Fathers and Other Strangers

Karen Templeton

Published by Silhouette Books

America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance

To all my online buds at AOL and eHarlequin, who are always there, even at three in the morning, for solace, support and frequently a damn good laugh.

Thanks for being the best "sisters" in the world.

To Jack and the boys, smooches for understanding why sometimes I really prefer when you're all somewhere else.

And to Gail C., as always.

"Why shouldn't I keep the dog?" Hank asked.

"Maybe it's time I had something else to talk to at night besides myself, y'know?"

His words echoed painfully in her own sparsely furnished heart as they pulled up in front of the cottage.

Slouched in his seat, his right hand still griping the steering wheel, Hank looked at her. "I might prefer to keep to myself most of the time, Miss Stanton, but I'm not an ogre." He hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry if I gave you that impression."

After a moment, she nodded, then ran up the porch steps to the relative safety of the cottage, away from the yearning in those dark eyes, a yearning she doubted he even knew was there. But once back inside, as she stood at the front window, she knew there was no reason not to tell Hank Logan he had a daughter.

Now all she had to do was figure out how.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another fabulous month of the most exciting romance reading around. And what better way to begin than with a new TALL, DARK & DANGEROUS novel from New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann? Night Watch has it all: an irresistible U.S. Navy SEAL hero, intrigue and danger, and—of course—passionate romance. Grab this one fast, because it's going to fly off the shelves.

Don't stop at just one, however. Not when you've got choices like Fathers and Other Strangers, reader favorite Karen Templeton's newest of THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY. Or how about Dead Calm, the long-awaited new novel from multiple-award-winner Lindsay Longford? Not enough good news for you? Then check out new star Brenda Harlen's Some Kind of Hero, or Night Talk, from the always-popular Rebecca Daniels. Finally, try Trust No One, the debut novel from our newest find, Barbara Phinney.

And, of course, we'll be back next month with more pulse-pounding romances, so be sure to join us then. Meanwhile…enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Books by Karen Templeton

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Anything

for His Children #978

Anything

for Her Marriage #1006

Everything

But a Husband #1050

Runaway Bridesmaid #1066

†Plain-Jane Princess #1096

†Honky-

Tonk Cinderella #1120

What

a Man's Gotta Do #1195

**Saving Dr. Ryan #1207

**Fathers

and Other Strangers #1244

Silhouette Yours Truly

*Wedding Daze

*Wedding Belle

*Wedding? Impossible!

KAREN TEMPLETON,

a Waldenbooks bestselling author and RITA® Award nominee, is the mother of five sons and living proof that romance and dirty diapers are not mutually exclusive terms. An Easterner transplanted to Albuquerque, New Mexico, she spends far too much time trying to coax her garden to yield roses and produce something resembling a lawn, all the while fantasizing about a weekend alone with her husband. Or at least an uninterrupted conversation.

She loves to hear from readers, who may reach her by writing c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001 New York, NY 10279, or online at www.karentempleton.com.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Lynda Sandoval Cooper, who helped me see things from a cop's perspective.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

"Ewww…why are we stopping here?"

Jenna Stanton cut the engine to her Corolla, then glanced over at the sour-faced thirteen-year-old girl she loved with all her heart. Usually. Ignoring the flood of terror now threatening to expel the contents of her stomach, Jenna forced a smile, wincing when her lower lip cracked. From behind her seat, Meringue let out a plaintive mew, protesting her incarceration in her carrier.

"This is the place I told you about," Jenna said, still gripping the steering wheel. "Where we're going to spend the month."

Blair shoved a tangled strand of copper-red hair behind one recently-pierced ear and crooked her neck to get a better look at the Double Arrow Guest Lodge. "It's a motel," she said, her words laced with a disgust usually reserved for fried liver and Disney movies.

"We're not staying in this part. There are cottages down by the lake."

That got a "yeah, right" look which immediately settled into a scowl. Not that Jenna blamed her; from this angle, the Double Arrow looked like any other two-bit motel—single story, beige stucco, utilitarian doors and windows. Maybe twelve units that Jenna could see, only three with cars parked out front. The cottages she'd have to take on faith, since they weren't visible from here.

Still, the place wasn't quite as puke-worthy as her niece would have the world believe. Quivering shadows from dozens of ashes and cottonwoods softened the stark, unimaginative architecture, caressed the occasional plot of perfectly mowed grass and tubs of vibrant annuals. The air was still and hot, yes, but the silence was thick and sweet and luscious, punctuated only by the occasional brilliant trill of some bird or other. From what little Jenna had seen, Haven, Oklahoma was already living up to its name. On the surface, at least.

"It's actually very pretty, don't you think?"

"It's boring."

Jenna squelched her sigh, as well as the urge to squirm from the perspiration seeping through her bra. "Oh, Blair…you'd say any place with a population of less than a million looked boring."

Resentful blue eyes zinged to Jenna's as Blair hooked her thin arms across a still-flat chest. She'd been a pretty baby—not to mention a cheerful one—but the onset of adolescence was not being kind, either physically or emotionally. Her hair was too fine, her legs too long, her teeth held prisoner by several thousand dollars' worth of intricate engineering. And the poor child had more freckles than there were lobbyists on Capitol Hill.

"I don't get it," Blair said, not quite whining but close enough to set Jenna's teeth on edge. "You always set your books in D.C. Always. Now you have to set one in Oklahoma?"

This would make…let's see…at least the fiftieth time they'd had this conversation since March, when Jenna had realized exactly how limited her options were. Plucking at her damp T-shirt—the car's air conditioner had given out around Nashville—she tried another smile. "I told you. I was getting burned out. I needed a change—"

"What am I supposed to do for a whole month while you write for ten hours a day?" Tears glistened in Blair's eyes, and Jenna's heart cracked. Guilt had practically eaten a hole in Jenna's heart already that she couldn't tell her niece the truth. Not yet, anyway. "I don't know anybody here! I mean, God, why didn't you send me to camp or something?"

Jenna swiped a hand through her own wind-tangled mop, still smelling slightly of the hair-coloring chemicals from her do-it-yourself job the day before. "One, you hate camp. And two, I told you, sweetie—I'm not planning on doing much actual writing. Just going over the galleys for my December book, maybe some preliminary scribbles for this new one, but that's about it. This is mostly a research trip. So we'll do lots of sightseeing, maybe some camping. You've always wanted to do that."

"Like you know anything about camping."

"Do you, smartypants?"

"No."

"Well, then, I suppose we can both learn."

Silence vibrated between them for a second or two until, in a flurry of jabbing elbows, Blair unhooked the seatbelt, fumbled with the door handle for a moment then shoved open the door. "I gotta pee," she announced, bolting from the car. The little pink pom-poms on the heels of her tennis socks wobbled frantically as she tromped toward the sign that said Office.

Jenna finally gave in to the sigh that had been building like a storm cloud for the past ten minutes, then grabbed her purse from under her seat and followed suit, tugging at the seat of her cargo shorts. It wasn't fair to Blair, dragging her out here like this. And guilt that she couldn't tell her niece the truth had practically eaten a hole in Jenna's heart. She couldn't tell her the truth yet, anyway. If things didn't work out, maybe not ever. But all she could do was take this one step at a time and hope for the best.

Her sandals crunched the sandy dirt as she followed her niece toward the office, willing saliva back into her mouth. Thank God there'd been at least a barebones Web site for the place. Otherwise, she would have had a devil of a time explaining how she'd just happened to stumble across the Double Arrow, located on the outskirts of a town too small to show up on most maps to begin with.

She'd only spoken to Hank Logan once, when she called and asked about renting one of his cottages for the month. His voice was burned into her memory—low, edgy and heavily seasoned with sarcasm. A voice completely at odds with the image of a man who'd buy a run-down motel and—according to the information she had—single-handedly restore it, shingle by shingle.

A voice completely at odds with neatly trimmed grass and tubs of cheerful petunias and marigolds.

"Something I can do for you?"

Yeah. That voice.

Blair whipped around first, her hand poised to knock on the office door. But Jenna froze, watching her niece's face, even though Blair wouldn't have a clue who she might be looking at. Conversely, while Blair looked nothing like Jenna's sister Sandy, if she looked anything like Hank—if he could see something in her niece's face that he recognized—Jenna was screwed. Then again, if he didn't, this whole outrageous scheme of hers might be a total waste of time. A name in a diary, a few coincidences, was all she had. What she didn't have was proof.

Between the chronic shyness she'd never completely overcome and the particulars of this situation, Jenna's stomach once again threatened mutiny as she forced herself to turn around.

The good news was, Blair looked nothing like Hank Logan.

The bad news was, Blair looked nothing like Hank Logan.

"Is there a bathroom I can use?" her niece asked, her high-pitched voice knifing through Jenna's pounding heartbeat.

"Right through that door and to your right. Go ahead, it's unlocked."

Then eyes cryptic as midnight focused on Jenna, and her stomach turned inside out.

* * *

It took less than a second for Hank to size the woman up as the one who'd called from D.C. a few weeks back. Not that her pale-green T-shirt and khaki shorts were fancy or anything, but something about her—her stance, the way she'd shoved her sunglasses on top of her head to hold back her messed-up blond hair, her prissy little sandals—just told him she was.

He shrugged off the wooden ladder biting into his shoulder to rest it against the trunk of a nearby cottonwood, then grabbed his black T-shirt from the rung where he'd slung it earlier. He used it to make a half-assed attempt at wiping the dust and sweat off his face, then yanked it on over his head, trying to remember the last time it'd rained.

Lord, she was staring at him like she'd never seen a man's chest before. Which he might have found amusing, once upon a time. Now he just found it annoying. But then, he found most things about women annoying these days.

Then he remembered his manners and said, "You Jenna Stanton?" Hank was not a man inclined to use more words than necessary.

She nodded, pale-blue eyes wary in a face free of any makeup that he could tell, her wide mouth set in a no-nonsense expression that matched what he remembered about her voice. He pegged her to be about his age, pushing forty, maybe a little older. The breeze blew her straight, light hair into her face; she shoved it back. She looked hot.

He almost smiled at the words' double meaning.

She looked kinda scared, too. Like maybe she was afraid of him. Well, hell, he'd be afraid of him, too, if he saw himself for the first time. Bad enough his parents' first successful attempt at procreation had resulted in a face that was all angles and jutting bones without Hank's embellishing their handiwork with a twice-broken nose, an effect only intensified by a head of ornery black hair, a throwback to some Native American ancestor or other. He'd been told he could look mean without even trying, which had worked in his favor when he'd been a cop. Now it just kept folks from messing in his business, which was fine with him. And if they were tempted, all he had to do was add a scowl to the mix, and that pretty much settled the issue.

"I take it you're Mr. Logan?" she said, finally.

"You got it."

The woman looked as if she might step closer, then seemed to think better of it. "I'm Jenna Stanton. I spoke to you on the phone a few weeks ago? About renting a cottage?"

"Yeah. I figured that's who you were."

"Oh. Well, um, I know we're a little early, but I was wondering if our cottage is ready?"

Hank almost grinned at that, too. He picked up the ladder, walked past her to thunk it against the outside office wall. "Well, ma'am, this is your lucky day. The previous occupants checked out ahead of schedule."

"So…the cottages are more popular than the single units?"

Annoyance started to burn, right in the middle of his gut, only half because he'd wasted a perfectly good sarcastic comment. "It's early yet. Things'll pick up in a couple weeks. So, you ready for me to show you to your cottage or what?"

She was giving him of one those figuring-out looks that women were so good at and that Hank hated with a passion. She crammed her hands into her shorts pockets, which is when Hank decided she had pretty nice legs. For a woman her age. "I forgot to ask when I spoke with you before—what are the cooking facilities like?"

Hank felt his brows take a dive. "Julia Child probably wouldn't wet her pants over them, but long as you don't mind bein' creative, I'm sure you'll get by okay. And by the way, there's no air-conditioning in the cottages, 'cause the old units weren't any good and I haven't gotten around to replacing 'em yet. All the rooms have ceiling fans, though."

Her mouth twisted. "You sound as if you're daring me to stay."

"Nope. Just stating facts."

"I see. Well, Mr. Logan—" she plucked her sunglasses off her head, only to stick them right back up there "—I am hot, have just enough of a headache to be considered dangerous and have spent the last two days on the road with a crabby teenager who's convinced she's just been consigned to hell. As long as there's indoor plumbing, the mattresses don't look like flophouse rejects and I don't have to share the place with various and sundry critters, I'll be a happy camper."

Hell, he could practically see her pulse ramming in her throat from here. Maybe her words sounded tough, but her eyes—heavy-lidded, deep-set under naturally arched brows—told a whole other story. Too bad he had no idea what that story was. Like most men, Hank was totally clueless when it came to reading women's minds. However, his cop instincts were rattling around in his brain, telling him that something seemed funny about this. And it was going to bug him to death until he figured out what.

"Well," he said, scratching his unshaven chin and playing the hayseed to the hilt, "the mattresses are all new, the plumbing's old but it usually works, and if you see any wildlife inside, I'll be happy to send somebody up to shoot it for you. How's that?"

She paled. "I don't want to kill anything. I just want to be sure it all stays outside, where it belongs."

Hank hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "Well, honey—" he used the endearment deliberately, figuring it would set her off, which wasn't something he normally did but something about this one just begged for it "—I hate to break it to you, but where you've got country, you've got critters. And since they were here first, they don't have too many qualms about wandering on inside a place if the mood strikes. The four-legged ones'll generally run back out if you make enough noise, and the six- or eight-legged ones you can just squish. So, that was a two-bedroom you wanted, right?"

He stepped into the office, a wood-paneled affair boasting a counter with a computer on it, a hookboard with the keys, a phone, and a couple of slightly beat-up chairs he'd gotten off Curly Mason after his wife left him and he couldn't bear to look at her stuff anymore. Oh, and some photos of the area the former owners had put up about a million years ago which Hank hadn't gotten around to taking down. The kid, he saw, was studying them with a tight frown wrinkling her forehead. Red-headed and peppered with freckles, she was going to be taller than her mama, he imagined, who was taller than average to begin with.

He heard Jenna Stanton's footsteps behind him. Waited for a reaction that didn't happen. Except, when she spoke, her tone had gone all tight-assed.

"Yes, a two-bedroom," she said, then added, "and I forgot something else. I need a phone jack for my Internet connection."

The key already in his hand, Hank made a face, then turned around and exchanged that key for another. See, that's what was bugging him. If she was so damn picky, why hadn't she asked about all this earlier? And why would a woman like her want to stay way the hell out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway? Especially with a teenager who was probably gonna be nothing but a pain in the can the whole time they were here. Just didn't add up.

"There's a jack in this one," he said, holding up the key. Good thing he'd had Cherise clean out more than one cabin. "Former owners used to live there, so it's got more outlets, too. Although, if you don't mind my asking, what kind of operation you planning on running while you're here?"

The girl moved on to the next set of pictures, as though she was trying to pretend none of this was going on.

"No operation," the woman said with a tight-lipped smile. "I'm a writer. I'm here…doing research for my next book."

"Huh," Hank said, not missing the kid's snort in response. "Okay, you can sign right—" he turned the register around and handed her a pen "—here."

She signed left-handed. A left hand adorned with a wide gold wedding band and a knock-your-socks off engagement ring. An observation that provoked more brain-rattling, even as Hank told his brain to go lie down and be quiet, already.

He turned the register around. Her handwriting was strong, the letters uneven but legible. "Will…Mr. Stanton be joining you?"

"No."

He looked up, but she hadn't. "Credit card?"

"Oh. Of course." She switched the small leather purse sitting on her hip around and up onto the counter, dug out her wallet and a credit card. Her nails were short; she didn't wear any perfume that he could tell, although whatever she used in her hair was smelling up the whole office. From the heat, he supposed. He swiped a blank receipt, then handed her back the card.

"And…what do you do with the receipt?" she asked.

"Goes into the safe until you check out. Nobody can get to it except me. You can drive on around to the cottage—yours is the second one you'll come to, with the blue porch." He hesitated. "You need any help unloading the car?"

For a second or two, that wary gaze—now blended with a touch of pissed-offedness—tangled with his. "No," she said. "We can handle it." Then she straightened her shoulders and turned to the girl. "Blair, sweetie? You ready?" Obviously expecting the gal to follow, Jenna Stanton pivoted on her fancy little shoe and headed back outside.

"Yeah, ready to barf," the girl muttered as she slowly trudged after.

* * *

Jenna stood on the cottage's front porch, soaking in the peaceful view, giving herself a chance to get both her breath and her bearings. The lake, maybe fifty yards away, was more of a large pond, but it sparkled prettily in the sunshine, and there was a dock jutting out from the shore, so maybe there was swimming. Or wading. Something. A dense grove of trees bordered the far shore, a thousand shades of lush green back-dropped by the blurred blues and purples of the Ozark foothills in the distance. It was hot, and the mosquitoes had major attitude, but God, it was beautiful.

She inhaled as deeply as she could, letting her breath out slowly as she leaned against a support post, willing her neck muscles to unknot.

Well. About the best Jenna could say of her first encounter with Hank Logan was that she'd gotten through it relatively unscathed. Relatively being a, well, relative term. Criminy, she wouldn't be surprised if her hair was standing on end. Damned if she could define her reaction, though. Oh, she could come up with a bunch of words, they just didn't fit together in any sort of logical pattern. Except for one thing: based strictly upon her first impression, Hank Logan was only about a millimeter above her sister Sandy's usual taste in men. He was scruffy—it was everything Jenna could do not to ask when he was planning to shave—he was close enough to rude to make the finals, and he clearly didn't have a shred of affinity for children, if his completely ignoring Blair was any indication.

And damned if he hadn't set her hormones to blaring like a city full of drunken revelers on Mardi Gras.

Geez Louise, she thought as she trekked down the porch steps to get her last bag, she really had been living in a cave these past three years, hadn't she? Since when did she lust after men who looked as though they lived in one?

Since when did she lust, period?

Knowing what she did about Hank Logan's recent past, she supposed she'd have to make allowances. To a point. After all, it wasn't much of a stretch to assume his brusque demeanor masked a whole gamut of emotions he probably hadn't yet handled. Maybe couldn't handle, given both his gender and his former occupation. Still, there was no way she was going to let any of that—or her totally off-the-wall reaction—cloud her judgment.

Jenna returned to the cottage, thunking the bag in the middle of the worn but clean braided rug that took up most of the scuffed wooden floor in the sitting area. Okay, so the place was no five-star hotel. No surprise there. But then, she hadn't stayed in one of those since she was a child. Phil's income from his paintings had been far too spotty to allow for such things. And even though her last three or four Stella Moon mysteries had done well, all those years of trying to build a readership—after nearly a decade of trying to convince some publisher, somewhere, to take a chance on her writing—had left her so far in debt for so long, she still hadn't gotten used to the idea of having money in the bank.

Jenna crossed to the nearest window, keeping an eye out for furry or scaly uninvited guests. So far, so good. She pushed aside the wooden bi-fold shutters and cranked open the window, noting that the screening was new, the windowsill freshly painted. Unfortunately, the outside air seemed totally disinterested in venturing inside, making her even more grateful for the protective canopy of trees shading the lot.

She made a quick check of the bedrooms, which were small but scrupulously clean, simply but adequately furnished. And yes, the mattresses—she yanked back the bedding to check—did indeed appear to be new. The pillows were synthetic, however. And Blair had given her grief for bringing their own goosedown ones. Hah!

Basking in her own smugness as she fanned herself in the sweltering heat, Jenna returned to the living area where she opened more windows, pausing only to flip the switch to the large ceiling fan and frown at the back of her niece's head. Or at least, what she could see peering over the arm of the Mission-style sofa hunkered against one paneled wall. As usual, Blair was plugged into her Discman, Her Royal Felinity draped across her stomach. Jenna walked over, unplugged one ear: the Hottie du Jour—Jenna no longer even tried to keep up with who was in and who wasn't—held forth tinnily from the earpiece. A purring Meringue yawned, then disinterestedly batted at the dangling cord.

"Hey—which room do you want?"

Blair made a face. Shrugged. Grabbed the earpiece from Jenna and rammed it back into place.

Reminding herself that this was no time to lose her patience, Jenna left Blair to her sulk and cranked open the next window, finally letting in some air. Hallelujah. Thus fortified, she returned to her niece and repeated the unplugging procedure. "Well, why don't you go look at them and decide?"

That got a disgusted look. "I don't care, okay? Geez, Jenna—there isn't even a pool or anything. And it smells funny in here."

"It's just a little musty because it's been closed up," Jenna said, although she had to admit the aroma was doing nothing for a tummy already on the fritz from nervousness, exhaustion and heat. "It'll clear out now that the windows are open." And after I get my hands on some Lysol. "And maybe we can swim in the lake."

Horror streaked across her niece's features. "There's probably, like, fish and…things in there! And seaweed! Gross!"

Jenna pointed out it would be tricky for seaweed to grow in a freshwater pond. Especially in the middle of the continent. Then, commandeering the last shreds of her quickly fading energy, she swatted her niece on the sole of her sneaker. "Come on—I need you to help me lug in the cooler. Then we can see about doing something for dinner. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Although, to be truthful, the last thing Jenna wanted to think about right now was food. No, actually, the last thing she wanted to think about was Hank Logan. Or any of the reasons why they were there to begin with. All she really wanted to do was go to sleep for about a week and forget about moody nieces, revelations in diaries, P.I. reports and newspaper clippings and sexy, rumpled, grumpy men with bedroom voices who wigged out her hormones.

Speaking of grumpy…Blair actually deigned to haul her tush off the sofa and out to the car, dumping a miffed Meringue onto the floor in the process.

Jenna's spirits lifted, just a little. Miffed cats she could handle.

Springing earth-shattering news on people was something else again.

* * *

"Jenna! Jenna—wake up!"

Fighting her way out of a dream, Jenna pried open one eye and looked—if you could call it that—at Blair. "Wha—?"

"The toilet's overflowing!"

At this point, Jenna experienced one of Life's Little Truisms, which is that one's urge to pee is in direct proportion to the discovery that there's no toilet. Especially when one last went—Jenna finally screwed up enough oomph to peer at her travel clock—ten hours ago.

"Jenna! It's like really coming out fast, all over the bathroom!"

Three seconds later found Jenna wading through the inch of surprisingly frigid water rapidly threatening the living room. Cursing and muttering, she prayed there was a turn-off valve under the toilet, both because she didn't relish the idea of swamp living and because the gushing water was doing nothing for her full bladder.

There was. Unfortunately, it wouldn't budge. Cursing and muttering more loudly, especially at the dumb cat who got right smack in her path, Jenna sloshed out of the bathroom and across the living room to the kitchen, where the valve under the kitchen sink did work. Which stopped the flooding—which was the good news—but also shut off the water for the entire cabin. Which was the bad.

She swore again, a meatier word this time, then stomped back to the bathroom, grabbed the spare roll of toilet paper off the commode, said, "I'll be right back" and hotfooted it outside, still in her shortie pj's. When she returned a few minutes later, Blair was standing on the porch, her expression duly horror-stricken.

"You went in public?"

