bigger picture, and then she'd understand. But there was no bigger picture where Nathan Bradley was concerned. There was no picture at all.

#

The instant Gillian stepped outside of the Hair Happening, she saw him. He stood beside a gray Mercedes in the parking lot. She should have realized this man wouldn't give up so easily. Ducking back into the salon was an option. So was ignoring him as she walked to the enchilada and chili stand across the parking lot of the strip shopping center. But she had the feeling when she returned, he'd still be waiting, and not quite so patiently.

A group of teenagers on roller-blades skated by, one of them holding a miniature schnauzer on a leash. She smiled at the sight, something she'd probably never see in Deep River. But her smile slipped as she spotted the handsome, very sexy man walking toward her, and an excited little shiver zipped up her spine. At least six-two, lean and fit, with long legs that quickly covered the distance between them, he was the type of man who could attract a roomful of women without trying. It wasn't only his looks but his confidence, his dominating male presence.

When he stood before her, he asked, "Can I buy you supper?"

"If I hadn't mentioned my break, you would have waited till I quit for the day. Right?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Bradley..."

"Nathan. You have to eat supper. I have to eat supper. Is there any reason we shouldn't talk while we do?"

"You have an ulterior motive. This won't be much of a break for me."

"It's not an ulterior motive because you know what I want."

"Obviously, I need to watch what I say with you," she murmured.

The corners of his mouth twitched up. "Is that a yes or no?"

"If I say no, you'll be back. Let's get this over with."

The curve of his lips turned into a frown, indicating he was uncomfortable with her frankness. Gillian's gaze wanted to linger on those lips. They were full enough to be sensual, narrow enough to enhance the handsome aesthetics of his face. She could imagine one of his kisses--dominating, forceful, passion-filled.

The image startled her. She hadn't thought about kissing a man in over a year--since Brian had decided to reconcile with his ex-wife. She'd not only lost Brian but his son, too. At the time she'd thought her heart would break. But she'd buried herself in her work until she'd realized she no longer had a life outside of her work. Not eating, not sleeping, working twenty hours a day was a one-way road to disaster. Thank goodness she'd recognized her destructive direction in time.

"I don't know what you have in mind," she said, "but the chili and enchiladas are good at that stand over there."

Nathan perused the truck/restaurant set-up near an island with palm trees and benches. "I haven't had an enchilada in..." He shrugged. "Too long."

They walked side by side for a few moments, Nathan slowing his stride to Gillian's. The breeze ruffled his hair, making him look less formal and imposing. She thought he'd start making his case for her help, but he didn't.

His arm brushed hers, his suitcoat rough against her skin. "Have you always done manicures for a living?"

She registered the texture of the material, the strength of his arm, and her heart jumped at the contact. Managing a smile, she responded, "Would you believe I have a degree in business?"

"Neither seems appropriate for a psychic."

Her smile faded. "And what does? Theater arts?"

He stopped and faced her. "Okay. I stuck my foot in it. I didn't mean to insult you. But all this is strange to me. I'm a logical man. I make decisions and judgments from facts. I've always thought psychics were frauds. But my private investigator told me about crimes you've solved and people you've found. Even if I don't believe in it or understand it, what you do works."

"I don't understand it, either," she said quietly.

Nathan had been fascinated by the woman since he'd set his eyes on her. Looking at her now, her soft, long hair, those wonderful brown eyes, her slender curves wrapped in a pink cullotte dress with a white collar and lapels, his muscles tightened and he felt pangs of arousal.

Crazy. That usually didn't happen simply from looking.

Her soft voice, her calm wonder, urged him to step closer, to find out more about her. "Tell me about it. Were you born with this ability?"

She shook her head and pointed to the supper truck. They began walking again. "I don't think I was born with it. If I was, I didn't know it until I was ten. I was sitting on a dock fishing and a storm came up. The thunder and lightning hit fast. The next thing I knew I was lying flat on the dock, the rain pouring down on me. My head hurt and I was shaking all over. Mom found me that way, took me home, and put me to bed. We thought that was the end of it."

His P.I. had told Nathan that Gillian was from Indiana and had lived there all her life. She traveled often but had never moved from the town where she'd grown up. L.A. must be quite a change for her. "When did you realize something was different?"