"Yes, Blair," Jenna said, zipping past her and on into her room, where she rummaged in her still-packed bags, grabbing the first things that came to hand. Okay, she was now officially in a bad mood. Dammit—she had planned to sleep in. She had planned on a bracing run, then a leisurely shower. She had not planned on dealing with Hank Logan before coffee. Or a shower. "I went all the way back to the road and squatted right where anybody coming or going could see me. For heaven's sake—" she quickly hauled on shorts and a white T-shirt "—it was just me and about five million startled birds."

She turned to face her niece, whose expression had changed from horrified to disgusted. Jenna grabbed her Redskins ball cap from the nightstand and crammed her hair up into it, feeling about as attractive as grout gunk. "I'm going to report this. You might as well get dressed while I'm gone, since I guess we're having breakfast in town. TP's on the coffee table if you need it."

"This was a really stupid idea, Jenna."

Jenna looked up and saw the tears cresting on her niece's lower lids. On a sigh, she closed the gap between them, pulling the girl into her arms.

"I'm sorry things started out so badly," she whispered into her niece's soft, slippery hair. "But it'll get better. I promise."

Then she left before the hysterical laughter escaped.

* * *

Even after more than two years, Hank still occasionally had mornings where he'd jerk awake in a sweat, gasping for air as though somebody'd dumped a load of wet cement on his chest.

Shutting his eyes against the almost painful pounding of his heart, he rolled himself up to sit on the edge of his bed, fumbling for his cigarettes. His hands shook so badly it took him three tries to get the damn lighter working. He'd actually quit for several months a year or so ago, but between the memories during the day and the night terrors…well, the smoking seemed the lesser of the evils, frankly.

He took his first drag of the morning and waited for his heart rate to settle down. Ryan, his pain-in-the-ass brother, who happened also to be Haven's sole M.D., ragged on Hank whenever he saw him about the smoking. Which was one reason Hank tended to stay out of Ryan's way. Besides—damn, how long was it gonna take for the nicotine to kick in, already?—it wasn't like he had any real reason to prolong his life….

Aw, hell. Who was banging the crap out of the office bell this early?

He swore, took a last pull on the cigarette and stamped it out, then yanked on the pair of jeans he'd left by the bed the night before. Didn't bother with underwear. The way he figured it, if this was who he figured it was at—what the hell time was it, anyway?—seven-fifteen in the morning, she should be grateful he bothered getting dressed at all.

For some reason, the image of Jenna Stanton's expression at the sight of him in the altogether brought a glimmer of sunshine to what was undoubtedly fixing to be a rotten day.

"You can lay off the bell now," he said, jerking open the door between his apartment and the front office. Predictably enough, she jumped back, her eyes huge underneath the brim of her ball cap, her breasts straining against the fabric of her tucked-in T-shirt like a pair of little—very little—kids' faces pressed against a candy shop window.

"Mr. Logan! What if this had been Blair?" She flapped her hands at him; he bet she'd be fit to be tied if she realized how red her cheeks were. "Please—g-go back and finish getting dressed. I'm not in that much of a hurry."

Hank's accession to her demands extended as far as snapping his jeans' waistband. And while he wouldn't go so far as to say he was enjoying watching her watching him, he did have to admit he was getting a perverse sort of pleasure out of ruffling Ms. Stanton's very ruffleable feathers.

"You come knockin' before 8:00 a.m., Ms. Stanton, you take me as you find me. Now am I correct in assuming you're not here to invite me to breakfast?"

Her eyes snapped to his. "The t-toilet was overflowing. In the cabin. I turned off the main valve to the cabin, but now we obviously have no running water. So it needs to be fixed right away."

Hank scratched his chin, thinking maybe he'd get around to shaving today. Or maybe not. He'd have to think on it for a bit. "No water, huh? You need to use my can?" He nodded toward the apartment.

"No, I don't need to use your…bathroom. We, um…"

In spite of himself, he felt a grin tugging at his mouth, if not chasing away what was left of the nightmare, at least dulling its effects somewhat. Lord, but it had been a long time since he'd had this much fun yanking a woman's chain.

"I take it, Ms. Stanton, you have enough sense not to use leaves to—"

"Blair and I are going into town for breakfast," she interrupted, her cheeks full-out blazing now. "I…I'd appreciate it if you could see to the problem before we get back?"

Then she turned on her heel—rope-soled shoes today—and stormed out, her fanny not daring to move a single extra muscle as she went.

"Ms. Stanton?"

She turned, brows hoisted. Hank dug in his jeans pocket and extracted a five-dollar bill. "Since you're going into town anyway, d'you suppose you could bring me back a bacon and egg sandwich from Ruby's? With a side of hash browns? Oh, and while you're at it—" he went on a second excavation for another five "—get me a chocolate shake, too."

For a good two or three seconds, she regarded him with what could only be described as a cross between stupefaction and profound pity. But she tromped back over to the counter and snatched the bills from Hank's hands. "I suppose that's the least I can do in exchange for your checking out my plumbing so early in the morning." In rapid succession, she blushed, cleared her throat, and said, "You drink milk shakes for breakfast?"

For some dumb reason, a big old smile stretched across Hank's face. "Spoken truly like somebody who's never had one of Ruby's chocolate shakes."

She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, only to spin around again. This time, he let her make it all the way outside, thinking he sure did like that indignant little backside of hers.

Yep, Jenna Stanton might be a priss, but she was a damned attractive priss. In fact, she was the kind of woman that set a man's hands itching to stroke some of the starch right out of her, to back her up to whatever was handy and kiss her senseless. Just for the challenge, y'know?

And Hank was damned grateful that he was old enough, and, he hoped, smart enough, to know that he had no business thinking he might be that man.

Chapter 2

Jenna had read about places like this—hell, she'd written about places like this—but before this morning, she'd never experienced one live and in person. Judging from Blair's owl-eyed expression, her niece wasn't exactly sure what to make of Ruby's Café, either.

Blair leaned forward. "God, it looks like a movie set or something."

Jenna leaned over as well. "I know. And don't say 'God.' It's tacky."

Blair made a face, then slouched back against the seat. A pretty brunette waitress in standard-issue pink sleaze had already given them menus and poured Jenna a cup of decaf. The place was crowded, mostly with men in various permutations of denim and cotton jersey. Over a constant stream of good-natured insults and laughter and you-reckon-it's-ever-gonna-rain-agains?, dishes clattered and bacon sizzled on the grill behind the counter. And, despite the inauspicious start to the morning, Jenna started to feel better. A little.

Then she picked up her cup. And there, shimmering like a mirage in her decaf, stood Hank Logan, half-naked and freshly aroused. Awake. Awake, she corrected herself, quickly lowering the heavy ceramic cup back into its saucer.

Blair frowned. "What's the matter? Your cheeks are all pink."

"Nothing." Jenna tried a smile. "Did you sleep okay?"

That got a shrug.

"Charmaine told me we had visitors," a rich voice intoned over their heads. Jenna looked up into a round, dark, beaming face topped with short white hair. "How're you folks doing today?" As Jenna and Blair mumbled their "fines," the woman, dressed in a loose white shirt and pale-blue polyester pants, topped Jenna's still-full coffee cup, then said, "Glad to hear it. I'm Ruby Kennedy. My husband Jordy and I run this place, so if there's anything you don't see on the menu, just go on ahead and ask, and we'll see what we can do. Although I'm thinking seriously about making up some blueberry pancakes, if that might be of interest to anybody." She looked pointedly at Blair, who in turn looked pointedly at Jenna with something almost like interest flickering in her blue eyes.

Jenna chuckled. "Go for it, sweetie."

"C'n I have coffee, too?"

"Nice try, and you know the answer. Juice or milk."

For a second, the grump face reappeared, but then, on a sigh, Blair said she'd like the blueberry pancakes with orange juice. Please.

"How about some bacon or sausage with that?" Ruby asked.

Blair visibly shuddered. "I don't eat meat."

Ruby's brows lifted, but all she said was, "And what about you, baby?" to Jenna. "You want the blueberry pancakes, too?"

"Actually, no, I think I'll stick with a bowl of Special K and a grapefruit half."

Now Ruby laughed. "Lord, no wonder you're so skinny. But if that's what floats your boat, who am I to say? Okay, we'll get that right out to you—"

"Oh, wait!" Jenna called out to Ruby as she started to leave. "I just remembered—I'm supposed to bring back breakfast for Mr. Logan, too."

"Mr. Logan? Which one?"

She and Blair exchanged glances. "There's more than one?"

"Three, as a matter of fact. Brothers. Although one's a doctor, not a mister. Which one you want breakfast for?"

"Uh…Hank." Shouldn't the P.I. have told her there were brothers? "The one who runs the Double Arrow."

That was worth a frown and a pair of crossed arms underneath a prodigious bosom. "You stayin' out there?"

"We're renting one of the cottages for the month, yes."

"Where you from, honey? If you don't mind my asking."

"D.C. Why?"

"And you came all the way out here to stay in one of Hank Logan's cottages?"

Jenna tried to staunch the uneasiness beginning to fester in her stomach. If her and Blair's staying there looked odd to this Ruby person, who else might find it suspicious?

Then Blair chimed in with, "My aunt's a writer. She's here doing research for her next book."

Ruby's gaze drifted back to Jenna. "Is that a fact? You written anything I might have read?"

Feeling the familiar panic rising in her throat as several heads in the vicinity turned in her direction, Jenna mumbled her pen name. Ruby's face lit up.

"You're kidding? You're Jennifer Phillips? Who writes those Stella Moon books? Land, honey, I've read all of those so many times, they're like to fall apart. Hey, Jordy," she yelled back toward the counter, where a big, bald black man in a sparkling white T-shirt and apron was manning the griddle, "guess who's sitting right here in our diner? Jennifer Phillips, that writer I've been telling you about!"

"No fooling?" Jordy glanced over his shoulder, never missing a beat as he flipped what looked like dozens of pancakes onto several plates, garnishing them with bacon or sausage before setting them out on the counter and hollering to the two waitresses. Then, wiping his hands on a towel, he came out from behind the counter and over to Jenna's table, his wide grin showing off a gold tooth that coordinated quite nicely with his earring.

"You sure do write some good books, Ms. Phillips. I never can figure out whodunnit until the end, and I almost always do with other mystery writers."

After a minute's conversation, Ruby and Jordy went back to the kitchen, but not before five or six other patrons left their seats and came over, all apparently tickled to death to meet her, asking if she'd mind autographing their copies of her books for them while she was there and what her next book was going to be about and if she needed any ideas, you know, in case she got that writer's block.

To Jenna's surprise, the panic that invariably made her palms sweat and her stomach knot up so badly she'd stopped doing book signings altogether never really developed. Why, she didn't know, other than maybe, even though it didn't make any sense, these people didn't really feel like strangers.

Ruby brought their breakfast over to them herself, shooing everyone away "so these people can eat their breakfast in peace." Then Ruby asked Blair how old she was, and when Blair said thirteen, Ruby said Sam Frazier had a girl the same age, he had a farm just out behind the Double Arrow, and wouldn't it be nice if Blair and Libby Frazier could get together, since Ruby imagined that Libby, who apparently had five younger brothers, might appreciate having another girl to talk to?

Not until a young woman came in, her arms loaded with what looked like pie boxes—"Six apples, three peaches and three cherries, right?" she called out to Ruby, who went to relieve her of her burden—did peace finally descend. About halfway through her grapefruit—which was plump and sweet—Jenna looked over to see Blair looking at her with a funny expression on her face.

"What now?"

"Nothing. It's just that it must be so cool, to have all those people saying how much they like your books and stuff." She crammed a huge bite of pancake into her mouth and said around it, "I mean, I would think it was, anyway."

"Well, yes. It is." A wry smile tilted her lips. "It's certainly a nice change from rotten reviews."

"Then why don't you do book signings anymore?"

Jenna's fingers tightened around the serrated spoon. "You know why, honey."

Her brows dipped. "How come it's okay for you to be scared of something, but if I say I am, you tell me I have to face it anyway?"

Jenna took a deep breath, then dared to meet her niece's gaze, deciding the din of chatter and clanking silverware on stoneware was sufficient to mask their own conversation. She'd never really understood the debilitating shyness that had made her childhood a living hell, or why it had pretty much faded away for so many years only to make a cruel and equally puzzling comeback after Phil's death. The only thing she did understand about it was that she never knew when it was going to strike. And that she'd gotten tired of fighting it, unless she had to.

Like now.

"It's not okay for me to be afraid, Blair. And as far as facing things that frighten me…" She stopped, thinking about why they were here, about how whatever decisions she made could change her world. Then the memory of Hank Logan's unapologetically harsh features crashed into her thoughts, speeding up her heart rate, making her skin go clammy, her stomach lurch. Speaking of facing things that scared her.

"I don't mean to come across as sounding callous, sweetie," Jenna said. "Or as if I don't think your fears are valid. I do understand, I swear." She shook her head, frowning at her grapefruit as she dug out a segment. "I also know what it's like to let them cripple you."

"But you were fine just then—"

"Blair, please." Jenna lowered her voice. "I know I was. But I don't know why I was. So can we please just drop the subject—"

"I am so sorry," Ruby said, reappearing at their table. "With all the excitement, I completely forgot to take Hank's order so I can have it ready for you when you get ready to go. Although I can probably guess—bacon and egg sandwich, side of hash browns and a chocolate shake, right?"

In spite of her quaking stomach, Jenna smiled. "I take it he comes in regularly?"

"Baby, men are so predictable, it's pitiful. Even though, no, actually, he hardly comes in anymore, not since he moved back. But when he was a kid, he'd come in here just about every day, order the same thing each time. I'd be real surprised to hear he'd changed his stripes."

"He hasn't," Jenna said, and Ruby laughed. After calling out the order to Jordy, she turned back to Jenna.

"And how about you? Can I get you anything else?"

"No, I think that will do," Jenna said, reaching for her purse. On the other side of the restaurant, she heard the whirrr of the old-fashioned milk-shake machine. She looked up in time to see Jordy dump in enough thick, rich, gooey chocolate syrup to coat the entire state. She felt her lips part, her eyes glaze over, as lust swept through her.

She looked up into Ruby's knowing, dark eyes, connecting on a level as basic as life itself. "On second thought…"

"Jordy?" Ruby called over.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Need another chocolate shake over here—"

Blair raised her hand.

"Make that three."

Jenna and Blair looked at each other and started to giggle.

* * *

After he'd fixed the john, Hank had a moment's tussle with himself over whether to go on back to the office or stay put and wait for his breakfast right there. Either way, he'd have to talk to Jenna. Of course, if he hadn't asked her to bring back his breakfast, it wouldn't even be an issue, now would it?

He decided to stay. What the hell, he'd already left a note on the office door, in case anyone needed to find him. Well, you never knew.

The metal toolbox clattered mightily when he set it on the porch, right behind the railing. Plunking his butt on the steps, he lit up, then leaned back on his elbows, scratching his chest through the "This Old House" T-shirt Ryan's new wife Maddie had given him as a joke last Christmas. He'd taken a fast shower after Jenna's wake-up call, so at least he smelled okay. Still hadn't bothered to shave, though. Seemed a waste of time.

A mountain jay squawked overhead, setting off a twittering chorus from sparrows and finches. It was going to be hot as hell later, but right now the breeze messing with his still-damp hair was just the right temperature, gliding like a woman's fingertips over his skin. Except for his growling stomach, he might almost believe he was at peace. Except he knew he wasn't. And probably never would be. Some things, you just don't make peace with.

The force shrink had suggested he find something to keep him too busy and too tired to brood. A six-month leave had been the plan. Except then this place had come on the market, dirt-cheap, and he'd snapped it up, even though he'd had no idea what he thought he was going to do with a guest lodge. Still didn't. But damned if the shrink hadn't been right—if it was mind-numbing you were after, nothing beat day after eighteen-hour day of grueling manual labor. Still, it was like learning to live without a limb; you adjusted, and you got by, but you never knew when the phantom pain would strike. And that alone was enough to make him vow to never set himself up for that kind of pain again.

Hank stared at the cigarette in his hand, frowning for a second or two, then lifted his gaze toward the lake, sparkling in the distance. Maybe he'd take a dip later, after he finished redoing those gutters on Number 6….

He stood when he heard Jenna Stanton's Toyota chugging up the road. Kinda on the old side, the car was. But then Toyota owners tended to hang on to the things until they rusted out from under them.

She pulled up alongside the cottage; both doors swung open, both females emerged, sucking like mad on straws poking up out of Ruby's bright-red take-out cups. A plastic bag swung from Jenna's left hand, the white foam carry-out box clearly visible through it. Hank's mouth started to water.

From underneath the brim of her cap, questions flickered in those chilly blue eyes. She handed him the bag, the kid making a great show of swatting at the air in front of her. The girl's eyes were blue, too, he saw. Darker, though.

"Smoking is so gross!"

The straw popped out of Jenna's mouth. "Blair!"

"No, she's right, it is," Hank said, grinding the cigarette into the dirt with the toe of his workboot. "I just happen to like gross things."

The young gal shuddered, then stormed up the steps and on inside, making loud slurpy noises with her straw. The screen door slammed shut behind her; Hank looked at Jenna. "She out to save the world?"

"One deluded soul at a time." She sucked on her own straw for a moment, then said, "So. We have water again?"

"Yep. Much as you want. And only when you want. I changed out the kitchen sink washer, too, since it was about to go." Which is what he should do—go, instead of standing here and chit-chatting like some yahoo. "The cat will back me up, seeing as he watched my every move."

"Wow." More sucking. "You're talented. And Meringue's a she."

"I should've known." Then, for some oddball reason, he sat back down on the steps and dug his breakfast out of the bag, adding, "Anyway, my daddy's motto was if you can't fix it, you shouldn't own it."

After apparently giving the matter some thought, Jenna sat, too, leaning up against the opposite railing. "Too bad that philosophy doesn't work with kids," she said, shoving a strand of hair back up under the hat.

"Eh, your daughter's not so bad. A bit anal, maybe, but then, I suppose she just takes after her mother."

When several moments passed, Hank figured he'd probably ticked Jenna off. But before he could make up his mind whether to apologize or not, she said, "Blair's not my daughter. She's my niece."

He'd nearly had his chompers around that sandwich, boy, the doughy white bread all soaked with bacon grease just the way he liked it. Now he looked up. Jenna was still sucking on that straw. He thought for a moment, then took a bite anyway. "Where's her mama?"

She lowered the cup, toyed with the plastic lid for a moment. "She died a few months ago."

Hank swore softly, then took another bite of the sandwich before its innards slid out of the bread and landed in his lap. "That's rough on a kid. I was a senior in high school when my mama passed, and it was still hard." He wiped his hands on one of about fifty napkins Ruby'd sent along. "I guess she's entitled to be a little…you know."

Jenna didn't smile so much as her face seemed to relax. "Yeah. She is."

"So she lives with you now?"

She fiddled with the straw for a bit, screaking it in and out of the plastic lid. "Actually, she's been living with me since she was a baby. My husband and I raised her. My sister…wasn't exactly a constant in her daughter's life."

Hank swallowed, trying to figure out what was bothering him so much about this conversation. Cop instincts again, he decided, keeping an eye out for body language that would alert him that she was lying or something. But all he saw was a pretty lady with her hair crammed up in a stupid hat, her mouth creased some from sucking so hard on that straw.

She nodded toward his sandwich. "How's your breakfast?"

"What? Oh…good." He took another bite, then unwrapped his own straw, poking it into the little hole on the plastic lid. Some of the chocolate oozed out around the base. For some reason, Hank's throat got dry. He looked up at Jenna, her cheeks sunk in as she sucked on her own straw, and his throat got dryer. Then his lips curved up in a smile.

"That wouldn't be a chocolate shake by any chance, would it?"

She let go of the straw and smiled as well. Not full out, maybe, but it was something. "As a matter of fact, it is." Her eyes glittered like aquamarines underneath the hat brim. "This is absolutely the best chocolate milk shake I have ever had."

"See? What did I tell ya?"

She took another short pull, then lowered the cup again, her eyes narrowed. But that almost-smile still flirted with her lips. "It's not worth getting a swelled head over."

A drop of chocolate glistened at the corner of her mouth: her tongue darted out, snatched it inside like a mother taking her child out of the rain.

Swelled head, no. Other things, however…

"Oh!" She shifted to one hip to dig in her pants pocket. "I almost forgot…here's your change." She leaned over to drop the bills and coins into his hand, her fingers brushing his palm. An innocent touch, brief and meaningless. Except Jenna's cheeks flushed. And no, he wasn't imagining it. And let's just say Hank could see where things could get interesting between them. If he'd let it. If she'd let it, which was even less likely, considering that wedding ring of hers. Hank did not mess around with married women. Hell, Hank hadn't messed around with anybody since Michelle's death. Which probably accounted for why he was seeing erotic overtones in milk shakes, for cripe's sake.

"What's your husband do, if you don't mind my asking?"

Her laugh startled him, not only because that was the last thing he expected her to do and because he liked the sound. A lot.

"What's so funny?"

One side of her mouth pulled up. "The way people around here seem to think if you add 'if you don't mind my asking' on the end of a prying question, that somehow makes it okay."

She didn't seem particularly offended, though. So Hank shrugged. "I guess that way we can ask whatever's on our mind, but it still leaves folks the option of not answering if they don't want to without being afraid they might hurt somebody's feelings." He finished off his sandwich, picked up the plastic fork to attack the hash browns. "So. You gonna answer, or you gonna take your out?"

* * *

The last thing Jenna had expected was for Hank Logan to sit himself down and get chatty. So it had thrown her for a loop when he had. But then, she suspected Hank was good at keeping people off balance. Like the way he could still look so disreputable—did the man even own a comb and razor?—but smell so incredibly good, even over the cigarette smoke. In any case, after her initial No! Go away! I don't want to talk to you! reaction, logic took over. After all, she couldn't very well get to know the man if she never talked to him, could she? And since it might look a wee bit suspicious if she made the overtures, she should be grateful for the opportunity that fate had presented her, right?

The thing was, though, she was supposed to be finding out about him, not the other way around. Still—there went that damned logic business again—if she opened up to him, maybe he'd open up to her. Besides, this was all stuff he'd find out eventually, anyway. If…things worked out, he'd need to know as much about Blair as possible. And everything that affected Jenna affected Blair.

"My husband died three years ago, of cancer," she said at last. "Almost three and a half, actually." She still wasn't quite reconciled to how little her heart twinged when she mentioned Phil's death, or to the fact that it had been ages since she'd felt guilty about laughing, or that the memories that once ached were more likely these days to suffuse her with a gentle joy. But it had taken a long, long time to get to this point. And even so, her sense of peace was as fragile as spun sugar. She would do nothing to jeopardize it.

Nothing.

"I'm sorry," Hank said, the surprising gentleness in his voice luring her eyes to seek his. And for the briefest moment, she saw her own emptiness reflected in his bottomless black gaze; she hitched one shoulder, then shivered slightly in the breeze. From the cold milk shake, she assumed. Although more likely from the uneasiness of her knowing more about him than he could possibly guess.

"Phil was a real fighter," she said, although she wasn't entirely sure why, especially as she seemed to be the only one baring her soul, here. "But God, it was hard, watching him suffer. So when he finally let go, it was almost a relief."

Hank stabbed at his hash browns, forked a bite into his mouth. He chewed for several seconds, then said, "I take it you had a good marriage?"

"Yeah. We did." She shrugged. "It just didn't last long enough—"

The screen door banged back as Blair picked that moment to come outside. Her hair was wet: she'd apparently taken a shower, then put on clean shorts and a T-shirt large enough to hold a revival meeting in.

Barefoot, she crossed the porch, then plopped herself down beside Jenna, eyeing Hank cautiously. As she'd done since Blair was a little girl, Jenna lifted a hand to rub between her niece's shoulder blades, thinking, as she did from time to time, that this was the last person she'd ever have to be afraid for.

"There's nothing to do," Blair said, her hands framing her face.

Hank snorted. Both Jenna and Blair looked at him. "See, that's the trouble with city folks. They got it in their heads that doin' nothing's a crime." He tossed a soggy crust of bread out into the yard, presumably for the birds. Or something. "Free time is a rarity for kids around here, so they know how to make the most of it. If nothing else, you could always take yourself off to explore some of the trails behind the lake."

"Oh, yeah, that'd be real exciting."

Jenna slid her hand to Blair's shoulder to give her a little warning squeeze, just as she caught the muscle ticking in Hank's beard-hazed jaw.

"Far as I can tell," he said, his words clipped, "you got two choices. You can either sit around and mope for the next month, or you can get up off your duff and go find something to do."

Blair's hands smacked to her knees and her mouth fell open, but before she could say anything, Jenna put in, "I just remembered…the car's air conditioner is on the fritz. Is there a mechanic around here who can fix a Toyota?"

Hank and Blair glared at each other for a moment, then Hank seemed to force his gaze back to Jenna. "Yeah. Darryl Andrews at the Chevron in town. He's good, he's fair and he's honest. You might have to leave the car, though. He's always pretty backed up."

"Oh." She frowned. Haven wasn't exactly rife with public transportation options. Except, she thought on a sigh, it wasn't as if she was in a split to go anywhere. She didn't, however, relish the idea of trekking back out here on foot. She jogged, yes, but not in ninety-degree heat, and not five unfamiliar miles. But, since she didn't know another soul, that meant…

Another opportunity. Oh, joy.

"I don't suppose I could talk you into following us into town, then bringing us back if I have to leave the car?"

The flimsy fork hovered over the hashbrowns.

Blair popped to her feet and stormed back inside.

"I don't know," Hank said, stabbing at the potatoes. Not looking at her. "I'm kinda busy this morning."

Ah. "Blair doesn't have to come. She's old enough to stay by herself for an hour or so."

"And do what?"

Jenna caught herself toying with her wedding rings, tucked her arms against her ribs. "Actually, she's got plenty to do, including getting started on her required summer reading. Or she can go for a walk, like you suggested."

Hank glanced up, then back down at his breakfast. "So how come you didn't remind her of that a while ago?"

"Because sometimes I feel all I ever do is nag. It gets old."

Silence dragged on between them for several seconds before he said, "She's not exactly the easiest kid to get along with, is she?"

Jenna's brows knotted. "At the moment, maybe not. But she's been through a lot in the past three years. Which you acknowledged yourself."

"I know I did. But that's no excuse for her acting like a snot."

"Oh? And what's yours?"

Again, his movements stilled. Then he abruptly stuffed his stuff back into the plastic bag and rocketed to his feet, and Jenna thought, Whoa, welcome to Arrested Male Development Central. Talk about getting your boxers in a bunch. If he wore any, that is. Which, considering her earlier encounter, was definitely not a given.

Could she trust a man who didn't wear underwear?

And while she was musing about all this, Hank reached behind the railing and retrieved the largest toolbox she'd ever seen, the veins on his hand popping out in stark relief as he tromped down the porch steps. Then he turned, his expression kicking up her pulse. Even from here, she could tell every muscle in his body had gone taut, alert and unyielding underneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt, his worn jeans.

"If you're so damn intent on mollycoddling the gal, why'd you bring her out here to begin with?"

Now her heart jumped into her throat, even as her brain scrambled to make sense of his vacillation. He'd certainly seemed sympathetic earlier—why the sudden switch? "I hardly think trying to be sensitive to the emotional needs of a child who's just lost her mother is mollycoddling her."

"Thought you said you raised her?"

"I did." She lowered her voice, resisting the urge to dodge that intense, assessing gaze. "But Blair still knew her mother. On top of my husband's death, her mother's came as a blow. And I told you. I'm here on a research trip. I obviously couldn't leave Blair by herself back in D.C., could I?"

His eyes narrowed. "And she couldn't stay with anybody back home?"

"No." Jenna folded her arms over her quaking stomach. But there wasn't a damned thing she could do about her heated cheeks. "She couldn't."

For an excruciatingly long two or three seconds, their eyes remained locked, suspicion rolling off him in suffocating waves. Her potentially fatal mistake, Jenna realized, was forgetting that Hank Logan had been a cop. A good one, too, from what she'd been able to glean. Anything out of the ordinary was liable to set off his alarms. Her being here with Blair, not to mention her deliberate evasion of her sister's name, definitely qualified.

Why the hell had she thought she'd be able to pull this off?

Then he looked away. The frown was still in place, his jaw still set, but his breaking eye contact felt like being released from a stranglehold. Jenna hauled in a deep, shuddering breath, only to feel it catch when his eyes met hers again.

"Okay, look—I'd planned on goin' into town tomorrow anyway, to pick up some supplies. Don't suppose it matters a whole lot if I push it up a day. Just tell your niece, if she goes with us, I won't get up her nose if she doesn't get up mine, okay?"

Jenna stood, hugging herself. Even though she stood a step up from the bottom, Hank still towered over her, solid and strong.

And alive. Very, very alive.

She swallowed back bitter, out-of-nowhere tears. "Sounds fair to me."

He cocked his head, his brows dipped, and Jenna willed the tears back, thinking, Oh, please God, don't let him ask me if I'm all right.

But he didn't. Instead, he said, "Got some things to do first, though, before I can leave." He twisted away, heading down the driveway. "Give me an hour," he said, his words nearly swept away on the breeze swooshing through the trees, "then come on down to the office."

A moment or two passed before Jenna collected herself enough to shout, "Okay! Thanks!" at Hank's rapidly retreating back. Without turning around, he lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

As Jenna watched him stride down the driveway, she realized just how much of a hellish position she was in. While there was no way she was going to tell Hank the truth until she determined whether or not he was worthy of being entrusted with that knowledge, if and when she did decide to tell him, she suffered no illusions about what was going to hit the fan. And yes, she knew she was being judgmental. But she had sole responsibility for the welfare of a child she loved with all her heart, a responsibility she was more than willing to put her butt on the line for…even if it meant royally pissing off the man who was, in all likelihood, that child's father.

* * *

Exactly one hour later, Jenna pulled the Corolla up alongside Hank's truck, parked outside the office, and honked. And waited. When, after several minutes had passed and no scary, scruffy man emerged, Jenna left the car and went inside, leaving the engine running. An on-its-last-legs air conditioner rattled and wheezed from a small window on her left; the door to his apartment was cracked open.

"Mr. Logan?" She batted the bell a few times. "I'm here!"

No answer.

She drummed her nails on the counter for a second, then walked around the counter and called again. Nothing. So she knocked on the door. Which, not being completely closed, swung open.

She didn't mean to look, honestly. Nobody was bigger on privacy issues than she was. But the door fell away and the room was just…there.

In all its A-bomb glory. In fact, she was so stunned by the state of Hank's apartment—she'd seen more orderly dumps—the music, only half-audible over the air conditioner's groaning, barely registered. Then it did.

Hold the phone—the man listened to opera? To Wagner, no less? She would have expected country. Hard rock, heavy metal, maybe. Opera…uh, no.

Hank's scowling face was suddenly inches from hers. Jenna yipped and jumped back.

"I said I'd be ready in an hour," he said.

"Which was up fifteen minutes ago."

The scowl deepened. He glanced at his watch, some gigundo number that probably did everything but launch the space shuttle. He swore, mumbled "Sorry," then grabbed his wallet, slid through the door and shut it firmly behind him.

"Anybody ever teach you to knock?" he asked, loping through the office and on outside, making Jenna scurry behind him.

"Anybody ever teach you how to pick up your clothes? And slow down, for heaven's sake! My legs aren't as long as yours!"

He did—sort of—then whipped out a pair of sunglasses, ramming them into place as his legs ate up the space between the office and the truck. "Don't see how I keep my own apartment is any business of yours."

Okay, he had a point. Besides, so it was a little…messy. That didn't mean it was actually dirty.

Did it?

"Anyway," she said, neatly evading the issue, "I did knock. The door wasn't closed tightly."

They'd reached the vehicles. Hank shot a glance at her car and asked, "Where's the kid?"

"What? Oh, she decided not to come. Anyway—"

Hank jerked open his truck door, climbed inside.

"—I guess you didn't hear me knock over the music. So you like opera?"

Seated behind the wheel, his door still open, he glared at her for a moment, then slammed shut the door. "Yeah, I like opera. Now can we get goin'? I haven't got all day."

He backed out of the parking space in a cloud of dust, barely giving Jenna time to hop in her car and follow.

* * *

Blair crunched up into a sitting position on her bed and tossed A Tale of Two Cities across the room, then apologized to Meringue for making her jump. God, this was the suckiest summer of her entire life. And A Tale of Two Cities was like the suckiest book ever written. Why did they make them read this boring old stuff, anyway? Like who cared what happened two hundred years ago?

She felt all knotted up inside, like she wanted to cry, but when she screwed up her face, nothing happened. Which is the way she'd felt when Jenna'd told her about her mother, like she should've been sadder or missed her more or something. Mostly, she'd just been mad, even if she didn't really know why.

Feeling weird and jittery, like when she drank a whole Coke before going to bed, she got up and walked out into the living room, Meringue trailing her. Maybe she should've gone back into town with Jenna. Except then she would've had to ride back in Mr. Logan's truck, between him and Jenna. No way.

God. Hank Logan was like the weirdest man she'd ever met, acting like he thought he was all cool and stuff because he smoked and didn't comb his hair or shave.

And she did not like the way he looked at Jenna.

Her arms crossed, Blair stood in the middle of the room—which still smelled funny—listening to the irritating clink-clink-clink from the pull-chain rattling against the overhead fan's light globe. What was really sucky was having everyone tell you to stop acting like a baby but never letting you make any decisions about your own life. If she'd been older, sixteen or seventeen, Jenna wouldn't've dared drag her out here like this.

Meringue mewed, snaking around her ankles; Blair picked her up, burying her face in the cat's soft white fur, getting a head bump for her efforts. Then she sneezed and let the cat drop back onto the floor, swiping at her nose.

"God, Merry—keep your fur to yourself!"

The cat flicked her tail and stalked away; Blair plopped down at the dining table where Jenna had set up her laptop and logged online, but nobody she knew was on. So she sent a couple of e-mails to her best friends, DeAnna and Tiffany, but since they had gone to camp, she didn't know if they could write her back.

She slumped in the chair, her arms folded across her chest. Maybe she should go for a walk or something. Not that she figured there was anything to see, but it was either that or A Tale of Two Cities. So she found a piece of paper and left Jenna a note, squirted on some sunscreen, grabbed a bottle of water, and left, heading for the far side of the lake.

Once there, she found the trail Mr. Logan had mentioned, cutting through the woods. She hesitated, then figured she wasn't stupid, it wasn't like she was going to get lost or anything. If she had to, she could always double back.

She hiked for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, hearing nothing but her breath coming in short, ragged pants and a bazillion birds and her thoughts buzzing around inside her head. But it was cooler in here, and kind of pretty, the light all green-gold and sort of…heavy, like being underwater, and eventually the buzzing got softer and softer until she couldn't really hear it anymore.

The path suddenly brightened ahead of her; a minute later, she came out onto a rutted dirt road leading to a farm or something in the distance. On the other side of the road, a field planted with long, soft grassy stuff rippled in the warm breeze like the ocean's surface; looking toward the farm buildings, she could see a small cornfield, and beyond that several rows of smallish trees. An orchard maybe.

The bleat of a bicycle horn behind her made her spin around. Blair shaded her eyes against the sun as, in a cloud of dust, three bikes screeched to a stop in front of her.

"Who the heck are you?" yelped one little boy, seven or eight years old. His blond head was shorn so close his ears seemed to jut from his head like open taxi-cab doors. And she could see his scalp, which was kind of gross. Another boy, a little younger, his dark hair just as short, his ears just as big, giggled. But the third rider—who had let out a really pissed, "Wade, for heaven's sake!" at the blond kid's question, was a girl. A dark-haired girl wearing a loose, bright purple T-shirt over white shorts with fringed hems. She looked like she might be about Blair's age, but even under the floppy shirt, Blair could see she already had breasts. The boys were barefoot, their toes practically gray.

"Hey," the girl said, her light-brown eyes sparkling. Her hair was really long, like to her waist. And she was pretty. Really pretty. Even without makeup. "I'm Libby Frazier, and these are my brothers. Two of 'em, anyway. This here's Wade, and this is Frankie," she said, jerking her head toward the littlest one. "He doesn't talk much on account of he can't hear out of one ear."

"Oh. Hi. I'm Blair. Blair Stanton."

The girl grinned, and Blair could see her eyeteeth were crooked. "Cool name! You new here?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I'm staying with my aunt at the Double Arrow."

"Oh." Libby scrunched up her nose. "We live up there." She nodded toward the farm. "Where're you from?"

"Washington, D.C."

"Really?" the blond boy said. "Where the president lives?"

In spite of herself, Blair laughed. "Yeah."

"Don't mind him. He's just a stupid boy—"

"Am not!"

"Are, too."

"Am not!"

Libby gave Blair a pleading look. "You got brothers?"

"Uh-uh."

"You're so lucky. I've got five. All of 'em younger," she said, which is when it finally dawned on Blair that this must be the girl the woman in the café was talking about. "How old are you?"

Blair stuck her thumbs in her back shorts pockets and tried to look cool. "Thirteen."

Libby grinned so widely, her eyes practically disappeared. "Me, too. Hey—you wanna come up to the house, play some CDs or something?"

Blair hesitated. Libby seemed okay and all, but she was nothing like Blair's friends back home. What if she wanted to talk about…farm stuff? Or what if she was still into *NSYNC? Or Britney? Ewww.

But then, she supposed it beat talking to the cat all afternoon.

"Okay, sure. Long as I can call my aunt on her cell, let her know where I am."

Libby's whole face lit up. "Cool," she said.

Chapter 3

Hank pulled up in front of Darryl's office at the garage, where madame was waiting for him, and thought, God save me from needy, moody females.

At this point, Hank wasn't sure who was agitating him more, Jenna Stanton with those half-scared, half-defiant blue eyes of hers, or her niece, who just plain rubbed him the wrong way. Not that he didn't understand why she acted the way she did—only too well—but…well, it was just a good thing he didn't have to deal with teenage girls on a regular basis. He'd go plumb out of his gourd.

And he still couldn't shake the feeling of something being off about this whole thing, about Jenna's coming to Haven with the kid. Much as she tried to hide it, the woman was clearly nervous about something. Trouble was, Hank couldn't tell if she was nervous about something specific, or just nervous in general, the way some women were. Nervous women made him uncomfortable. You never knew when they'd go off on you, usually for no particular reason.

And since none of this was any of his business, he could just do himself a favor and keep his butt out and his mouth shut. All she and the gal were, were paying customers. Since he didn't come by those any too often, ticking them off probably wasn't the smartest thing he could do.

"Thanks again for doing this," she said through the open passenger side window when he pulled up. He'd noticed earlier she'd changed into one of those dresses that looked like a too-long golf shirt, ending just above her knees. Navy blue, white collar. Might've even been dowdy if it weren't for the way the jersey clung to a curve here and there, especially when it hiked up her thighs as she climbed up into the truck. Since her hair was now hanging loose around her shoulders, he figured she must have washed it. Sure enough, the instant she settled in beside him, the cab smelled all flowery and womanly. Sweet. Sexy.

He yanked the gearshift into drive. "So…what'd Darryl say? About the air conditioner?"

She let out a sigh. "He has to order some part or something. So, like you said, it'll be a couple of days. But his estimate did seem fair, at least."

Hank drove through the station and was out onto the road when, out of the blue, he said, "You need to pick up anything while we're out?"

She turned, her brows lifted over her sunglasses.

"I don't know what prompted me to say that, either," he said, wanting a smoke so bad he thought he'd die, but figuring she probably wouldn't appreciate him mucking up that sweet-smelling hair with cigarette smoke. "So you might as well take advantage of it, 'cause God alone knows when you'll get an offer this good again."

A half laugh burbled out of her throat; he glanced over, noticed that the little commas around her mouth—which had a real nice shape to it—seemed a mite more pronounced.

"I brought a ton of food with us," she said, "so I don't need to do any major shopping for a while. But I could stand to stop by a 7-Eleven or something for milk and juice. If it's no bother."

"Nope. Not at all."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cross her arms, staring out the windshield like it didn't matter two hoots to her whether they talked or not. Well, fine. Offering to take her shopping didn't mean he felt like having a conversation. But after about three seconds, he figured that was a damn sight better than sitting there and letting all that sweet, sexy, just-washed-hair scent take his mind down paths it had no business going down.

"So," he said. "What do you write?"

She brushed her hair out of her face. In the sunlight, he could see it was about a hundred different shades of gold. He knew it was dyed—he'd seen the special shampoo in her bathroom—but that was okay. "Mystery novels," she said.

"Yeah? Under your own name?"

"No. As Jennifer Phillips."

"Oh, yeah. I've seen those around."

She did this little mm-mm laugh. He glanced over. "What?"

"I take it you're not a fan, then?"

"Well, no, can't say that I am. Since I haven't read them. No offense," he added quickly. "I just got the feeling they were kinda girly."

Now she laughed full out, the sound doing far worse things for his mind-wandering problem than the shampoo fragrance ever even thought about. "Girly, huh? So. Who do you read? Assuming you do?"

"Yeah, I read. My mama was real big on reading, so all of us were hooked early. Read every Hardy Boys there was. Then in high school I started in on Stephen King, went on to Koontz, Grisham, Lawrence Block. Just recently started reading Jeffrey Deaver."

He could feel, more than see, her smile. "You have good taste. If a bit gory at times." And while Hank was wondering why it should make one shred of difference to him whether or not she approved of his reading matter, she added, "King's just about my favorite writer. And probably one of the biggest influences on my own writing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Huh. Hank wouldn't've thought that a woman who blushed as easily as Jenna Stanton would get off on Stephen King. Let alone write stuff like that.

At the Git 'n' Go, Hank figured he might as well pick up a carton of cigarettes and a six-pack, since he was here. Not that he drank much, but he'd probably end up having pizza tonight, so the beer was a no-brainer.

While Jenna went off in search of her milk and juice, Hank grabbed his Bud and a carton of Marlboros, then noticed the rack of paperbacks by the magazines. Like a beacon, Jennifer Phillips jumped out at him, emblazoned in metallic hot pink across the entire upper half of the bright-green book cover. He plucked it off the rack, caught phrases like kick-ass and steamy and pulse-pounding before turning to the inside back cover, where a black-and-white Jenna—in makeup, her hair softly waved around her face and shoulders—smiled back at him. He tried to think of Jenna in terms of kick-ass and steamy. He couldn't.

"You ever read one of her books before?"

Hank tore his attention away from Jenna's picture to look over at Angel Creekwater wedged behind the counter. An institution at the Git 'n' Go for probably twenty-five years, the roly-poly woman's straight black hair was pulled back so severely the corners of her eyes practically reached her ears, from which dangled a collection of brightly colored seed beads and feathers and other assorted doo-dads passing themselves off as earrings.

"Nope." Hank checked over his shoulder to make sure Jenna wasn't within earshot, then raised the book. "She any good?"

Angel shrugged; bowling-ball bosoms shimmied underneath her brown smock. It struck Hank that her pooched-out lips were nearly the same color as Jenna's name on the cover. "She's okay. If you like that sort of thing."

Wondering what Angel considered "that sort of thing," Hank quickly paid for his purchases, slipping the paperback into the bag with the cigarettes just as a familiar voice rumbled, "Hey—they let you out on good behavior?" behind him.

Without even looking, Hank threw up his left hand, knocking off his brother Cal's cowboy hat in one smooth motion.

"Jerk!" Cal bent down and snatched his hat off the floor. "And who asked you?" he said to Angel, who was shaking with laughter. Cal rammed his hat back down over his wavy light-brown hair, then thunked his own six-pack up on the counter, reaching around to his back pocket for his wallet. "Been meaning to call you," he said to Hank, handing Angel a twenty. "Finally got around to sorting through some of those boxes up in the attic and came across a whole bunch of old pictures of us as kids, and Mama and Daddy. You should come over, see if there's any you want."

The family farm had been left to all three brothers—Hank, Cal and Ryan—but Cal, who'd turned the place into a thriving horse farm, was in the process of buying Hank and Ryan out. For the past several years, he'd been making noises about sorting through all the junk in the attic, but it was only in the last little while that he'd begun to make any headway.

Hank shook his head. "Can't imagine why I'd want any of that stuff."

Cal pocketed the change Angel handed him, his green eyes darkening. "And damned if I'm just gonna toss it without you and Ryan at least giving it a look-see. If you don't want it after that, fine, but you can at least get your butt out to the farm and…oh! Excuse me, ma'am!"

Cal flashed a smile for Jenna, who'd come up behind them while they'd been talking. As smoothly as Hank had knocked Cal's hat off a minute before, his brother now reached out and relieved Jenna of the basket suspended from her left hand, weighted down with a gallon of skim milk and a carton of orange juice. Cal was a notorious flirt. And by all accounts a damn good one, too. Something about that stupid, dimpled grin of his just had women eating right out of his hand.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before—"

"Knock it off, Cal. She's too…smart for you." Jenna's eyes darted to his, that almost-smile playing on her lips, but Hank told himself there was no way she could have known he'd nearly said "old" instead of "smart."

"No such thing," Cal said, that dumb grin of his still in place.

Hank blew out a sigh. "Jenna Stanton, my much younger brother Cal. Jenna's staying out at the Double Arrow for a while."

Cal's hat lifted up a good inch to accommodate his raised eyebrows. "That a fact?"

Hank glowered at him, but Jenna just said, "Nice to meet you, Cal," as she swiped her card through the little box at the front of the counter. Apparently, hunky young cowboys with dumb smiles and dimples didn't do it for her. And amazingly enough, Cal took the hint. Now there was a first.

"Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Stanton," he said, touching two fingers to his hat brim. Then, six-pack in hand, he pointed to Hank. "Remember now, you're gonna come over and go through that stuff."

"I never said—"

But then he was gone and everybody was paid up, so he supposed there was nothing for it but to go on back. The ride was a mostly silent one, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Except, after he dropped Jenna off, her scent stayed in the truck.