"A few days later. Aunt Flora came to visit. When she hugged me, I saw this picture of her sitting at her kitchen table crying. I didn't understand it. Later, I overheard my aunt and my mother talking. My cousin had dropped out of high school and my aunt was terribly upset."

"And there was no way you could have known that."

"No."

"Did you tell your mom?"

"No. I was afraid of the pictures when they came and uncomfortable with the feelings. I kept it a secret until I was sixteen."

They reached the vending stand. Gillian ordered chili and cornbread while Nathan asked for an enchilada. She opened her purse, but he closed his hand over hers. Her skin was soft and warm and a jolt of desire more powerful than before stabbed him. "I've got it," he said, unable to keep the husky rasp from his voice.

Her gaze met his. The sparks of gold in the brown told him his touch affected her as much as hers affected him. She pulled away, and he let go.

Gillian busied herself pulling napkins from the holder while Nathan paid for and carried their plates to a bench. Picking up their sodas, she joined him. She'd no sooner settled on the bench with her soda by her shoe and the cup of chili with a wedge of cornbread perched on the edge in her hand when the schnauzer she'd seen earlier ran over to her and jumped up and down, finally landing with her paws on Gillian's knees.

Gillian laughed and held her dish a little higher, out of the dog's reach. "You might want supper, but I'm not sure you should have this."

One of the roller-bladers came skating over, his helmet under his arm, a leash dangling from his hand. "Sorry if she's botherin' you. She begs from everybody."

The boy was about twelve. His spiked brown hair was matted down from his helmet, his snapping brown eyes sparkled with amusement. Gillian asked him, "Can she have a bite?"

He grinned. "If you wanna give it to her."

Gillian tried to tear off a piece of the cornbread, but it slid into the chili. Nathan grabbed the dish and held it for her. Smiling her thanks, she took the small bite from the wedge and let the dog lick it from her hand. The schnauzer gulped it down and looked up at her for more. Laughing again, Gillian scratched the pet behind her ears. "I should have known that little bit wouldn't be enough."

As she touched the dog and rubbed her rough coat, Gillian felt her gaze pulled to the teenager again. He and the dog were connected by a strong bond of affection. A surge of energy made her fingers tingle and she automatically closed her eyes for a moment. A clear picture of a dark-haired woman on a porch came into focus. The woman was worried. Gillian had the distinct impression she was the boy's mother.

Opening her eyes, Gillian cast a wary look at Nathan. He was watching her closely. Should she say something to the boy about his mother? If she did, Nathan would know what had happened. Why had this vision come now? Since she'd left Indiana, she'd felt normal--no pictures, no knowledge she shouldn't have.

Gillian looked at the boy, knowing she couldn't let the woman in her mind's eye suffer unnecessarily. "I think your dog wants a full-course meal."

"What time is it?" he asked with a nod at Gillian's watch.

"Five-thirty."

"Geez. I was supposed to be home an hour ago. Mom's gonna be..." He stopped with a shrug as if a boy his age shouldn't worry about adult authority. Snapping the leash onto the dog's collar, he gave it a gentle tug. "C'mon, Peanut. We'll get us both some supper." He smiled at Gillian and skated over to his friends, who sat on the curb sipping sodas.

Nathan handed Gillian her plate. "What happened?"

"You saw what happened. I gave the dog a snack."

"When you touched the dog, you closed your eyes."

The man was too observant. "The boy's mother was worried about him."

"You felt that?"

"I saw that. She was standing on the porch waiting for him."

"You got that from petting the dog?" Nathan asked, astonished.

She'd faced expressions like his many times in the past. "Mr. Bradley..."

"Nathan," he reminded her.

Calling him by his first name seemed too familiar. She already knew she could be attracted to him. "This 'talent' I have isn't something I can turn off and on like a light switch. It's more unpredictable than the weather or earthquakes."

"You made him realize she was worried without saying it, without telling him you knew."

"That was easiest."

Nathan finished his enchilada and took a swig of soda before he spoke again. "My ex-wife took my daughters out of the country six months ago. I can't find them. My P.I. can't find them. Will you take my case?"