Some time later, after he'd finished up scraping the shingles off one of the cottages and the Petersons in number 10 had checked out and some salesman or somebody from Wichita had checked in, and after he'd decided going back out for pizza wasn't worth the effort so he'd just heat up some beans and franks instead, he went for a cigarette and discovered the pack was empty. So it wasn't until then, when he dumped the Marlboros out on his bed and Jenna's novel had come tumbling out with it, that he remembered the book.

Settling back at his dinette table with his meal, he popped open one of the Buds, forked in a bite of beans and, chewing, started to read.

* * *

Blair looked up from her plate of vegetarian pasta and said, "Then Libby told me she sometimes has to take care of her five brothers all by herself. And she's my age! Does that stink or what?"

Jenna dropped a lemon slice into her glass of bottled water and gave Blair a reproachful look as she sat back down. "Actually, I think it's pretty neat that she helps her father like that." As Blair rolled her eyes, Jenna asked, "What happened to Libby's mom?"

Blair swiped a hank of hair behind her ear, weeded out two microscopic pieces of onion which she banished to the rim of her bowl, and shoveled in a bite of pasta. "She died suddenly about two years ago," she said, chewing. "A blood clot or something, Libby wasn't real specific. So, like, we have this common bond, y'know?"

Ever since Libby's father, Sam Frazier, had dropped Blair off a couple hours ago, the girl had been going on practically non-stop about her day's adventures. Jenna couldn't quite tell whether Blair had actually had a good time as much as she'd just been grateful for the diversion. Jenna had only met Libby briefly, and while she seemed like a nice enough child, Jenna couldn't exactly see Blair bonding with someone so different from her other friends. Except then Blair asked if she could go back to Libby's the next day, that Sam had already said it was okay, and Jenna thought, then again—what harm could there be in a summer friendship? Jenna had had a couple of those, when she'd gone to visit her mother's parents in Virginia as a child. And maybe, if Blair found herself coming to visit again on a regular basis, it would be nice for her to have someone her own age to pal around with—

Her stomach cramped.

As much as Jenna tried to concentrate on her niece's prattling, her mind kept meandering back to Hank. And everything thinking about him meant. And now…oh, this was probably stupid, but…well, when she'd seen that both Hank and his brother Cal had six-packs, she couldn't help but wonder if there might be a problem with alcoholism in the family. Granted, she was probably just overreacting, but having lived with the effects of her sister's chronic substance abuse, she doubted whether anyone would fault her for being too cautious.

Then again, she was already beginning to see things—little things—that gave her hope. Not his appearance, certainly. Or, most of the time, his attitude. But the man did read. And listen to classical music. And although he tended toward acerbity, there was a sense of humor there, too. And, maybe…a smattering of protectiveness, buried under all that grief and bitterness?

She thought back to the scene in the convenience store, the brothers' interaction. Years of observing human nature for her work had made Jenna a fairly good judge of character, and while she guessed Hank and Cal didn't spend much time together, neither did they hate each other. Which meant family ties, though perhaps tenuous, were at least intact. And after all, Hank Logan had been a cop for more than fifteen years. Not generally a career choice for the self-centered.

Yet, whenever she thought about telling Hank the truth, something inside said, No. Not yet. Not until you're absolutely sure. As whacked as her sister had been, Jenna still felt she owed Sandy at least the benefit of the doubt. Maybe there was a valid reason she'd refused to tell Hank Logan he had a child. And maybe family loyalty was a lousy thing to base such a momentous decision on, but it was all she had.

She glanced across at her niece, who looked almost happy for the first time in several days, and a bittersweet smile tilted her lips. No, Blair was all she had. And she wasn't about to share her with anyone she didn't feel in her soul she could trust.

Without any reservations.

* * *

"So…your aunt and uncle raised you?" Libby asked the next day.

"Yeah."

Libby had finished all her chores, and since this was one of the days the part-time housekeeper came, her dad had told her—with a wink—to go on with Blair 'cause who needed two giggling girls hanging around the house? Blair thought Libby's dad, Sam, was nice. Even though he had the farm to run and all those kids to take care of, it seemed like he was always laughing and smiling and teasing the kids. Not grumpy all the time like Mr. Logan. Oh, Libby had said her dad had been pretty sad for a long time after her mother had died, but that he'd really tried not to let it show. And that it was probably a good thing, him having all these kids, so he wouldn't miss their mom so much.

That's what Blair had thought, too, after Uncle Phil died, that it was a good thing Jenna had her to keep her from getting lonely. The funny feeling came back, like a weird tickle in the middle of her chest.

"I guess I think of Jenna more like my mom, since she's always been around."

Since there wasn't another bike Blair's size, the two girls were walking, following the road around to where it would eventually meet up with the old highway, where the motel was. Libby bent over to pick a wild daisy, which she now twirled around and around in her fingers as they walked. "So you get along pretty good with her?"

"Yeah. I guess. 'Cept when she's in one of her 'no, you can't do that, you're too young' moods."

Libby let out a sigh, like she understood, then fluttered the hem of her baggy white T-shirt—they were dressed practically the same, in big shirts and denim shorts, their hair pulled back into ponytails—to let some air up inside. It was so hot. Libby had said it hadn't rained in more than a month.

Libby had also said she didn't like wearing anything too tight since she'd started to get breasts, 'cause the boys kept staring at her. A problem Blair said she wished she had, until Libby pointed out how much she hated bouncing when she ran and besides, they hurt like anything when she got her period. "But if it makes you feel any better," she added, probably because Blair hadn't looked all that convinced, "I knew some girl at church who was flat as a pancake, but then she grew into a 38C over the summer when she was fourteen. So you never know."

It was weird, how Blair thought Libby was so pretty and perfect—well, except for her crooked teeth, but even they weren't that bad—yet Libby said she'd give anything to be tall and skinny like Blair, and to have red hair like hers, that her own was just this boring old brown.

"What happened to your real mom?" Libby now said, climbing over a post-and-rail fence to plop down in a shady area about halfway between the farm and the motel. The housekeeper had given the girls a sack filled with sandwiches and fruit. And bottles of water. Libby had said her dad didn't want the kids drinking a lot of pop and stuff. "I mean, how'd she die?"

"Oh." Blair followed her, clumsily, dusting off her butt before sinking onto the grass beside her, which gave her time to decide how much of the truth to reveal. "A drug overdose."

Libby stopped rummaging in the lunch bag to look up. "No way?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Wow." Libby pulled out an apple and swung the bag toward Blair, who shook her head. She was too hot to eat. Libby, however, took a huge bite of the green apple, chewing thoughtfully for a couple seconds. Then she said, "I knew a boy over in Pryor who died from drugs. My friend Heather's cousin." She crunched into the fruit again, talking around the mouthful. "I never knew a grown-up who died from them, though."

"Rock stars and stuff die from them all the time."

"Oh, yeah, huh?" Libby made a face at the apple. "Yuck. It's all mushy." When she reared back to hurl it into the cornfield, Blair could see the high, round bumps of Libby's breasts. She didn't care what Libby said, she wanted some of her own. Maybe if she looked more like a woman, Jenna would stop treating her like a child.

"I'm never gonna do drugs," Libby said. "They're stupid. Besides, I wanna live to be a hundred…." She grabbed Blair's arm, cocking her head. "You hear that?"

"What?"

"Coming from the blackberry bushes over there…c'mon!"

Libby scrambled to her feet and took off. Blair followed, thinking Libby had gone nuts…until she, too, heard the frightened whimpering. Seconds later, they reached the wide clot of bushes strangling the fence farther down the road; Libby fell to her knees, then let out a small cry. "It's a puppy! He's all caught up in the bushes!"

"Where? Let me see!" Blair dropped to all fours as well, her insides pinching at the sight of the black pup, so scared you could see the whites of his eyes. His high-pitched yips made Blair feel sick.

"We've gotta get him out of there!" Without thinking, Blair grabbed for the branches to pull them away, only to let out a shriek of pain herself. "Ouch! Dammit!"

"We've gotta get help," Libby said. "If we try to get him out ourselves, we'll end up worse off'n him." She sat back on her knees and squinted over her shoulder. "It's closer to the motel than back to the farm—c'mon!"

Before Blair could protest, Libby had already taken off toward the Double Arrow, giving Blair no choice but to follow. Her feet pummeling the dirt, Libby looked over as they ran. "Your aunt know you cuss?"

"Are you kidding?" Blair said, Libby's breathless giggles mingling with the puppy's rapidly fading squeals of pain and fear.

* * *

Jenna had just sat down with her laptop when the girls burst into the cottage, both babbling about a puppy caught in some blackberry bushes and they couldn't get him out and she needed to come right away and did they have anything they could cut the branches with?

Refusing to let the girls' panic infect her, Jenna ditched her reading glasses and got up from the table, shoving her feet into her abandoned espadrilles. "I bet Mr. Logan'll have something we can use—"

"No! Don't ask him!"

Already at the door, Jenna frowned at Blair. Not that she didn't see Blair's point—she could just imagine Hank's reaction at being asked to rescue a puppy. Still—"I don't think we have any choice, honey. I don't even have a pair of gardening gloves, and toenail clippers are no match for blackberry bushes."

Several minutes later, they found Hank at one of the other cottages, replacing some rotten floorboards in the porch. This time, the girls hung back and let Jenna do the talking. Not surprisingly, Hank frowned. But not for the reasons Jenna would have expected.

"Where is it?" he asked the girls.

"Just down the road a ways," Libby said, dancing from foot to foot. "You know, where all those bushes are?"

"Yep, sure do." He hoisted himself to his feet, clunking his hammer back into his toolbox. "Go on back to where he is. I'll met you there." Then he stopped, looking directly into first one set of frightened eyes, then the other. "Hey," he said softly, then reached out and tugged on Libby's ponytail. "It's gonna be all right, you hear?"

Libby nodded, then grabbed Blair's hand—Blair was standing gawking at Hank as if he'd just admitted his Martian citizenship—and yanked her after her.

"You…rescue puppies?" Jenna said, afraid she was gawking nearly as badly as Blair had been.

"From time to time." Hank grabbed his toolbox and lumbered down the steps. As he passed her, his mouth twitched. "They're real tasty this time of year."

* * *

By the time Hank got there, Jenna wasn't sure who was more frantic, the girls or the puppy. Her knees screamed from all the little stones and things embedded in them from kneeling in front of the bushes, as she yammered in baby talk in the vain hope of keeping the poor little thing from wriggling and getting himself even more tangled up. She'd also tried prying apart the branches with a pair of sticks, but they were hopelessly entwined.

"Move over," grunted a low voice from behind her.

Between the girl's moans and the pup's squeals, she hadn't heard the truck pull up. "Be my guest."

"Hey, little guy," Hank said gently, pulling on a pair of thick leather workgloves, then picking up a pair of rose clippers. "How on earth did you manage to get yourself stuck in there?"

All the while he clipped, he prattled to the little dog, who finally quieted down, transfixed by the sound of Hank's voice. At one point, Jenna glanced over at the girls, on whom that voice seemed to be having a similar effect. Blair, especially, her arms wound over her middle, shot a look at Jenna that was equal parts wonder and confusion. The last branch snipped, Hank reached in for the puppy, cradling the shaking thing in his large, gloved hand, carefully inspecting the tiny black body for injuries. And just as his harsh features softened, as his perpetual frown gave way to a genuine smile when the pup eagerly licked his scruffy chin, so did something inside Jenna.

The girls, naturally, were right there, both cooing and oohing over the little thing. "Is…he okay?" Blair asked, her voice tense with caution, her gaze flicking to Hank's for only an instant.

"Far as I can tell. A few scratches, maybe, but nothing major. My guess is he's been abandoned, though. There's no collar, and he's pretty skinny." Cupping the dog's butt, Hank twisted him around in his hands and looked him in the eye. "You out on your own, Bubba?"

The dog started wagging his tail so hard, he nearly wriggled right out of Hank's hands. He laughed, then glanced over at Libby, scratching the pup's ears. "Your daddy's got some antiseptic we could put on him, doesn't he?"

"Uh-huh," Libby said. "But then what?"

Hank looked at the pup, then at the girls, before lifting up the dog and looking him straight in his big, brown eyes. A tiny pink tongue darted out, desperate to make contact with Hank's nose. This time, Hank's laughter sent a tingle straight through Jenna, one that settled right at the base of her heart.

"I can't take him," Blair said, a little wistfully. "Meringue would have a fit."

"Not to mention I would," Jenna thought it prudent to add.

Libby giggled as the pup tried to nibble on her finger. "I can't take him, either. Daddy says we already have too many pets."

After a long moment, Hank said, "Well, then. I guess that makes him mine." He pretended to glower at the girls. "But y'all have to name him. I'm terrible at naming things."

The girls thought that was a good idea. Then Libby remembered their lunch—apparently that's what was in the Wal-Mart bag by the side of the road—and thought the pup might like part of her ham sandwich, which he did. Then, of course, they had to take the pup back to Libby's to show him off and get the antiseptic put on him, even though he was going to be Hank's dog. After they'd left, Hank offered to drive Jenna back to her cottage, since he said it seemed stupid for her to walk back when he had the truck right here.

The ride took all of two minutes, which wasn't nearly enough time for Jenna to process even half of her thoughts about what had just happened, let alone all of them. But she did think to ask him why he'd taken the dog.

"Why not?" He scrubbed a hand across his hair, which didn't do a thing for his coiffure. "Maybe it's time I had something else to talk to at night besides myself, y'know?"

His words echoed painfully in her own sparsely furnished heart as they pulled up in front of the cottage. Jenna got out of the truck, then turned, her arms tightly tucked over her stomach as she peered back inside through the passenger-side window.

"Thanks," she said.

Slouched in his seat, his right hand still loosely gripping the steering wheel, Hank looked at her, his brows knotted for a second or two. Then, with a sigh, they relaxed. "I might prefer keeping to myself most of the time, Ms. Stanton, but I'm not an ogre." He hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry if I gave you that impression."

After a moment, unable to think of a single, even minimally intelligent thing to say, she nodded, then ran up the porch steps to the relative safety of the cottage, away from the yearning in those dark eyes she doubted he even knew was there. But once back inside, as she stood at the front window, watching him one-handedly steer the truck back down the drive and replaying the past half hour in her head, she knew there was no reason not to tell Hank Logan he had a daughter.

Now all she had to do was figure out how.

* * *

The girls had brought the as-yet-unnamed puppy back about an hour later, then stayed to play with him out in front of the office. Which is where they still were, giggling their heads off and generally driving Hank nuts, when Cal showed up, somewhere around four. The door was open, so Hank saw his brother squat down to play with the dog—Cal had always had a way with animals, which is what made him such a damn good horse breeder, Hank supposed—exchange a few words with the girls, then stand and head for the office. Hank also saw a bunch of albums and envelopes and what-all tucked under his brother's arm.

Oh, Lord.

"Hey." Wearing that cocky grin of his, Cal walked into the office, plunked his load onto the counter. "You got a dog?"

"Yeah, I got a dog. So?"

"Kinda small, don't you think?"

"It'll grow. What's all this?"

"Ten minutes, Hank. That's all I'm asking. Just go through it, keep whatever you want, I'll take back the rest."

"I don't want any of it."

Cal crossed his arms, his gaze almost fierce underneath his hat brim. "This is your family history, dammit," he said, keeping his voice low. "It's not gonna kill you to keep a couple mementos of it. And you wouldn't believe some of the stuff I found up in the attic. Stuff I sure don't remember ever seeing. Take this, for instance…" He riffled through the pile and extracted a tattered brown envelope, out of which he pulled an old tinted photograph in a cardboard photographer's frames. Cal looked at it for a moment, then turned it around so Hank could see. "You ever see this before? It's a picture of Mama when she was fourteen. I only ever knew her with gray hair, so this was a shock…."

It was a shock, all right. But for very different reasons. While Hank stood there, paralyzed, staring at the photograph, Blair came in, hugging the pup to her chest. "Libby's gotta go home, and I said I'd walk her, so is it okay to leave the puppy here with you? I think he's getting pretty tired."

Slowly, Hank forced himself to look up from the photograph…into a face uncannily like the image in his hand. As he did, he caught Cal's frown at his obviously flummoxed expression, then saw his brother's gaze dart to Blair. Hank finally found his voice, told Blair, sure, go ahead and leave the pup. After she left, Cal pried the photo from Hank's grip. "Holy sh—" He looked at Hank, confusion swimming in his eyes. "That is totally weird…Hank? Hey—you okay?"

Hank grabbed the photo out of Cal's hand. "Watch the dog," he muttered on his way out the door.

* * *

The pounding on the cottage door sent the cat streaking into her bedroom and shaved five years off Jenna's life. Then Hank roared her name and irritation gave way to stark terror, that Blair was hurt, that a forest fire was bearing down on the motel—

She yanked open the door, recoiling at the fury blazing in Hank's eyes. Before she got her mouth open, he thrust a photograph into her hand.

"That's my mother, when she was fourteen. Look like anybody you know?"

Jenna blanched: it was all there—the red hair, the freckles, even the shape of the eyelids. "Oh dear God," she whispered. "This could be—"

"Yeah. So how about you tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Chapter 4

Jenna swore, nausea swamping her as she sank onto the edge of the sofa, staring at the photograph. Look at him, her brain directed. Her eyes refused to obey.

"This isn't exactly playing out the way I'd hoped it would," she said.

"And what way might that be?"

His sarcasm knifed through her. Unable to breathe, to think, she looked up into a bitter, unforgiving gaze that turned her blood to ice. And yet from somewhere came the strength to bear the brunt of his anger.

"Look, you've got every right to be mad. Just not at me."

"That's for me to decide. Well?"

"Where's Blair? I can't risk her hearing any of this. Not yet."

"She's gone back to Libby's for a minute." He crossed his arms. "So talk fast."

Still hanging on to the picture, Jenna got up, telling herself in a few minutes the worst would be over, that she should be grateful the decision had been wrested from her hands. Her mouth dry as dust, she went over to the sink for a glass of water. "It's very possible that Blair's your daughter."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"When my sister died," she said, filling her glass from the tap, "she left a diary. According to an entry in it dated nearly fourteen years ago, you and she had a brief affair. An affair which left her pregnant."

"That's nuts. I never dated anyone named Stanton."

"Not Stanton. That's my married name. Hollins. Sandy Hollins." As she gulped down her water, she watched him process this information. "Ring a bell?"

"Yeah. I remember Sandy. But you've got no proof I'm Blair's father."

"No, I don't." She picked up the photo from where she'd set it on the counter and handed it to him. "But you do."

His gaze shot to hers; Jenna ached for the confusion in his eyes. "So why didn't she tell me she was pregnant?"

"Sandy didn't tell anyone she was pregnant. Until she showed up on my parents' doorstep in her eighth month." She paused. "She'd been using. The baby almost didn't make it."

He stared at her, hard, for several seconds, then walked over to the window, staring at his mother's photograph in the light. There were a hundred things Jenna could have said. Not a single one of them would have made a bit of sense. So she waited.

"And you didn't know about me until you read this diary?"

"No. I swear."

"But that was…what was it you said? A few months ago?"

She almost smiled. "You don't miss a single detail, do you?"

He didn't smile back. "That's why they paid me the big bucks."

"It took a while to locate you," she said and left it at that.

Hank was quiet for a moment or two, although Jenna could sense the tension writhing inside him. "Thought women were real funny about diaries. Reading someone else's, I mean."

"I wouldn't have touched it while Sandy was alive, even if I'd known of its existence. But my sister was an enigma, to put it mildly." She sighed. "Look, Blair thinks Sandy died from an overdose. Which is technically true. What she doesn't know is that it was apparently deliberate." Hank swore; Jenna went on. "So I thought maybe the diary would give me an insight or two into who the hell she was. Why she was so obviously unhappy. The last thing I expected was to stumble across a name she refused to reveal for thirteen years."

Hank set the photograph on the table, then dragged his hand down his face. "I'm having a little trouble here…"

"I can understand that—"

"Understand?" he roared, wheeling on her as the lid blew off his emotions. Meringue sailed out of the bedroom and up onto the back of the sofa, where she pawed at Hank's arm, mewing in distress. He ignored her. "Like hell you understand! Can you even begin to imagine what it's like to suddenly discover you've got a kid? That you've been a father for thirteen freakin' years and nobody told you? Dammit to hell—" he slammed his fist into the top of the sofa, sending the cat bolting from the room again, then jabbed a pointed finger in Jenna's direction "—I've never shirked a responsibility in my life and damned if I would have this one! I would've taken care of Sandy and the baby! I probably would've married her, if that's what she'd wanted."

Her pulse beating painfully at the base of her throat, Jenna waited a second until the dust settled, twisting her wedding rings around and around her finger. "Did you love her?"

He flinched. "Well…no. Hell, I don't think we were together two weeks before she took off."

"Then why would you have married her?"

"What is this, a trick question?"

Jenna had to tamp down the urge to laugh, to release the tension threatening to explode inside her skull. "She knew you were a cop?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I imagine it must've killed her to keep clean for two whole weeks. Or at least to have kept it from you."

His rage spent—at least for the moment—Hank let out a huge sigh, and another curse, before dropping onto the sofa in the same spot where Jenna had been sitting minutes before.

"None of this makes a lick of sense," he said.

"Yeah, well, making sense wasn't Sandy's strong suit. Nor was being tied down. Which was one of the reasons I was leery of even following through on this, once I found out."

His eyes lifted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"My sister wasn't exactly…discriminating. To be blunt, when Sandy refused to tell us who the father was, I assumed it was because she didn't know. Even when I saw the name in her diary, I couldn't be sure if she'd put it there because you really were Blair's father, or because yours was the only name she actually remembered."

That cold, dark gaze speared hers. "But you're here anyway."

"Yes."

"Why? For money?"

"No. I do well enough to provide for Blair, and my parents set up a college fund for her when she was a baby. She can go anyplace that'll accept her. But I'm all Blair has. If anything happens to me, there's nobody else. And once I did know, or thought I knew, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I didn't at least investigate the possibility of introducing the two of you to each other." When, like a storm gathering new strength, annoyance flared in his eyes, she said, "Hey, I've raised Blair since she was a baby. I didn't—don't—know you from Adam. So what was I supposed to do—just put the two of you together and say, 'Hey, guess what, kid—this is your father'? I'm not going to apologize for being cautious."

His eyes narrowed. "You sicced a P.I. on me?"

"Yes. I'm not going to apologize for that, either."

"I don't expect you to. But if you did, you knew before you got here I was clean."

"I knew what you were, yes. But I didn't know who you were."

He seemed to process that for a moment, then asked, "You were going to ask me to be tested?"

"I suppose. I hadn't gotten that far."

Their gazes tangled for several more seconds before Hank got up and walked over to the door, then out onto the porch, his expression shellshocked. Jenna followed him outside; from around the bend, they could hear Blair coming up the path, her sweet, light soprano giving the birdsong some stiff competition. Tears burned Jenna's eyes, that her niece had no sooner begun to get her bearings out here than she was about to have her world turned upside down all over again.

"Now what do we do?" Hank asked, his voice strained.

"Nothing for the moment." Jenna hesitated, then touched Hank's arm, warm and strong and rough under her fingers, startled at the impulse that rocketed through her, to wrap her arms around him, to hug him through this as she might have a child. "Not until you've had some time to deal with this on your own first."

He nodded, his focus riveted on his daughter. "Dammit, Jenna…I don't know a blamed thing about teenaged girls."

Jenna felt her lips curve. "Does anybody?"

Hank glanced at her, the anguish in his eyes nearly taking her under before he clomped down the steps…and past his daughter without saying a word.

* * *

Okay…what was up with Jenna touching Mr. Logan?

Just like that, Blair's good mood disintegrated. She tucked her arms against her ribs and stamped up the porch steps. When she got close enough, she could see that Jenna's cheeks were all pink, like she was excited or something.

"What's going on, Jenna?"

Her aunt jerked, her cheeks getting even redder. "What are you talking about—?"

"Why was Mr. Logan here?"

"To…make sure the plumbing was working okay. Why else?"

"Then why'd you have your hand on his arm?"

Jenna laughed then, but it sounded like there was too much air in it. "Oh, for pity's sake…so I touched him? That doesn't mean we're engaged, sweetie."

Oh, Jenna was trying to stay cool, but Blair could tell something was up. It was, like, so obvious that Jenna was keeping something from her. Something big. She had the same look on her face she'd had for all those months before she'd told Blair that Uncle Phil was sick, that stupid fake-happy look grown-ups wear when they don't think you can handle the truth.

Blair banged back the screen door and stormed inside, hauling Meringue up into her arms and carrying her into her room, where she climbed up onto her bed, her legs crossed. Meringue immediately started purring and kneading Blair's shorts, but she only half noticed. Her eyes burned—what if Jenna did like Mr. Logan? What if he started staying over at night, like DeAnna's mom's boyfriends did? What if—her stomach pitched—what if Jenna fell in love with Mr. Logan and they got married? And then Blair and Jenna would have to move here permanently?

Blair started to rock, hugging Meringue to her. Oh, God. OhGodohGodohGod…

At Jenna's knock on her partially open door, Blair swiped her hand across her nose, except then she sneezed five times in a row because like half the cat's fur was stuck to her face.

"Here," Jenna said, handing her a tissue box. Then she sat on the edge of her bed, her forehead all creased. "Honey…what on earth are you so upset about?"

Blair blew her nose, took a deep breath and said, "Promise me you won't marry Mr. Logan?"

Jenna looked like she was about to choke. "You're jumping to this conclusion because of what you just saw?"

"I never saw you touch anybody else. Not since Uncle Phil died."

"Blair, for heaven's sake…who would that have been? I hardly even go out, unless it's to take you someplace."

Blair shrugged, her chin in her hand as she dragged her fingers through Meringue's fur, watching the way it clumped into rows.

"In any case, cutiepie," Jenna said, hugging her with one arm, "it's not something you need to worry your pretty little head about. I barely know the man. And, well, let's just say he's not the type I've ever been attracted to." When Blair looked over at Jenna, she reached up and smoothed Blair's hair away from her face. "Even if I were interested in another relationship. Which I'm not." She leaned back, searching Blair's face, which made Blair nervous. "And what have you got against Mr. Logan, anyway?"

Now it was Blair's turn to choke. "Where would you like me to start?"

"Hmm. I don't recall you thought he was so horrible a little while ago when he was rescuing the puppy."

That tripped her up, but only for a second. "Yeah, well, you saw the way he just walked right past me a little while ago and didn't say anything, like he couldn't get away fast enough."

"And maybe that didn't have anything to do with you," Jenna said quietly, after a second. "Maybe he was…pre-occupied."

"And maybe he's just rude. And what does it matter to you, anyway, what I think about him? I mean, you don't like him, either."

"Just because I don't want to marry the man doesn't mean I don't like him. No, listen to me for a minute," she added before Blair could say anything. "I do understand why you think what you do about Mr. Logan. But I also know it's all too easy sometimes to base our opinions of people on misperceptions. If there's one thing my advanced years have taught me—"

Geez, Blair thought, ducking her head to pick at the polish on her big toenail, why did grown-ups always talk about how old they were?

"—it's that people who are rude or mean are often pretty unhappy about something. That doesn't necessarily excuse their behavior, I'm not saying that. But it does help us to understand them. To maybe have a little compassion, you know?"

Then Jenna paused, clearly waiting for Blair to agree with her. She scratched a mosquito bite on her elbow. "Yeah. I guess."

"Well. That's all I'm trying to say. Now…I see there's a grill outside—how about eggplant and peppers for dinner?"

Blair nodded.

"Good." Jenna patted Blair's knee, then stood up. "Come help me slice."

"In a sec, okay?"

Her aunt watched her for a moment, then walked to the door, hugging herself the way she did when she was nervous. Then she twisted back around, the fake smile back in place. "By the way, I saw a DQ on the way into town. After dinner, how about we go get some Blizzards?"

Blair studied her aunt's face, as if trying to suck the truth out of her. No matter what Jenna said, even if maybe she was telling the truth about Mr. Logan, Blair still felt all icky inside.

"Maybe we could get another one of those milk shakes from Ruby's instead?"

The fake smile got more real. "You got it."

* * *

Considering how wobbly her knees were, Jenna counted it as a miracle that she made it to the kitchen on her own steam. Aiyiyi…she'd never thought that fast on her feet in her life. Not that she'd lied about anything. Exactly. She could no more see herself seriously involved with Hank Logan than she'd expect antlers to sprout from her head. And the part about his being different from any man she'd ever been attracted to? No lie there. Jenna just hoped Blair's ability to read between the lines wasn't as highly developed as her math skills.

Dear Heavenly Father, Jenna thought as she dragged the veggies out of the refrigerator—however she and Hank were going to handle this, they'd better by a damn sight figure it out fast, because another session like that and she'd be toast.

She rinsed the eggplant under the faucet, allowing herself the indulgence of awareness, of the vegetable's sponginess when she squeezed it, the smooth, cool texture and deep, rich color of its skin, the sensation of the breeze from the open window wicking the moisture from her wet hands. An odd, vaguely familiar ache spread through her bones, like what a hibernating creature must feel upon awakening in the spring—the remembrance, and maybe even the joy, of being alive.

There was a world beyond that of her own creation, she realized with a start. One she'd virtually ignored for more than three years.

One that now beckoned for her return.

Frowning, she thwonked the knife through the eggplant.

* * *

"What the hell do you mean, Blair's my niece?"

Leaning against the hood of Cal's truck, a Marlboro dangling from his fingers, Hank wondered if his own expression was half as flummoxed as Cal's was right now. "Just what I said." He took a drag of the cigarette, hissed out a stream of smoke, even as he realized there wasn't enough nicotine in the world to ease the panic knotted in his chest. "Wasn't a coincidence, her looking like Mama's picture."

Far overhead, a hawk let out its hunting cry. Cal leaned up against the truck, too, his arms crossed. "You mean to tell me you knocked up Jenna Stanton's sister fourteen years ago and you're just now getting wind of it?"

"Blair's mother didn't seem to think I'd be interested in that bit of information." Then he filled his brother in on the rest of it. What Jenna had told him, anyway, about the diary and her not knowing, either, until that point. Under normal circumstances, Hank probably wouldn't have told either of his brothers—or anybody, for that matter—about any of this until he'd settled it down in his own head a bit more first. But Cal had basically nagged it out of him. And now his baby brother let out a nice, juicy cuss word.

"That about covers it," Hank said, thinking he had to admit, it eased things some, being able to tell someone else.

"This somebody you were serious about?"

Hank sucked in a sharp breath, then felt his mouth twist. "I was twenty-five, Cal. I wasn't lookin' to settle down at that point. Wasn't looking for much of anything, I suppose, other than somebody to make the nights a little less lonely. To tell you the truth…I can't even really remember what she looked like."

"It was a long time ago," Cal said softly.

"Yeah. I suppose. Doesn't seem…right, though, having a kid with someone you can barely remember."

"Hey—she skipped out on you, Hank, so don't you go beating yourself up over it. Only thing that matters is what you do now. Right?"

Hank felt one side of his mouth hitch up. "Yeah. Right." He took his last pull of the cigarette, pulverized the butt underneath the sole of his workboot. "But don't you dare tell Ryan."

"What d'you think Ryan's going to do? Lecture you on using protection?"

"I don't know and I'm not in the mood to find out, okay? So keep your trap shut until I say otherwise. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine." Then Hank felt his brother's gaze on the side of his face. "You okay?"

"What do you think?"

After a moment of silence, Cal grabbed his cowboy hat off his head, crammed it back on. "Man…" Hank glanced over, noticing for the first time that Cal didn't look so much like a kid anymore, that getting on to thirty had hardened his features some. "This is really somethin'."

Something hot and cold and scary shot through Hank as the pup waddled over, then sat down all lopsided and grinned up at him. How the hell had this happened? After Michelle, Hank's only goal in life had been to avoid having another living thing to worry about. To take care of. To be responsible for. So now, in the space of, what? An hour? He ends up with a dog and a daughter?

Cal swatted a fly away from his face. "Guess that means you'll be seein' more of Blair's aunt, huh?"

Oh, yeah. That, too. Hank inwardly swore. What with the shock of finding out he was somebody's daddy, the further ramifications of this little bombshell hadn't even occurred to him. But Cal was right: it wasn't like the month would end and Blair and Jenna would go back to D.C. and that would be that. Jenna Stanton was now a permanent part of his life, just as much as Blair was.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Guess so," Hank said. Casually. "Although I haven't thought much about that part of it."

"No, no, I suppose not. Well. I best be going." Cal finally got in his truck, slamming shut the door after him. Then he said, "Hey. You need to talk, you call me, you hear?"

"Oh, yeah? And what good you think that's gonna do?"

His brother shrugged. Cal wasn't as big as Hank, but that didn't mean he was puny, either. Kid had a good set of shoulders on him. "Don't know, actually. But I can listen. Sometimes it doesn't hurt to have a sounding board, you know."

Hank met Cal's irritatingly calm green gaze, then nodded. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, then stood and watched as his little brother drove off.

The pup yipped. Hank looked down. Like he needed something else to think about right now. Of course, nobody'd put a gun to his head about taking the dog. Just like nobody'd put a gun to his head about going home with some cute little brunette he'd met in a bar one night after work fourteen years ago. In other words, nothing was happening to him that he himself hadn't set in motion at some point along the way.

Not that that made him feel a whole lot better.

"I suppose you're hungry?" That got another yip, followed by a kowtow with the beast's scrawny butt up in the air, tail a blur. In spite of everything, something eased inside Hank. Not much, but enough so he could breathe again. "You like hamburger, mutt?" The pup plopped his keyster on the ground, cocking his head at Hank. He reached down and scooped up the little dog, who immediately started cleaning his chin. "Don't tell me you don't know what hamburger is?"

Guess this means you'll be seeing more of Blair's aunt, huh?

So much for being able to breathe again.

Hank carted the dog inside, setting him down on the floor and fixing one ear that had turned inside out. "Okay, listen up—you make a mess on this floor, you're history." He went on into the kitchenette and pulled three frozen hamburger patties out of the freezer, threw them under the broiler, his thoughts doing this ping-pong number between Jenna Stanton and Blair and Jenna and Blair and what the hell was he gonna do about any of this?

He went into the bathroom to wash up, caught a load of himself in the mirror. Scraping a hand across his bearded face, he thought, well, hell—no wonder Jenna hadn't fallen all over herself to tell him about Blair. He wouldn't have told him about Blair, either, not looking like this. Or acting the way he had, he supposed. Not a whole lot here to exactly inspire trust and confidence.

So he couldn't exactly fault her for being a little…whatever it was she was. Brittle? High-handed? Her niece clearly meant everything to her. Was everything to her. And her sister, even in death, had put Jenna in a hellacious position.

Hank finally got around to washing his hands, swearing when the soap went flying back behind the toilet where the floor wasn't as clean as maybe it could have been. He swiped it off the floor, picking clumps of dust and hair off it, frowning.

You know…Jenna could just as easily have decided to ignore what she'd seen in her sister's diary. If she hadn't bothered to look for him, nobody would've known but her. But she was here, wasn't she?

Oh, yeah, she was here all right. Way too here for Hank's peace of mind. Making his skin itch. Making him hot, just from one stupid little touch. Hell, making him hot just with those damn take-no-crap blue eyes of hers.

He'd hardly been the only twenty-five-year-old to indulge in casual sex. Even if it wasn't something he'd done on a regular basis, not even back then. So Cal was right—no sense beating himself up over it. Hank had treated Blair's mother well, the short time they were together, even though he pretty much figured the affair would end the way it had. When he'd called and her roommate had answered the phone, said Sandy'd left that morning and no, she didn't know where to, Hank had been neither surprised nor even particularly disappointed. Something about the way she'd never looked him directly in the eye, the way she'd given him her body, but nothing else…

Sandy Hollins had been no threat to his bachelorhood, that was for sure.

And neither was her sister. Even if Jenna Stanton could twist his gut inside out more with a single look than Sandy Hollins had been able to the whole time he'd known her.

He swore at his reflection and the soap, which was now all bumpy like that oatmeal stuff his mother used to use, then went back into the kitchen to turn the hamburgers. The mutt was at the back door, whining to go out.

"Okay," Hank said, opening the door. "But no wandering off. Just do your business and come straight back."

The pup scampered off and Hank went back to cooking and pondering, neither of which was giving him much pleasure.

He already knew firsthand how much of a bitch life could be. Didn't need a refresher course. Maybe fourteen years ago he would have taken on a wife and child, somehow worked things out…

A rueful laugh rumbled in Hank's chest. The probability that things would have "worked out" between him and Blair's mother was slim to none, and he knew it. Then he shut his eyes against a far more shameful truth: he didn't want to be a father. Not now. Not anymore. But it looked like he was one, whether he wanted it or not. So he'd get to know his daughter, even though he had a real strong feeling Blair wasn't going to make it easy. And in order to do that, he'd have to get to know Jenna Stanton, which was the only thing he wanted to do less. Not because he didn't like her, though.

Because he did.

Chapter 5

Jenna's muscles griped at being forced to work again after nearly a week off. Tough. She'd missed her runs, but what with everything that had been going on, getting up at dawn—which was the only time she could run and not risk heat-stroke—had not been high on her list. This morning, however, two days after Hank's discovery, she'd awakened with the birds, far too much adrenaline surging through her body to stay in bed. So here she was, her Nikes beating a tattoo in the dust as she ran along some back road or other. The sun bobbed into view over the trees, the sweetly scented morning mist mingling with the dampness leeching from her pores as she ran, and thought, and worried. Coming to a fork in the road, Jenna ran in place for several seconds, swigging warm water from her bottle, contemplating which way to go. The road to the right was shaded. Oh, goody—one thing, at least, that didn't require undue brain cell expenditure. Or induce an anxiety attack.

They'd been here for the better part of a week; Blair was bound to pick up that Jenna had yet to start her "research," even though Darryl Andrews had brought the fixed Toyota back yesterday morning. But for some reason, implementing phase 2 of the gameplan—getting together with Hank to figure out phase 3—was proving even trickier than phase 1 had been.

If she had half a prayer of selling Blair on Hank—no mean feat when her niece thought the man ranked several notches below snail slime—she was going to have to spend some time with him. Alone. If she had half a prayer of Hank's being able to meet Blair on something even remotely resembling her own terms, she had thirteen years of childhood to coach him through…alone.

Yep. Prime anxiety-attack-inducing material, there. But for pity's sake—just because she hadn't felt a man's touch in more than three years, and just because Hank Logan exuded enough animal magnetism to realign the North Pole was no reason, none, for her to feel jittery at the prospect of being alone with him. And maybe if she told herself that, oh, twenty or thirty thousand more times, she might even start to believe it.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it—alone time hadn't been an issue for the past forty-eight hours, since Libby had come down with some sort of crud and Blair had had nowhere to go. Until today, since Libby had called Blair last night and said she was better and could Blair please, please come over today before Libby's brothers drove her totally nuts?

Jenna rounded a bend in the road, getting the sun out of her face and the motel once again in her sights. Her lungs felt ready to burst, her leg muscles screamed, and there was nothing left inside her skull except dust bunnies. In a few hours, with no further excuses to avoid the inevitable, she was going to stuff her malnourished sex drive in a cage and get on with it. After all, the whole shebang had been her bright idea.

Right?

Gasping for air like a landed carp as perspiration sluiced off her skin in torrents, Jenna slowed to a walk when she hit the motel grounds. There were…let's see…six cars parked out front this morning. Wow.

"Morning," she heard behind her. She let out an eek and spun around—the last thing she wanted or needed or expected was for Mr. If-You-Wake-Me-Before-Eight-You-Take-What-You-Get to pop out of the office, all freshly showered and shaved, poured into a blindingly white T-shirt. The pup tumbled down the single step from the office door and waddled over to her….

Wait. Shaved?

"You know, Grubby," Hank said laconically, uncoiling a hose from a clay pot by the door, "you can catch flies with your mouth hangin' open like that."

Jenna snapped shut her mouth. Opened it again. "Who you calling Grubby?"

"Not the dog, that's for sure." He turned the water on, aimed the hose at one of the planters. Jenna squatted to pet the dog, who nearly turned himself inside out with rapture. Criminy—her hands were shaking. Was he teasing her?

"I see the dog's still here," she said to distract herself.

"Yep. Asked around when I took him into the vet's yesterday, but nobody seems to be missing him. So I guess we're a couple now."

She smiled, then said, because she couldn't stand it anymore, "You shaved." Damn. The last word wobbled a bit.

He rubbed one hand along his jaw, just like they do in those aftershave commercials. "Figured it was time. Took ten minutes to find my razor, though."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Oh, no…that wouldn't be her teasing back, would it? As in…flirting?

Hank's chuckle made his smile stretch out a liiittle bit more, giving yet another glimpse of the nice person that lived inside Mr. Grouch. For a second, Jenna contemplated her sister's idiocy for walking away from this guy.

"Didn't figure on anyone else being up this early," Hank said, his words scattering her thoughts like a bunch of bowling pins.

"Me, either. Why're you?"

The smile faded as he moved the hose over to the next pot. Splashing water droplets sparkled in the sunshine. "Too much on my mind, I guess…hey, mutt—get outta there!" He turned the hose on the dog, who had plopped down in one of the flower beds and was happily munching on a petunia. He yelped and scampered away, only to sidle right back up and plant his butt on the toe of Hank's workboot. Hank sighed.

So did Jenna, but not for the same reasons. She straightened up, thinking, okay, the sweat could stop pouring off her anytime now. Sure, her deodorant was that "you could even skip a day" brand, but let's not push it. "Yeah. Same here." And it was precisely all this stuff on their minds keeping them awake at night that made teasing or flirting or whatever highly inappropriate. "Does he have a name yet?"

"Nope. If the girls don't come through soon, he's just gonna be Mutt." The pup rolled bonelessly onto his back, little pink tummy exposed to the breeze, and woofed up at Hank.

"Maybe that's just as well. We have a cat named Meringue, remember?"

"Good point," he said, and she thought, damn, I did it again, didn't I? Nerves, that's what must be causing this…bantering. Jenna didn't banter. At least, not that she could remember. A defense mechanism is what this was, an unconscious attempt to diffuse the tension, right?

Then she cleared her throat and said, "Um, I think Blair's going to go up to Libby's sometime today? So, uh, I guess we should try to find a time to get together? To…talk things over?"

Like a cloud eclipsing the sun, the mood shifted. The pup scrambled to his feet when Hank walked over to turn off the water. "Wondered when you were going to get around to that."

"I would have sooner, but we have to be careful. About when we're together."

He turned to her with that annoyingly penetrating gaze of his. "Careful?"

Jenna's skin warmed. With any luck, Hank would assume her "glow" was from exertion. "Blair saw us on the porch the other day. When I touched you?" she added at the "huh?" that flared in his eyes. "From there, her imagination took flight. She assumed we had something going."

A beat or two passed before he said, "And you said?"

"Th-that she had absolutely nothing to worry about."

His mouth pulled into something not quite a grimace, but definitely not a smile. "Dammit," he said softly. "Why are you afraid of me?"

Naturally, she started. "Wh-what makes you think that?"

"Well, call this a wild guess, but the way you act all jumpy when you're around me kinda leaves that impression."

Over her ka-thudding heart, Jenna said, "It's…the situation. Not you. I'm not afraid of you."

Exactly.

"Glad to hear it," he said after a moment, although the words fairly crackled with skepticism. "Well, anyway. Guess there's no point in puttin' this off. What time?"

"I don't know yet. Will you be around?"

One corner of his mouth lifted. "I s'pose I can fit it into my schedule."

"Okay. Good. I'll, um, be in touch, then," she said, backing away, realizing her sports bra was soaked through and that, as luck would have it, a breeze had come up, chilling her damp skin. And that Hank Logan had no qualms about letting his gaze roam where it would. Not that there was much to roam over, but still.

She pivoted smartly and jogged all the way back to the cabin.

Oh, God, yes, she was afraid of him. Of her reaction to him. A reaction she didn't understand in the least. Before Phil's illness, the sex had been good. Better than good. But when Phil died, her libido had died right along with him, a state of affairs she'd found convenient, if nothing else. The last thing she'd expected was for it to rise like a phoenix from the ashes now.

Not good. At all.

Blair was still sawing logs when Jenna got back, so she ducked into the bathroom for a fast shower, after which she decided to check her e-mail. Her editor was overdue in getting back to her about her latest book proposal, which she needed to get approved so she could set up her next year's writing schedule. She shimmied into a clean tank top and a pair of shorts, then sat down to her laptop, towel-drying her hair. Sure enough, there was something from her editor—who was new, young and on the ball—but not what she'd expected.

Hey, did you know some of your biggest numbers come from this one bookstore in Tulsa? Annmarie wrote. It would be really fabulous if you'd do a book signing while you're out there. I think your fans would get a huge kick out of it, don't you? PR's already contacted them, they said either Saturday the 10th or the 17th would be great if you could make it. Let me know, okay?

Jenna stared at the message for a full minute, her chest tight.

"I think you should go."

"Oh, Lord, honey," Jenna said, bouncing around to face her niece. "You nearly gave me apoplexy. What on earth are you doing up this early?"

"The shower woke me. I'm serious, Jenna. You should totally do this." Blair swiped her hair behind her ear, tucking one foot up underneath as she sat down across from Jenna. She tugged her sleep T over her knee, her expression earnest. "I could go with you, like we used to do, remember—?"

"Oh sweetie…" Jenna skimmed the message again. "I don't know…"

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

Blair leaned forward to let the cat play with her fingers. "I think you think you're shy, but you're not really. It's just, I don't know, maybe because you spend so much time alone, you've forgotten how to be with people?"

Love flooded through Jenna for this remarkable child that God had seen fit to leave in her care. And right on its heels, a surge of guilt—for not telling her yet about her father, for underestimating Blair's ability to handle the news. Even so, she now had Hank's feelings to consider, too. As unfair as it was to Blair to keep the truth from her, neither was it fair to Hank to tell her before he'd had a chance to come to terms with it.

Honestly. If they didn't get this sorted out soon, Jenna's head was going to explode. She reached out to smooth down her niece's tangled hair. "How'd you get to be so smart?"

"Wondered how long it'd take you to notice," Blair said with a glittery grin.

Jenna chuckled, then tilted her head. "You still hate it here?"

Blair's shoulders hopped under the pale pink jersey. "It's okay, I guess." Then she shot up off the chair and headed toward the bathroom. "I've gotta shower an' stuff. Libby said she might call around nine, her dad's gonna take us into Claremore while he does some shopping. Is that okay?"

Jenna willed enough brain cells to clump together to at least approximate a synapse. This was it, then. Her chance to meet with Hank. "Oh. Sure. Just, um, don't forget to call me and let me know when you expect to be back."

Blair gave her an eye-roll, then vanished into the bathroom. Meringue leapt up onto the table and bumped heads with Jenna, rattling loose a whole slew of thoughts about coming clean with Blair about Hank, about the book signing, about the fact that Blair was right—Jenna really had become a recluse since her husband's death. Since well before that, actually.

"I'm the most boring person on the planet, aren't I?" she asked the cat, who yawned in response. But it was true. She and Phil hadn't had many friends, both too jealous of their creative time to be social. Of the few people they did occasionally see, one couple had moved away, another had split up, and Jenna had let her own friends drift away. And her relationships with her agent and editor were strictly business. Other than Blair, she realized, the only "people" in her life were those of her own creating.

Geez. And she wondered why Hank Logan made her nervous?

* * *

"I can't believe you brought the dog," Jenna said between yips and hisses as she stuffed cold cuts and lettuce and tomato into whole wheat pita pockets.

The girls would be gone until at least three. So, after a run to the local supermarket to stock up, Jenna had decided to invite Hank to lunch. She hadn't counted on the pup, however, who, for the past ten minutes, had been trying to convince the cat—who was spewing decidedly unladylike epithets in the dog's direction from her perch atop the refrigerator—he was one of the good guys.

"Can't leave him in my apartment. Damn dog chews everything in sight."

She glanced over at Hank, seated on the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest, one denim-covered leg stretched halfway out into the room. Outwardly, he looked almost relaxed, but even from this distance she could sense the energy coiled inside him, set to spring at the slightest provocation. "How could you tell?"

"Very funny, Grubby."

And maybe she was making far more of this than she needed to. Maybe, now that he'd had a minute to absorb his new role, he wasn't nearly as bent out of shape about it as she'd thought he would be. Maybe he really was relaxed. And maybe, like her, he made jokes to mask his anxiety.

"Hey," she said. "I showered."

"Yeah. I noticed."

O-kay, just keep making those sandwiches. "Want something to drink? I've got tea, diet Coke or water."

"That's a choice?"

"Sorry." She carried the plates with the sandwiches over to the dining table, then wiped her hands on her butt. "This is strictly a PG kitchen."

"Tea, then."

Jenna returned to the kitchen, filled two glasses with suntea. With a grunt, Hank got up from the sofa and took a seat at the table. She didn't miss the grimace at the pita sandwiches.

"What?"

"What's with the girl food?"

She looked at the sandwich she'd set at his place, then at the man about to consume it. Probably in a single bite. With a sigh, Jenna set the tea glasses on the table and looped right back around to the kitchen.

"I don't mean for you to go to any more trouble—"

"I don't intend to." She yanked a bag of potato chips—her private stash—from the cupboard and a tub of macaroni salad from the fridge, plopping both down in front of him. "Here. Live."

Hank ripped open the bag of chips and grabbed a handful, then offered them to her. She declined. "I've still got two chocolate shakes to work off."

"You work anything more off, you'll disappear."

He was doing that intense staring thing he did, no less disconcerting simply because he'd wiped every hint of expression from his face. She plucked a tomato slice out of her sandwich and nibbled on it. "I put on a lot of weight when Phil was sick. A lot of weight," she added at the skeptical look he gave her. "I knew I was in trouble when lacing up my sneakers knocked the wind out of me. Took me nearly a year to lose it. I do not want to gain it back."

"So…the potato chips are for Blair?"

Her mouth twisted. "One of the hazards of shopping in an unfamiliar store. You don't know which aisles to avoid until you're halfway down them."

He chuckled. "You've got a real thing about control, don't you?"

His question startled her, but more for his astuteness than his impertinence. "I don't know. I've never thought about it. Maybe."

The dog, having apparently decided his prospects for food were far better than for cat, begged for a bite of his sandwich—which Hank readily offered.

"Oh, no you don't," she said. "Dogs do not get seven-dollar-a-pound smoked turkey. Dogs get dog food."

"Fine. You got any kibble lyin' around?"

"Well, no…"

"Then the dog gets turkey." He tossed the pup a bite, then got quiet, munching on his chips for a minute. A long minute.

Jenna fidgeted with her sandwich, finally broke down and snitched a chip from the bag. "Okay—who goes first?"

From underneath black lashes, blacker eyes flicked in her direction. "You."

A chill raced up her spine, even though it wasn't the least bit cool in the room.

Teasing time was over.

* * *

He'd never known a woman who blushed as much as this one did. She broke the potato chip into a dozen pieces, then shoved her hair behind her ear. "I'm not sure where to start." Her bra strap slipped—white, no frills—and she hurriedly pushed it back up. "You wanna know how much the P.I. found out?"

"Okay, let's go with that."

"All right," she said on a rush of air. "I know how old you are, that you were a police officer in Dallas up until a couple of years ago, that you were there when Sandy said you two had your affair. That your record was spotless, that you were respected. That you were up for lieutenant, before…" She hesitated, stuck a piece of chip in her mouth. "I know about your fiancée. That after her death, you came back here, bought this place." She shrugged, making the bra strap slip again. This time, she let it be. "That's pretty much it." Her flush deepened. "I'm sorry," she added.

Hank nodded, almost automatically, carefully wiping his hands on his napkin. He'd dreaded this meeting for a boatload of reasons, half of which he couldn't even completely figure out. Maybe he'd enjoyed being able to get under her skin at first, but now it bugged him, the way she got all jittery around him. Not that he wanted to get close to her or anything; he just didn't want her to hate him. Especially if they were going to share raising a kid. Underneath all the crap he'd piled up around himself over the past couple of years lurked somebody he used to take pride in being. He was real keen on finding that person again.

But he had a lot of shoveling to do first.

"Are you angry?" she now asked. "That I know?"

After a minute, he shook his head. "I should be, I suppose. But in a way it makes things easier, doesn't it?" He leaned back in his chair, his hands laced behind his head, watching her. Thought how, if the situation had been different…But it wasn't. Still, it was fascinating, the way everything she thought was right there on the surface, flickering in her cool blue eyes, trembling around her expressive mouth. "Gives us something in common."

"Yes, I suppose it does," she said, her voice catching. She took a swallow of her tea, then skimmed her fingertip along the rim of the glass. "Although…I wonder which is worse—watching someone you love take more than a year to die, or having it happen with no warning."

Hank could answer that, but he didn't. His parents' deaths had been hard. But Michelle's was the most brutal thing he'd ever gone through. Which cut right to the heart of the matter. Two days of thinking things over might have have helped him accept the fact of his fatherhood—he didn't need any DNA test to prove Blair was his, between the dates lining up and her being a dead ringer for his mother—but that didn't mean he felt any differently about it. And if there was one thing Hank was lousy at, it was pretending.

"I have to be totally up front with you, Jenna," he said quietly. "I'm gonna deal with this…turn of events, because I have to. But can't say as I want it."

"I know, you're still in shock—"

"This has nothing to do with shock."

Stunned disappointment skuttled across her features. "You don't want your own child?"

Hank let out a harsh sigh. "It's more complicated than that. A lot more complicated. I don't even know yet how I feel about having a kid. I've come to terms with having one, but…aw, hell, I don't know what I mean, how could I expect anybody else to? This is about…"

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, desperate for his thoughts to line up, to make sense. Jenna's watchful silence from across the table wasn't making things easier, that was for sure.

"See, I've always been somebody who liked to call the shots. To be in control. Like you," he added, although he didn't figure that would help his cause any, not in the long run. "Which is why I became a cop, thinking maybe that was a way I could, I don't know, fix things or something." He took a moment to send old images packing, then said, "Well, Michelle's death pretty much screwed that idea all to hell. But once a control freak, always a control freak. If I can't control what happens to the people I care about, then…"

"You can at least control who you care about."

Instead of relief, that she'd understood, he felt more like she'd just stabbed him with a dull knife.

"That'd been the plan, yeah."

She toyed with a chunk of tomato on her plate, then looked up at him. "Would you rather I hadn't brought Blair out to you?"

"You got any idea how many times I've asked myself the same question?"

"And?"

A sigh gusted from his lips. "I don't know. I honest to God do not know. And if that makes me a bad man, I'm sorry. But I'm not gonna pretend to be thrilled about this."

"I see." Her gaze was level. Stronger than any woman's he'd ever seen, save maybe for his mother's. "Well. I don't suppose I have to tell Blair."

Another plunge with that damn dull knife. "What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said. If you really can't handle this, we'll go back to D.C. at the end of the month and that'll be that. Because there is no way I'm letting Blair get hurt again if I can help it. She never said much about it, but I know it tore her up, knowing her mother didn't really want her. Knowing her father can't, or won't, love her, either, would devastate her—"

"I never said I didn't want to love her!" Hank slammed his hands onto the table and rocketed from the chair. "But I don't know if I can. Not after what I've been through. There's a difference."

"Oh, yeah? Explain that to a thirteen-year-old child." She pushed herself up from the table and tromped over to the door, yanking it open. "I think you need to leave now."

"We haven't settled anything—"

"I think we have. Or at least, you have." She shoved her hair away from her face; it fell right back. "Unless you can wrap your head around the idea of fatherhood as a privilege and not an obligation, we can just forget the whole damn thing. Having a child is about more than responsibility. It's about risk and joy and amazement and a hundred other things you'll never know because you're too damn scared to put your butt on the line."

"With good reason, dammit! I can't make myself feel something I don't!"

"I understand that, Hank. And I understand your pain. You know I do." Now he saw tears in her eyes. "But not all of us have the option of choosing whether or not we go on. When Phil died, I wasn't real interested in living, either. And God knows, I have no desire to put myself through that particular pain ever again, either. But as much as I wanted to retreat from life, I couldn't shut down completely, because I had a child who needed me. A child who deserved to suck every scrap of happiness out of life she could. So. Take your dog and go back to whatever it was you were doing before we got here. It's not as if Blair knows what she's missing, is it?"

Hank grabbed the puppy and strode out the door, doing an about-face when he hit the porch.

"You know something—I liked you a lot better when you were nervous."

"Yeah, well, I didn't," she said, practically shoving the door shut in his face.

* * *

Hank slapped down the next shingle and drove home the roofing nail in two blows.

Wham! Wham!

In a frantic flurry, about a million birds took off out of the surrounding trees. Way the hell over in the next county, somebody's dogs barked.

"Last damn time I'm gonna be honest—" wham! "—with anybody—" wham! "—about anything!"

He swiped his forearm across the sweat streaming down his face and sat back on his haunches, squinting out over this, the last roof to be reshingled. If everything went the way he'd hoped, there might actually be one week in August when all the cottages were rented out at the same time. And if he hadn't made such an ass of himself with Jenna a few hours back, he might even feel pretty good about that.

You know, people might talk about women killing to protect their young, but Jenna was the first woman he'd ever met he figured would actually do it. It must be something, to love that intensely, that completely.

Well, hell, he had, once upon a time. Not all that long ago, either. But the question was…could he love like that again? Or had he buried his feelings so deep, there'd be nothing left but a few moldering, useless scraps?

He hammered the next shingle into place—bam! bam! bam!—cigarette dangling from his lips, the midafternoon sun biting into his bare back. He leaned back, yanking the cigarette from his lips and making a face. Maybe he needed to change brands or something, this one tasted like crap—

"Hey, Hank! Didn't think I'd ever find you!"

He looked down to see Maddie Logan standing with her arms folded across her middle. Oh, hell. Not that he didn't think the world of his new sister-in-law, but the last thing he needed right now was company. Still, it wasn't like he could just blow her off. Especially as she'd no doubt go back and tattle to Ryan, and Hank really did not want to deal with that.

"Hey, Maddie—what can I do ya for?"

From underneath feathery, honey-colored bangs, silver eyes twinkled. "I brought you supper." Maddie had one of those croaky voices that made her sound like she always had a cold. And a down-home Arkansas accent that made Hank's sound positively uppercrust by comparison. "Beef stew. I made too much."

Okay, so maybe he could deal with beef stew. Now here was a woman who understood how to cook for a man. Hank stuck his hammer in his tool belt and scrambled over the roof and down the squawking aluminum ladder.

"Where's the kids?"

When Ryan had married Maddie, a widow, he also got her kids, a boy about six and two girls, four and one still under a year. Which probably accounted for why his sister-in-law seemed a lot older than twenty-five. Mentally, anyway. Skinny and little as she was, especially in that tank top and baggy, cutoff overalls and her hair caught up in one of those comb things, she looked about twelve.

"At home," she said with one of her wide, irrepressible grins. "Ryan's with 'em. It's his day off, so I stole an hour of it to run some errands. Oh…who's this?" she said with a squeal when she caught sight of the pup. "Hey, sweetie!" she called, squatting down to call the dog to her. Not surprisingly, he went. If Hank was thinking of him as a watchdog, forget it. "Oh, Lord," Maddie said, "when the kids get a load of him, they'll be pestering me to death for sure for one of their own."

"You want this one?"

"Oh, right." She picked up the dog, scratching between his ears while he did his best to exfoliate her chin. "Cal already told me about how you rescued him and all. Besides, did you get a good look at these feet? Don't think I want a dog that's gonna be bigger'n me."

Hank folded up the ladder, swung it up onto his shoulder and started back toward the office. "Big dogs are great with kids."

"Like you would know," Maddie said, falling in step beside him, still hanging on to the dog.

"We always had big dogs around when we were growing up. Mama used to say they were the best baby-sitters in the world. We couldn't get away with a damn thing that one of them wouldn't bark its head off and bring Mama or Daddy running to see what was up."

"Huh. Maybe I should think harder about getting one then. Lord knows I could use an extra set of eyes…oh, hey," she said when the office came into view, "isn't that Sam Frazier's gal?"

Hank tented his hand over his eyes. Sure enough, Libby and Blair were trooping down the road toward them, laughing so hard about something they could barely stay upright. Hank had seen Blair plenty of times since he'd found out she was his, most often when she didn't know he was looking. For some reason, though, maybe because of that set-to with Jenna, this was the first time her being his really hit home.

He realized Maddie was looking at him funny.

"What?" he said. "Oh. Yeah. That's Libby."

"Who's that she's with?"

"Blair Stanton," he said over the stab to his gut. "She's here for the month, staying with her aunt in one of the cottages."

He kept walking, looking straight ahead, holding his breath. Within two seconds he'd know whether or not Cal had kept his big trap shut. But when those two seconds had lengthened into ten, then thirty, and Maddie had gone on to bend his ear about other subjects, Hank figured there was one less baby brother to string up tonight.

When the girls got up to them, Libby gave Maddie a big hug, followed by a giggling introduction to Blair. Hank stood by in silence, the ladder digging into his shoulder, the discomfort that provoked nothing compared with the discomfort of this whole mess. At some point Blair looked up at him, those cool blue eyes judgmental as hell. And not, Hank decided, much liking what they saw.

She looked away, back at Libby who was telling Maddie that she and Blair were gonna pitch a tent and sleep out in one of the fields that night, as long as Blair's aunt said it was okay. Then they were off, giggling again as they trooped down the path toward Blair's cabin. And suddenly, nothing seemed more important to him than hearing his daughter laugh for him like that, someday.

"Hank…you okay?"

He yanked himself away from his wayward thoughts and looked at Maddie, nodding. "Too much sun," he said, then managed a grin. "So where's this stew?"

"In the car," she said, but he could tell she was only playing along, puzzling over what to make of his weirdness.

Since he was, too, he could understand.

Later, long after both Maddie and her stew were gone, after another guest had checked in and the sun had just about finished setting, Hank Logan and Mutt took a walk around the lake, during which he came to the long overdue conclusion that trying to control life was like building a house out of leaves. Sooner or later, the wind would come up and blow 'em all to hell.

Maybe he couldn't help how he felt. Maybe this whole thing scared the bejeezus out of him. Didn't mean he had any intention of abandoning his daughter, no matter what Ms. Bug-up-her-butt said.

Would it make his life easier, letting them go back without telling Blair the truth? Hell, yes. Would he be able to live with himself if that happened? No damn way. Now that he knew, it wasn't like they could rewind to three days ago and pretend he didn't. But he was going to do this his way. On his terms. And Jenna couldn't stop him.

But he sure wouldn't put it past her to try.

* * *

Slathered in enough bug goop to fend off the entire insect population of the Brazilian rainforest, Jenna had planted herself on one of the wicker rockers on the porch, rocking so hard her feet kept leaving the floor. Unfortunately, between the bug goop, the rocking and the hundred and one thoughts jitterbugging inside her head, all she was doing was making herself dizzy.

She'd never played poker in her life. Had never called anyone's bluff before. But damned if she was going to let Hank play the game unless he was willing to risk everything. As much as she wanted Blair to have someone else besides Jenna in her life, as wrong as it had been for Sandy to keep the truth from Hank, and even as much as Jenna intuited that Hank was indeed a basically good man who would do the right thing by his daughter, half-assed wasn't gonna cut it.

So when it came right down to it, she supposed she really wasn't bluffing. If Hank couldn't see his way past his fears—and Jenna really did understand his resistance—she would take Blair back home without telling her the truth.

But it would kill her.

So her only hope was that it would kill Hank more.

And while she was mulling over all this, she saw two figures approaching her in the dusk, a tall, lanky human male one, a lit cigarette like a lone headlight at hip level, and a short, four-legged fuzzy one who was thrilled to bits just to be alive.

She stopped rocking as Hank approached, the blood whoosh-whoosh-whooshing in her ears competing with the frantic chirps of about a million crickets and the occasional peeping from the frogs nestled in the rushes at the edge of the lake. He tossed down the cigarette butt, grinding it out before hooking one foot on the bottom porch step. The first firefly of the evening twinkled a few feet away; a startled look crossed the pup's face before he jumped up, snapping where the light had been a second before. Safely sequestered behind the window screen, Meringue mewed softly, although scolding the dog or because she wanted to chase fireflies, too, Jenna couldn't say.

A warm breeze ruffled her hair; Hank made a face. "If that's some sort of high-falutin' perfume you're wearing, it's not doing a thing for me."

"I'm not wearing it for you. I'm wearing it for the bugs." She folded her arms across her jackhammering stomach, only to immediately unfold them, clamping her hands on the rocker's arms. "But then, I suppose only wusses wear bug spray in your book."

"Don't know. They've never bothered me."

"Wusses or bugs?"

His mouth curved up at the corners. "Either."

Anticipation twanged between them for a second until Jenna finally blurted out, "So why are you here?"

His expression sobered. Stuffing one hand in his jeans pocket, he grabbed the porch support post with the other. "To say you're not going back to D.C. without telling Blair about me."

Jenna willed her heart to keep beating. "You've changed your mind?"

"About what I said earlier? No."

"Then—"

"Then, nothing," he said in a low, don't-even-think-about-messing-with-me voice. "You've got no right keeping the truth from her, or keeping her from me. What I feel has no bearing on the issue. If I'm not sure how I'm gonna deal with this, that's my business. Maybe I don't know a damn thing about teenaged girls, Jenna. And I sure don't know a damn thing about my daughter. And I get the feeling she doesn't like me very much. But I can promise you, I won't hurt her if I can at all avoid it, and I won't abandon her or flit in and out of her life the way her mother did."

He leaned forward, the fading light insufficient to mask the burning intensity of his eyes. "I want to know what grade she gets on every test, who her friends are, what her favorite ice cream flavor is and what her dreams are and what she's afraid of. Even if she hates my guts, even if this whole prospect scares the living hell out of me, I will be there for her and she will know she's important to me. And you can't stop me."

Bored with the fireflies, Mutt dragged himself up the steps and over to Jenna, whining to be picked up. Amazed she could even move, she did, grateful to have the dog to focus on so she didn't have to look at Hank. Not that she could have seen him clearly anyway for the tears blurring her vision.

Ever since Blair was a baby, Jenna had wondered where her niece had come by the fierce determination that had provoked both wonder and exasperation in Jenna in equal measure. This was the child who'd insisted on walking into kindergarten by herself the first day, even though she'd thrown up three times that morning. This was the child who'd stood up to a school bully every day for two weeks before Jenna ever found out there was a problem. This was the child who, at ten, made sure Jenna got dinner every night, even if it was only a cheese sandwich and tomato soup, all those long, exhausting months when taking care of her dying husband had consumed Jenna's every waking thought.

Now, listening to Hank, Jenna knew.

She set the dog down, then got up and walked over to the screen door.

"Jenna?"

She turned back, hugging herself. "I'd bring the pictures out here, but it's getting too dark to see. Unless you have to get back…?"

"I left a note," he said. "In case anybody needs to find me."

Then he followed her inside.

Chapter 6

"And these are only some of the pictures?" he asked.

As she had since he'd started looking at the photos, Jenna sat with one foot tucked up under her next to him on the sofa, close enough that Hank could smell that godawful bug spray but not close enough to accidentally touch her. Now, along with the intermittent breeze from the overhead fan, her soft laughter washed over him. "Phil and I took so many rolls of film, the clerk at the drugstore would have the developed pictures pulled before we even hit the counter."

An obsession Hank was beginning to understand. How do you pick which moments to capture and which to let go? He stared at each photo, like there weren't a hundred others—pictures of his daughter in wading pools and on tricycles and in frilly Easter clothes and cramming birthday cake into her mouth and asleep in her crib with her butt up in the air, her cheeks all pink, her mouth open. There were pictures of her smiling and laughing and frowning and looking cross-eyed at the camera, pictures of her at every stage of her life, taken by a pair of people clearly besotted with this kid who'd been unexpectedly plopped into their lives, too. Melancholy pulsed through him, that all he'd ever have of these missing years were photos. So he studied each one long and hard, as if he could will the images into memories.

Then Jenna handed him what was obviously a family shot, the first one in which Blair wasn't the sole subject. At Christmas, he guessed from the decorations. Blair was maybe two or three, he couldn't quite tell, straddling the lap of a tall, classily dressed, distinguished-looking woman with careful blond hair and dark-blue eyes, sitting on a sofa that reeked of good taste. A younger, long-haired Jenna in a dark-green turtleneck and beige pants sat on one side of the woman; in torn jeans, her hair cut short as a man's, Sandy slouched against the back of the sofa on the other, her arms crossed over a sloppy black sweatshirt. Behind the women stood two men, both good-looking, one with white hair and a military bearing, the other with longish dirty-blond hair and a warm smile. His hand rested protectively, possessively, on Jenna's shoulder.

Jenna pointed to each figure in turn. "Mother, Dad and Phil. And Sandy. Why she decided to spend that Christmas with us, I have no idea. She never did again. Phil and I legally adopted Blair shortly after that."

Hank forced his gaze away from Jenna's husband's face to look at Sandy. "Your sister didn't fight you?"

"Actually, I think she was relieved." Then she said, "In her own way, I do think Sandy loved Blair. She was just too messed up to take care of her."

Hank nodded, processing the information if not exactly accepting it. "You have any other pictures of her? Of Sandy, I mean?"

"Nope. That's it."

He waited in vain for a stirring of affection, something, for the woman who'd given birth to his kid. But other than a prick of guilt at not feeling anything, he could barely muster even a basic recognition. Sandy Hollins was only some woman he'd briefly known, who'd shared his bed a few times. That was it. Even so, anger nipped at the heels of the sadness and regret—and the guilt—not only that she hadn't bothered to inform him of his daughter's existence, but that she couldn't be bothered with raising her own child, Jenna's defense of her notwithstanding.

"What're you thinking?" Jenna asked softly.

Hank's gaze slid from Jenna's hand, knotted on her bare knee barely six inches from his, up to the compassion in her eyes. He hauled in a huge breath to dull what felt almost like pain, then let it out in a silent whistle. Much as he would have liked to throttle Blair's mother for her selfishness, there was no bad blood between him and Blair's aunt. During the past hour, she hadn't rushed him once, giving him all the time he needed to absorb, letting him ask the questions rather than overwhelming him with a thousand facts he'd only forget.

"Just wondering why Sandy bothered to leave my name in that diary," he said, setting the picture atop all the others spread out on the coffee table. "If she was so hell-bent on keeping it a secret, I mean."

Jenna got up and went into the kitchen, returning with a couple of Cokes, diet for her, regular for him. She handed him his, then settled cross-legged in the armchair across from the sofa. The cat jumped up in her lap. "Like I said," she said, stroking the long fur, "Sandy definitely moved in mysterious ways."

Again, he noted Jenna's deep-set eyes and wide mouth, the way the glow from the single lamp by the sofa highlighted her prominent cheekbones and straight nose. Her father's features were broader, more square, while her mother and Sandy had turned-up noses and small, pouty mouths. "You don't look like anybody in your family."

"That's because I was adopted as a baby—Meringue! No!"

The pile of photos flew in all directions as the cat sprang from Jenna's lap and across the coffee table after Mutt's snuffling black nose on the other side. The dog took off, the cat in hot pursuit, as Hank and Jenna dropped to their hands and knees to gather up the scattered pictures. From the bedroom came the mingled sounds of hissing and yapping. Jenna smacked a handful of pictures on the table, swiping her hair out of her face.

"Just remember, if there's blood and fur all over the place, you brought the dog."

Hank crawled over to where several photos had landed beside the sofa. "What about Sandy?"

"What about her?" he heard from a few feet away. He looked over to see a backside covered in white denim sticking out from the other side of the chair.

"Was she adopted, too?"

"Oh. No." Jenna's head popped up, her face flushed. More photos cascaded onto the others on the table. "Although the pregnancy was a huge surprise."

"Why?"

She planted one palm heavily on the edge of the table and pushed herself to her feet, grunting a little when she sank back into the chair. After a long swallow of her soda, she said, "Okay, background time. Mother hailed from old Washington money, Dad graduated from Annapolis at some preposterously young age, made admiral at some even more preposterously young age and was firmly entrenched at the Pentagon, when, after fifteen years of marriage and no kids, they finally decided to adopt." She lifted her hands. "Ta-da. But by that point, Dad was nearly fifty, Mother was thirty-eight, and they were both pretty set in their ways." A slight smile curved her lips. "Which accounts for why I often felt more like a pampered pet than a child."

Once again seated on the sofa across from her, Hank frowned; Jenna laughed softly. "That's not necessarily a bad thing. They might not have been the most effusive parents in the world, but I always felt loved, even if from a distance. They did the best they could. And they lucked out with me."

"In what way?"

"I was a born brown-noser. I liked getting good grades and keeping my room neat. I don't remember ever throwing a tantrum, I only drew on paper given to me for that purpose, and I actually liked Brussels sprouts."

"Where did they get you from? Mars?"

She smiled. "I know. I was the kind of kid who could put on a white dress at 8:00 a.m. and still be clean enough to show off at a 4:00 p.m. tea party."

"No Grubby?"

"No Grubby. Not then, anyway. Flo, our housekeeper, used to say I'd been born old." Jenna took another swallow of her soda, then leaned back in the chair, grinning. "Wasn't until college that I turned into the wild woman you see before you…." Her brow creased, she glanced toward the bedroom door, then back at Hank. "It's gotten awfully quiet in there. Think we should go check?"

"No. What was this about being a wild woman?"

Confusion shunted across her features for a second, then she laughed. "Oh. That." She flapped her hand. "My attempt at a joke. Sorry. Anyway, I was eight when Mother got pregnant with Sandy. At forty-six, after twenty-three years of marriage. It was a difficult, dangerous pregnancy. And Sandy was a difficult baby. A difficult baby who grew into a headstrong, rebellious child."

Hank took a swallow of his own drink, trying to adjust to Jenna's mood shift. "Nothing like you, in other words."

There was a sadness to her smile that did something to his insides. "Sandy never figured out how to play the game, how to work around my parents' rigidity. Sure, I got good grades and wasn't a slob, but I wasn't perfect. I simply didn't feel the burning desire to get my parents' goat the way Sandy did. By the time I was a teenager, they had their hands so full with Sandy, I was pretty much ignored. They were there for me if I needed them," she added at his frown. "I just didn't. And frankly, I liked being the 'good' kid. Which, with Sandy as a sister, was not exactly a challenge."

"And nobody tried to get her straightened out?"

That got a hollow laugh. "Are you kidding? From the time she was ten, Sandy was in and out of therapy and treatment programs more times than I could count. Nothing seemed to make much difference, even though my parents wanted to believe they saw progress. But the thing about self-destructive behavior is that the person has to want to get better. If they even acknowledge there's a problem to begin with." Jenna seemed to sink into herself for several seconds, then said, "Frankly, the only thing that surprised me about Sandy's death is that she'd hadn't done herself in a lot sooner."

Her words spoke of resignation, maybe even acceptance. But Hank still heard the slight tremor of failure in her voice. "I imagine you and your folks did everything you could."

A shrug was her only reply.

"What happened to your parents?"

"Dad died when Sandy was fifteen," Jenna said. "Mother lost it at that point. She couldn't take care of herself, let alone a wild teenager. Since I was already married by then, Sandy lived with Phil and me until she turned eighteen and took off, not even telling anyone where she was going." She unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn. "Next thing we know, she turns up pregnant." With a half smile, she added, "Since Blair was the only grandchild my mother was going to get, she doted on her for the three years she lived after Blair's birth."

It took a second. "The only grandchild?"

"I can't have children."

Misunderstanding, he said, "But you're young enough, yet, right?"

"I'm forty-one. Which, yes, would be young enough, if I still had the proper equipment."

"Oh." Damn. "I'm sorry—"

"No, it's okay. After twenty years, I'm more than reconciled to it by now. But…"

"What?" he prompted before she drifted off to her private place again.

Her smile got no further than her mouth. "As clueless and irresponsible as my sister was, she couldn't have given Phil and me a more precious gift than a child to raise. And now that he's gone…well. I've just been very grateful for Blair, that's all."

At that, the ramifications of Jenna's decision to find him knocked the breath clean out of him. If she couldn't have kids of her own…

Ah, hell. This was even more complicated than he'd thought, which was going some. He thought back on that family photo. Besides Jenna and Blair, everybody else in that picture was gone. Blair was the only family she had, and yet she was willing to risk sacrificing the most important thing in the world to her for what was right. What kind of woman loved that much?

With Jenna's next yawn, Hank realized she'd been sinking farther and farther into the chair for the past half hour. And that he needed time to sort through all this.

"Well. It's getting pretty late." He got up, the muscles in his lower back rudely reminding him he wasn't in his twenties anymore. "I'd best be going, let you get to bed."

The word buzzed between them like a large, slightly confused insect for a second or two until Jenna's voice, husky with exhaustion, broke the spell. "I'm sorry," she said with the barest hint of a smile as she unfolded herself from the chair. "I suddenly feel like somebody pulled the plug." Her hair swept her shoulders as she bent over to gather up the photos off the coffee table, then slipped them back into the large brown envelope she'd taken them out of originally. "You may as well take these," she said, handing them over. "So you can look at them whenever."

"You want them back?"

"I think you need them more than I do."

The envelope pinned between his arm and his side, Hank stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded his thanks. Then he said, "Are we ready to tell her?" and she said, "Are you ready?" and he said, "Hell, no," and she reminded him that they didn't have forever, which seemed to him like she'd just contradicted herself, but seeing as she was about to keel over, he decided not to point out that fact.

"Not forever," he said, coming to a decision that was only partially based on his concern for Blair and partially, selfishly, based on the fact that he found himself wanting be alone with Jenna again, even though he knew how dumb and pointless that was because, well, because he wasn't going down that road again. "Just another day or so," he said, his gaze fixed on her blue eyes, all soft and sleepy. "Until I get some more questions answered." Ignoring the tingling in his hand which was sorely tempting him to brush away a strand of hair that had gotten hooked in her eyelashes, he added, "Until I figure out what to ask."

She blinked, then pulled the stray hair out of her eyelashes herself. "Fair enough. Another day or two. So we'll be ready."

Overhead, the fan hummed.

"Okay. Well," he said, turning around to call the dog. "Where are you, boy? C'mon, time to go!" He walked to the center of the room, peeking under tables and things, then into the kitchen. No dog.

Then, from over by the bedroom door, he heard Jenna laugh. "You have got to see this," she said, leaning on the door frame.

He walked over, standing close enough to her to swap electrons, close enough to remind him why the idea of spending more time alone with her was bad, bad, bad. Except then saw what she was laughing at.

"Oh, for the love of Mike…how the hell'd you get up there?"

The cat and dog were smack dab in the center of her bed, curled up so tightly together so you could hardly tell which was which. The cat's eyes were shut tight, but Mutt's were open—even though he didn't look the least bit interested in lifting his head anytime soon—looking right at Hank, his tail thumping slowly against the hobnail bedspread.

"I guess he got up that way," Jenna said, pointing to a stack of cases and what-all on the floor, propped up against the foot of her bed.

"A stairway to paradise?" Hank said, and it sounded like Jenna cleared her throat or something. Mutt lifted his head and yipped, then flipped over, regarding them upside down.

"Looks like somebody isn't ready to leave," Jenna said.

The fan hummed some more. The dog thumped his tail five, six times against the mattress.

"Looks like," Hank said, realizing again just how close they were, that her hair was almost grazing his chin, that if he didn't break this trance or whatever the hell it was he was in right now he was going to make an idiot of himself. So he walked into the room and scooped the dog up into his arms, even as Jenna's woman-scent—the bug spray having faded some time ago—swirled through his senses, taunting him like a siren. The cat, her eyes still closed, half-assedly scolded him for taking her companion.

They walked out through the living room in silence, although Mutt whimpered a little, now and then. Jenna opened the front door, Hank went through, setting the dog down. Only then he turned back, not knowing why or what he wanted to say, or do, but he sure as hell knew he wanted to say or do something.

Like stay.

Or at the very least, kiss her. Kissing her would be good.

Or bad, depending on how you looked at it.

"What?" Jenna said, her expression a mixture of expectancy and puzzlement, her expressive mouth pulled up in one of those half smiles of hers. He thought she might be swaying slightly.

"I read one of your books."

Her brows lifted. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It was okay."

"I see," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Not too girly?"

He grinned. "Nope. Funnier than I expected, too. And, uh, sexier."

At her look of amusement, Hank suddenly realized his cheeks were stinging. So, backing away, he raised the envelope and said, "Thanks."

"No problem."

"See you tomorrow, then."

"I'm sure," she said with a smile, after which he realized he really had to go. Now. This minute.

Except he'd no sooner forced his sorry butt across the porch than she called him back.

He turned, in agony. She'd had no idea what it had taken for him to get that far.

"I just wanted to say…" She did that hair-pushing-back thing she did, then folded her arms again. "For ten years, Blair did have a father. A damn good one. Trying to take Phil's place won't be easy. But after tonight, something tells me you have a pretty good shot at it."

Hank watched her for several seconds, letting her words settle into his brain and weeding out the potential double meaning behind them before he said, "Thanks. But I'm not aiming to take anybody's place, Jenna. I intend to make my own."

Then he left, and this time, he kept on going.

* * *

Jenna found the photo, its edge sticking up from where it had become wedged between the sofa cushions, when she went to turn off the lamp by the sofa. She plucked it from its hiding place and let out a little cry, simply because, between her ka-flooey hormones and her battered emotions, she was a basket case.

Gripping the snapshot—the only one she'd brought with Phil in it—she dropped onto the sofa, too wiped out to stop the tears. It felt good to cry, she decided. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, teasing. But with no scent of ozone, the storm was either too far away or too disorganized to be a threat.

Jenna collapsed against the cushions, snuffling like a five-year-old as she swiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. She wept for her parents' sorrow at never understanding their second daughter, for Sandy for never being able to climb out of the pit she'd dug for herself, for Phil's life being cut so cruelly short, for herself for still missing him at times like this.

They'd met as freshmen at William and Mary and almost immediately became an item. He'd been her first, and only, real love. Her first, and only, lover. And, perhaps most important, her best bud. They'd had nearly twenty years together. A long time, by today's standards. And it had passed in a flash.

They'd shared passion and laughter and the calm bouyancy of friendship. They'd shared Blair. Even more than her parents, Phil had championed her writing career, every scary step of the way. Sold his beloved Camaro to buy her a computer. Encouraged her to go to her first writers' conference. Personally took her submissions to the post office so she couldn't chicken out and not send them, then brought her chocolate when the rejections started coming in. In return, she taught high-school English for ten years—for some reason, her shyness was never an issue when she taught—so Phil could paint. And when, coincidentally, she sold her first book the same week a big D.C. gallery agreed to showcase his work, it was hard to tell who was happier for whom. Now Phil's image smiled back at her, as the living Phil had smiled at her a hundred thousand times, and she swore she could still hear him say, "Go for it, babe."

Go for…what?

Fear strangled her heart, even as something else tried to pry it open. "You can't be serious," she whispered to the photo, squeezing shut her eyes as if doing so would keep what little rational thought she had left from deserting her completely. Then—thank God—logic stomped in and smacked both the fear and the something else clear into next week.

She was hungry. She needed carbs. And salt. Oh, Lord, yes, salt.

Jenna got up and went into the kitchen, yanking the bag of potato chips out of the cupboard, then taking a careful handful out of the bag, placing the chips on a small plate. Just a few, that's all she wanted.

Oh, the hell with it. She opened the bag back up, shook the chips back into it, then carried the whole damn thing into the living room, where she sat back on the sofa, the open bag nestled between her crossed legs, and crammed a fistful of chips into her mouth. Then another. And another. Meringue wandered out of the bedroom and over to where Jenna sat, blinking up at her expectantly. She gave the cat a piece of chip, which she munched down.

Yes, she'd known Hank Logan was thinking about kissing her. Small wonder, since she'd been toying with frighteningly similar thoughts. Yes, her initial physical attraction/reaction to the man was mellowing into admiration. Maybe even into something more than that. Heaven help her, she was actually beginning to genuinely like him. None of that changed the fact that, were it not for his being Blair's father, she would have no reason to be here, let alone be talking to him. Okay, so maybe she was lonelier than she'd thought. And maybe she was…

And maybe she was…

She shut her eyes and made herself say the word, even if silently: horny. A word she'd always, before this, found slightly distasteful. However, being a writer, Jenna was a stickler for choosing exactly the right word for the right situation. And that was the only one that fit the bill, just at the moment. It was as if someone had supersized her now very much resurrected libido. And no, she didn't need fries with that.

She looked down. No, just chips, she thought on a sigh.

For nearly twenty years, sex had meant sex with Phil. Period. The idea of doing it with anyone else had simply been too weird to contemplate. Then, for the past three years, revisions and character interviews and doing the single-mom bit always crowded out worries about mundane things like whether or not it was normal that she didn't care if she ever had sex again.

Until a few days ago, that is.

So what was she contemplating, if anything? Not getting involved, certainly. And especially not with Hank Logan. Even if she were interested, the whole situation smacked just a little too much of convenience for her taste. And convenience was a lousy excuse for fooling around—a term she settled on since neither fling nor affair were working for her. As was horniness; certainly she had more control than that. And certainly, most especially, the absolutely worst reason in the world to get naked with somebody was being lonely.

And besides, there was Blair to think about.

So, no, this was one time when she wasn't about to go for it.

She reached into the potato chip bag and discovered to her horror it was completely empty.

* * *

Hank lay awake until something like three in the morning, listening to the taunting thunder and pondering a sizable portion of the approximately five hundred thoughts rattling around inside his skull. He'd managed to set aside what was quickly becoming an obsession with Jenna Stanton's mouth—which only went to show just how much control he could still exert over himself, when he had a mind—long enough to realize the way he'd been living for the past two years or so wasn't going to work much longer.

For starters, business was picking up, which was a good thing. But that meant it was getting harder and harder to get away for any length of time, because he never knew when somebody might need him for something. And now that he had Blair to think about, it was likely he'd need to take some time off now and again to go to D.C. to see her. Yes, he'd planned on selling the motel, once he got it fixed up, but nothing said he was going to find a buyer right off the bat.

So the first thing he needed to do was to find somebody to act as a manager for the place, maybe for a free place to live and a small salary. And since the ideal situation was that this manager person would live in the apartment in which Hank was currently lying sleepless, Hank would need someplace else to live. Which again—getting back to Blair—he'd have to do anyway, since there was no way that Blair could stay in this shoebox with him when she'd come to stay for the summer and vacations and what-all. Assuming she would, of course. Want to come stay with him.

From the rug beside Hank's bed, Mutt yipped.

"No, you can't come up. Dogs belong on the floor. Hell, dogs belong outside." Lightning lit up the room, followed almost immediately by a loud clap of thunder. Hank could just barely make out Mutt's hopping on his hind legs, now desperate to get up on the bed.

"I said no."

Pathetic whimpering followed.

Hank dragged himself up onto his elbow. "What kind of wuss dog are you, anyway?" Mutt yipped again; with a sigh, Hank reached over and hauled him up onto the bed. "This is just for tonight, though, you got that? Tomorrow, you get a doghouse."

With a blissful sigh, Mutt circled four times and curled up alongside Hank's hip, and Hank went back to his pondering. There was actually another cottage, a house actually, that Hank had bought up at the same time as the motel, since it sat on a lot adjacent to the motel property. He'd always planned on selling it off separately—it wasn't in too bad a shape, just needed some cosmetic stuff—and it would have made sense to unload it some time ago. Now maybe he knew why he hadn't gotten around to it yet. It wasn't fancy, but it was solid, and the one bedroom upstairs would be ideal for a teenaged girl.

Anxiety clawed at his insides, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he had by no means acclimated to the idea of being somebody's father. But maybe by concentrating on the logistics involved, like going over and taking a good, hard look at the house in the morning, the rest would fall into place. Hank was by nature a practical man. The few times he'd let his emotions get the better of him, he'd come to regret it.

Like the way being around Jenna stirred up all these feelings, feelings he'd thought he'd buried, wanted to stay buried, feelings that had less to do with sex than maybe he wanted to admit.

Aw, hell. He liked the woman, didn't he?

Grumbling, he flipped over onto his side. The dog readjusted himself beside him, releasing a long, heartfelt sigh.

It never did rain that night.

Chapter 7

The next day, Hank happened to mention to Maddie, when he returned the beef stew container to her, that he was in the market for somebody who might be interested in the manager's job. This was a far more efficient method for getting the word out than, say, placing an ad in the weekly Haven Herald. First off, Maddie had made it her business to make friends with every living soul in Haven since her move there less than a year before. But between her being the town doctor's wife, delivering her home-baked pies nearly every day to Ruby's Café, and hanging out with Luralene and the girls at Hair We Are, Maddie had her finger on the town's pulse better than anyone else he knew.

Even so, he didn't figure on results as fast as he got them.

He'd barely gotten back to the motel, one of Ruby's double cheeseburgers, a large fries and a chocolate shake calling to him from the take-out bag, when his phone rang.

"You got any age limit for this person you're looking to hire?" his sister-in-law said before he even got out a greeting. Hank set down the bag with his lunch in it, scowling at the pile of mail he'd picked up on his way in, including a big old Express Mail package addressed to Jenna.

"Old enough to vote. Why? You got a prospect?"

"Two, actually. Or they will be, once they get married." Then she lowered her voice. "Okay, I'm not supposed to be telling you this, because of patient confidentiality and all that, but I happen to know SueEllen Tibbs just found out she's pregnant, because the office door was open while I was in the back doing paperwork—"

Besides her pie-making, Maddie also helped Ryan out with his billing and such.

"—and she was going on about how this really messes up her and Danny's—you know Danny Andrews, right? Darryl's baby brother?"

"Of course I know Danny. Go on."

"Anyway, SueEllen's gettin' pregnant means they have to get married now instead of when he finishes up college, and he's gonna have to get some kind of job to support them, and the poor thing was just a mess, not knowing what they were gonna do."

Hank could imagine. High-school sweethearts, SueEllen had just graduated this past May, Danny the year before. Everybody and his dog knew that Danny, who wanted nothing to do with his brother's auto repair business, was going to school to become an architectural engineer. What SueEllen had planned on doing in the meantime, Hank had no idea, but clearly becoming parents this early had not been on their agenda.

"So I was thinking," Maddie was saying, "if they had a place to live for free, maybe Danny could stay in school, you know? Since maybe you all could work out some sort of schedule or something? And you know how sweet SueEllen is, she'd be perfect for the front desk, don't you think?"

Hank thought on that for a moment. Yeah, they were young, but they were both sharp as tacks. Both hard workers, too, holding down jobs all the way through high school and still keeping up their grades. And Hank didn't suppose it would be any big deal to add another room on to the apartment for the kid.

"You say anything to her yet?" he asked.

"Oh, no, uh-uh. Seeing as I wasn't even supposed to hear. But you know, maybe it's time I took my car in to have a tune-up, and I could mention to Darryl you're looking for somebody, y'know?"

Hank chuckled. A "fixer," just like his mother Mary had been, Maddie had a knack for untangling problems and seeing solutions and bringing people together to make it happen.

"I leave myself in your capable hands," he said into the phone, just as Jenna burst through the office door, her cheeks positively glowing in contrast to the dull blue sweatshirt she wore over a pair of baggy jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but all the little loose ends floating around her face, not to mention the wild look in her eyes, made her look slightly demented.

And, in fact, he no sooner had hung up with Maddie than she said, "I was awake half the night, thinking. About you and Blair. That maybe you and she should spend some time together on your own before we tell her?"

He waited out the twinge of panic that shot through him, then dug into the bag for the hamburger. "You want some of this?" he asked, popping open the foam container.

Obviously back in nervous mode again, she shook her head, all those little pieces of hair doing a hula dance around her face. She was a strange one, no doubt about it—jittery as a chihuahua one minute, rottweiler-tough the next. Not that Hank had room to talk. Good thing he'd stocked up on antacids last time he went to the store. Hell, he'd had to do things in the course of his police work that'd shave several years off the life of a lesser man, but nothing scared him more than the prospect of spending time alone with a thirteen-year-old girl.

Then he glanced over at Jenna and was powerless to fight being sucked into that oddball combination of strength and vulnerability in her big old worried blue eyes. This was scary. In fact, the only word he could think of that even came close to describing how he felt in Jenna Stanton's presence was terror—heart-stopping, throat-clogging, damn-close-to-wetting-his-pants terror.

Hank pulled out the shake, then stepped over to where he kept a stack of foam cups by the coffeemaker. He poured some of the shake into one of the cups and handed it to her.

"No, I couldn't—"

"You look like you could use a drink and this is the strongest thing I've got. Take it."

So she did.

Maybe if he went ahead and ate his lunch he could at least fake out his body, if not his head, into thinking everything was normal. So he forced himself to take a bite of his cheeseburger and said, "This is instead of you and me spending more time alone, I take it?" even though he already knew whatever her answer was, he probably wasn't gonna like it.

* * *

Jenna took a fortifying sip of the shake, trying to gauge Hank's reaction. She'd seen the flash of alarm in his eyes when she'd first suggested he and Blair spend time together, but now he was back in shuttered mode, his movements economical and controlled underneath his long-sleeved T-shirt. She felt almost feverish, her senses bombarded by the pungent aroma of the burger and fries, the skin-prickling, indefinable scent that was Hank, the perfectly mundane sight of a man devouring a hamburger. A man who, she realized with a spasm of regret, wasn't about to make the same mistake twice by being honest about his feelings.

Do not blush. Do not blush, dammit. "Not…necessarily." Sheesh, she was such a lousy liar. "It just occurred to me that it might be easier for both of you if she gets to know you before we spring this on her. Besides, I know you've got a lot to do and I don't want to waste your time…."

Her voice faded in direct proportion to his glare.

"You think we were wasting time last night?"

Her cheeks warmed even more. "No! I mean…no, of course not."

"Good, because nothing's more important to me than this." He set down his burger in the open take-out container and turned his attention to the stack of mail in front of him.

"Um, that one's probably for me," she said, pointing to the large envelope. "I told my editor to send my galleys for my next book here."

Hank wordlessly handed it over, then started sorting through the rest of the mail.

"Sooo…you're okay with my idea?"

His black eyes shot to hers, his expression unreadable. Or so he probably thought. If she looked closely, though…yep, there it was. The fear, peering out from behind the wall of macho pride he'd erected after their last tussle with "honesty." So why didn't she just come right out and tell him she wouldn't bite his head off if he admitted he was scared?

Eventually, his shoulders rolled underneath the Henley T, then he went back to his sorting, various pieces periodically thonking into what she guessed was a metal trash can behind the counter. "It could work. Might raise her suspicions, though."

"Not if you offered her a job."

The sorting and thonking halted, followed by a smirk. Two more pieces of mail bit the big one. "Oh, yeah. That'd go over big."

"No, I'm serious. She can't spend all her time with Libby, for heaven's sake. And there really isn't much for her to do otherwise. So if you've got some chores she could do around here…" She cleared her throat. "I mean, I could give you the money for her wages—"

His eyes burned into hers. "Excuse me?"

"Since it's my idea, it doesn't seem right to expect you to foot the bill. Especially as, well, business doesn't seem to be exactly booming."

That got a mirthless chuckle. "Honey, if I depended on this place for my income, I'd've been dead in the water long ago. I think I can swing paying a kid out of petty cash for a part-time job."

That he hadn't volunteered where his money did come from wasn't lost on her. However, since she wasn't after him for child support, she didn't suppose it was any of her business.

"In fact," he was saying, "I'm about to hire somebody to help me out. So I won't be tied down twenty-four hours a day."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." The mail apparently sorted to his satisfaction, the last bite of burger vanished into his mouth. "You weren't the only one up half the night thinking about things," he said, pulverizing a napkin in his big hands. He swallowed, then said, "I did something else today, when I was in town. I opened up a savings account in trust for Blair."

She blinked. "I told you, she doesn't need—"

"Dammit, maybe this isn't only about what she needs." He swiped the napkin across his mouth, tossed it into the garbage can. "Blair's the only kid I'm ever going to have, Jenna. Whatever I end up with, it's hers. So I don't figure it hurts to start plannin' for that now."

Jenna clutched the galleys in their slippery envelope to her chest, not entirely sure why his declaration irked her. Or why she felt impelled to say, "You don't know for sure she's the only child you'll ever have. You could get married, have other children—"

"No. I won't." The phone rang. "Anyway, you go ahead and sound Blair out about the job. She can start tomorrow. Can she handle a paint roller?"

"Oh, uh, sure. I suppose."

"Good. Tell her to be here by nine. And to wear old clothes," he finished, putting the ringing phone out of its misery by plucking it out of the cradle.

Since she'd more or less been dismissed, she left, the pup trotting expectantly at her heels. But the words I won't…I won't…I won't echoed painfully inside her head as she started back to the cottage, the mantra interrupted only when she spun around and irritably told Mutt to go on back to his daddy.

* * *

Blair couldn't believe her ears. "You said I'd what?"

"Mr. Logan said he could use someone to help him around the place," Jenna said, calmly shredding lettuce for a salad, "and I figured you could use the diversion. It's minimum wage, but since it's only for a few hours a week, he'll pay you off the books—"

"And you just happened to be together and this just happened to come up?"

Jenna turned to her, her mouth pulled down that way it did when Blair had pushed a little too far. "The man didn't offer me a job. Now would you please move beyond this hang-up or whatever it is about me and Mr. Logan?"

Except she bet her aunt had no idea how red her face was, a fact that was only making Blair get that funny feeling in her chest again, like what she guessed animals felt like when an earthquake was coming. She crossed her arms over her ribs, but she couldn't stop shifting from foot to foot. "Whatever," she said. "But I'm still not working for him."

"Yes, you are."

"You can't force me to work for him! That's like total child abuse!"

Her aunt's laughter threw her. "He's not going to make you dig latrines for fourteen hours a day, honey. A few hours now and again is all we're talking. It won't kill you. And it's high time you started paying for some of your own goodies. Fifteen bucks a pop for a CD isn't peanuts, in case you don't know."

Blair just stared at her aunt in horror. "Why are you making me do this? And don't say it's for my own good."

"Okay. I won't."

"I can't believe you're being so unfair!" Blair stomped out into the living room, crashing onto the sofa. With worried mews, Meringue jumped up beside her, pawing her knee. Hot tears bit at her eyes, but damned if she was gonna let Jenna see them. Blinking furiously, she pulled the cat into her lap….

Waaait a minute.

Her heart jackhammering in her chest, Blair turned to her aunt and said, "Okay. If I have to work for Mr. Logan, you have to do that book signing."

They'd been cutting deals like this ever since Blair could remember—trading help with a school project for cleaning her room, home-baked cookies for a clean litter pan, two days of being left alone to meet a book deadline in exchange for a whole day spent together at the mall when it was done. The trade had to be equal and mutually agreed upon.

No way would Jenna ever agree to this, Blair thought smugly. No way—

"Okay, sounds fair to me. Something you don't want to do for something I don't want to do—"

"What?"

"—so I guess it's a good thing I decided to pack that dress at the last minute, huh?"

"Jenna, hey, I didn't really think…I was just kidding—"

"Too late. I've already agreed. No backing out now." Her aunt bent over to check on the macaroni and cheese casserole in the oven. "And by the way," she said, the oven door slamming shut, "Mr. Logan expects you at the office by nine. Wear your oldest stuff, too, 'cause it's probably going to get messy. Okay, you want ranch or oil and vinegar on the salad tonight?"

"I'm not hungry," Blair said, catapulting off the sofa and into her bedroom, slamming shut the door behind her.

* * *

Jenna waited until the aftershocks died down before letting out a despondent sigh. Okay, so maybe this wasn't such a hot idea. And maybe she should just march in there and tell Blair the truth already.

But again, she had no right to do that without clueing Hank in first. And she'd already chewed this over in her head a zillion times, each time arriving at the conclusion that telling Blair while she still disliked Hank so much would most likely really blow up in their faces. Not that it was a given that throwing them together was going to change Blair's opinion. Simply because she'd changed her opinion about Hank didn't mean Blair would.

And, oh sweet Lord, she sure had changed her opinion about him, hadn't she?

Jenna opened the small bottle of olive oil she'd bought the other day and drizzled it over the greens, thinking, wow—life sure was screwy, wasn't it? All the women she knew who dated man after man after man, never finding the right one, and here she'd struck gold on practically the first try with Phil. He'd been cute and funny and generous and sexy and had totally mastered the art of being appropriately contrite when he did something stupid, she thought with a smile. She wasn't sure she believed in all that soul mate stuff, but she sure as hell had never doubted that Phil and she had been incredibly good together.

And she sure as hell had never figured she'd ever meet another man who could fire her engines the same way.

No, not the same way. Not the same way at all. Hank Logan and Phil Stanton were no more alike than—she uncorked the balsamic vinegar and splashed it over the salad—oil and vinegar, she supposed. Phil had always made her feel safe. Hank Logan scared the holy bejeebers out of her. But both were good men, solid men, men she could trust.

Men she could…

Oh, no, uh-uh. Yes, she was alone. And yes, sometimes she was even lonely. But alone was safe. Alone was predictable. And most important, she couldn't be left alone if she already was.

Still, she thought as she tossed the salad, mixing the greens and the oil and vinegar until the tastes all blended together and you could no longer tell one component from the other, who would have thought that two men that good, that trustworthy, that able to hike her sex drive to combustible levels, would come along in one lifetime?

And was there some valid reason her thoughts were moseying down this path? Other than the obvious one that stress had finally sent her over the edge?

Jenna removed the casserole from the oven, briefly contemplated calling Blair again, decided against it. When she got hungry enough, she'd surface.

Sure enough, about an hour later Jenna heard Blair's bedroom door open behind her as she sat at the dining table, the galleys spread out in front of her. Without speaking, Blair went into the kitchen. A few seconds later, Jenna heard a plate clattering into the microwave, followed by the telltale hum of nuking in progress.

She just kept on reading, occasionally marking something in red that needed to be changed.

The microwave dinged, followed by sounds of silverware being grabbed from the drainer by the sink, milk being poured, and, finally, the chair in front of her scraping against the wood floor as Blair planted herself and her dinner at the table.

Jenna peered up at her niece through her reading glasses, waiting.

"Can I use the money for anything I want?" Blair finally said, shoveling in her food so fast it was practically a blur.

"Within reason," Jenna said mildly, returning her gaze to the proofs.

"Good," Blair said.

Jenna managed not to smile. Not too broadly, anyway.

* * *

Even though he'd convinced himself he was prepared, Hank still started when he came out of unit 9 after changing the air-conditioning filter to see Blair sitting on the office steps, elbows on knees, her hands bracketing a smushed scowl. Mutt abandoned him immediately, making a beeline for the kid. She did manage a smile for the dog, but Hank could tell her heart wasn't exactly in it. "God, look how big you're getting," she said, wagging his floppy ears. She held off looking up at Hank until the last possible second. When she finally did, she announced, "I just want you to know, I'm here under duress."

His toolbox dangling from one hand, Hank hooked his other thumb in his pocket, keeping his face expressionless. But holy crud, she sure looked like her grandmother with those sewer lid-sized eyes and that determined little chin.

"Oh, yeah?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Because you don't like me very much, you mean."

Her eyes got even wider at that, and twin dots of color popped out on her cheeks, but she kept her cool. One shoulder jerked. "Not really, no."

"Got any idea why?"

Another shoulder hitch. And a squint, for good measure. "No particular reason."

"Just because, in other words."

"I guess."

Hank wasn't sure whether to commend her for her honesty or take her to task for judging a person based on circumstantial evidence. He decided now was not the time for either. "Then why are you here?"

"Because Jenna made me. And because she said I could spend the money on anything I wanted to. But God. I'm only thirteen. Who the heck makes their kids work at thirteen?"

Smartass, he thought, only to immediately follow it with, Yeah—sound familiar?

"First, I've heard your aunt get on you about saying 'God' like that. So you can't do it around me, either. And secondly, most of the kids around here work. Libby does. So why shouldn't you?"

She flashed him a disgusted look, but all she said was, "Around the farm and taking care of the boys sometimes and stuff. That's different."

"How's that?"

"I don't know. It just is."

Damn. This was like trying to drive in a foreign country where the road signs were all in a different language. Hank didn't have a clue whether to turn right or left, and God knows instinct wasn't going to do him a damn bit of good, since he didn't have any. Hell, he didn't even know when it was okay to get mad at her, because for damn sure if she kept this up, he was going to get mad, sooner or later. Probably sooner. Reining in his temper wasn't something he was real good at. So probably the best thing to do was to simply move past the immediate issue altogether.

"Follow me," he said, turning and taking off down the path toward the cottages. She and the dog followed, one far more willingly than the other.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see. I need your advice about something."

Her legs were long for a thirteen-year-old, but she still had to sprint to keep up with him. "My advice? About what?"

Despite herself, she hadn't been able to keep from sounding interested, he noticed. Or at least curious. "You'll see," he repeated.

Neither had anything to say to the other as they made their way past all the cottages, then down the path that led to the other house, a shortcut he'd discovered shortly after he'd bought the property. Hank's brain was working overtime, though, thinking about how, when he and Michelle were engaged, he'd naturally assumed they'd have kids. He'd wanted to have kids, imagined himself changing diapers or helping a toddler take his first steps, putting together swing sets and tricycles, going to soccer games and parent nights at school. Now it occurred to him that he'd never imagined any scenarios past when the kids would have been ten or so. He'd certainly never imagined what it might be like to deal with one of these teenaged…things.

His admiration for Jenna—and his parents, and for any human being who'd ever lived with a teenager and come out the other end with their sanity intact—increased a hundredfold.

About ten minutes later they came upon the house, a compact, two-story structure set in a small clearing surrounded by trees and so overrun with Virginia creeper and ivy and weeds, you could hardly tell there had once been actual front and back yards. The only thing Hank could figure, since it seemed an odd place to plunk a house, was that the land must've at one time been part of a larger farm, and maybe it had been divvied up among the kids or something, or sold off in parcels. But it would suit his purpose just fine. For the time being, anyway.

"What's this?" Blair said.

"My new house," he said, picking his way through all the vines and what-all to get to the front porch. Behind an array of seriously overgrown shrubs, he could see the white paint was peeling badly, that one of the gutters had worked its way loose. But there'd been no rot that he could tell, the last time he'd checked.

Blair followed, cringing when some of the taller weeds slapped at her as she walked. "Why?"

Never had a single word radiated so much disgust. "Because I'm hiring somebody else to help me run the place, and they're gonna live in the apartment. And Mutt needs a real yard." He jiggled the key in the stubborn front-door lock until it gave way. "Why? You don't like it?"

Something flew out when he opened the door. Blair shrieked and ducked.

"What was that?"

"A bat, maybe. You coming inside?"

She backed down the steps, shaking her head. "Uh-uh, no way."

"You're bigger than the bats, Blair."

"I don't care. I am not going in there."

"Mutt did." And he had, nosing his way inside before Hank even had the door all the way open. Dog was either real dumb or real brave.

"Good for him."

Okay, he was beginning to get provoked. Maybe he wasn't supposed to, but that was too bad. The gal's stubbornness was really beginning to get on his nerves.

Until he glanced over and saw her hugging herself, her lower lip quivering. Oh, hell—she was really scared. All thoughts of bullying her into submission went right up in smoke.

"Okay," he said as gently as he knew how. "How about I run a bat recon, holler out if it's all clear? 'Cause I really do need your advice about something."

"What?"

The dog popped back out, grinning and covered in cobwebs. Hank shook his head, then said over Mutt's sneezing fit, "Paint colors. Whole place needs to be painted, see. But I don't know squat about stuff like that."

"What makes you think I do?"

"Girls are just good at this kind of thing?"

She scowled. "That's called gender bias."

"Hey. Around here, women do the pretty stuff, men sit back and enjoy it." Although, come to think of it, one of his old high-school girlfriends had painted her room dark purple. With orange trim. And God knows, his mother had been too busy giving piano lessons and holding half the folks in the county's lives together to be bothered with domesticity. So maybe Blair had a point.

"You're weird," she said, her arms crossed over a shirt big enough for three more girls.

"Then we should get on like gangbusters."

She rolled her eyes. Teenaged girls really did that. Amazing. "It's your house," she said. "Paint it anything you like."

"Fine," Hank said, tamping down the spurt of irritation. "But you're gonna get real tired of white."

After a brief Mexican standoff, Blair huffed a sigh—teenaged girls really did that, too—and said, "Okay, I'll pick out colors. But not until you swear the bats are gone."

It was going to be a very long morning.

Chapter 8

On the way to Claremore to get paint and supplies at the Wal-Mart, Blair hadn't seemed any too interested in talking. Since Hank was never interested in talking—that was his baby brother's province—this made his two or three attempts to get a dialogue going—which he only did because clairvoyance was not a real reliable method of getting to know somebody—downright painful. Once they got to the store, though, she seemed to loosen up some, especially when he let her buy a pair of little blue sparkly earstuds, even though he could pretty much imagine what Jenna's reaction would be to that.

But seeing as Jenna'd basically left him to his own devices, he didn't figure she had much room to complain. In fact, he supposed it was really something, wasn't it, her trusting him like this? In any case, by the time they'd picked out the paint, which was right next to the sporting goods section—Hank had not only caught Blair looking longingly at one of those portable basketball hoops but had also been smart enough to grab the opportunity to find out she loved to play. This information allowed them to sustain something like a conversation for a half-dozen or so volleys, even if Blair's responses were mostly "I guess," "I s'pose," or "Whatever."

Then, on their way out, he noticed her watching a father and daughter having a laughing argument about something or other, the exchange punctuated with lots of giggling "Da-ads." Blair got real quiet again after that. Wasn't until they got back to the truck that it dawned on Hank what was bugging her.

"You still miss your uncle, don't you?" he asked, putting the truck in gear and backing carefully out of the space—he'd rather deal with I-44 in an icestorm and with bald tires than dodge the crazies in this parking lot.

"What makes you say that?"

"The way you looked at that guy and his kid back there."

"Oh." Twisting her hair around her forefinger, she stared out the windshield for a long moment until she finally nodded.

And Hank heard himself say, "You wanna talk about it?"

Just like that, the floodgates opened. And for the next half hour it was Uncle Phil used to do this and Uncle Phil said that, her memories pouring out of her like she'd been about to burst with wanting to talk to somebody about her feelings. Hank just listened, which was fine with him since it meant he didn't have to talk, other than asking a question now and again when a little clarification was needed.

Then the tirade ceased as abruptly as it had begun, with a long sigh that Hank couldn't decide was more sad or relieved. Blair glanced over at him, a sheepish expression mingling with all those freckles before she refocused in front of her. "I can't talk about Uncle Phil with Jenna."

"How come?"

"'Cause she gets too sad."

Hank felt something tighten in his chest. "She doesn't talk about him?"

"She did at first, right after he died. But not for a while."

"So you haven't talked about him, either."

Thin shoulders shrugged under that baggy shirt. "It's okay. It's just I don't wanna forget him, you know? I think…"

"What?" Hank prompted when the pause grew too long.

Those big blue eyes turned to him. "I think sometimes Jenna would rather ignore something than deal with it," she said, and Hank thought, Whoa—this kid is thirteen? Then Blair said, "Like this thing she has about book signings—you know she's a writer?"

"Yeah, she told me. What thing about book signings?"

"She won't do them. Or at least, she hasn't since this book signing at a big Barnes and Noble back home, and there were like a million people there, and she totally freaked. See, she's real shy, and sometimes she has these panic attacks? Not a lot, just sometimes? But this one was real bad. I mean, I was so scared, I didn't know if she was losing it or what."

"When was this?" Hank asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"A couple months after Uncle Phil died. It had been scheduled for a long time, so she thought she should do it even though she didn't really want to."

Oh, yeah. He'd been down that road. Maybe not with panic attacks, but he hadn't exactly been Mr. Congeniality after Michelle's death, either. Even after all this time, his grief still clung to him like bits of ground glass that hadn't worked its way out yet, sparking those damn nightmares—

He realized Blair was looking at him. He glanced over to see she had a funny look on her face. "What is it?"

She shook her head, like she wasn't going to tell him, except then she twisted around as far as the seatbelt would let her. "When Jenna told me I had to come work for you? I got real mad. And I thought, if I had to do this, then she had to do something, too, 'cause we've done this thing ever since I was little where we traded doing stuff we didn't like, or made a bargain so I'd get something for giving her something she needed, like time to get a book done? Anyway, her editor asked if she'd do a book signing in Tulsa in a couple weeks, since she was here, and Jenna didn't want to. So I said if I came to work for you, then…" Her voice dropped. "Then she had to do the book signing."

The only thing that kept Hank from lighting into her was the guilty look on her face. Still, where'd she get off, making a "deal" with Jenna like that? One had nothing to do with the other, far as he could tell. One thing was for sure, though—Jenna's off-and-on nervousness suddenly made a lot more sense. Lord above—what kind of inner strength had it taken for her to even come here to begin with? And then the way he'd ambushed her, demanding answers before she'd had a chance to figure out how to break the news herself…Damn. Damn. She must've been scared half to death.

But she'd stood up to him, hadn't she?

"You weren't exactly playing fair, were you?" he said at last.

She shook her head.

"So what'd she say?"

"She said okay." But there wasn't a trace of triumph in her words. "Which like totally blew me away."

Hank felt a surprise smile tug at his lips. "Because you thought she'd say 'no' and you'd be off the hook about working with me."

"Yeah," Blair said with a sigh. She twisted back around, her arms crossed.

"You could let her off the hook." He glanced over at her, back out the windshield. "Since you know what you did was wrong."

"Actually, I tried. But you know…" A thin hand streaked up to shove her hair behind her ear. "She hasn't had an attack for a long time. And she teaches and stuff and she's been fine. So, yeah, I probably shouldn't've been pushy and all, but I'm not sure it would be such a bad thing if she did it, anyway. I mean, after Uncle Phil died, I didn't want to go anywhere or see anybody, either, not at first. But I got over it. Jenna, though…God. All she does is write and take care of me. What kind of life is that?"

"Don't say 'God,'" Hank said automatically, then added over the girl's huff of annoyance, "and maybe that's the life she wants." He hesitated, then said, "I went through something similar, a couple years back. Losing somebody close to me. So I kinda know what your aunt's feeling. And I can tell you from experience, you can't force somebody to get back to normal. Especially since their definition of normal probably isn't what it used to be."

He could feel her gaze on the side of his face. "Who'd you lose?"

"Gal I was gonna marry. Her name was Michelle. Micky."

"She died?"

"Yeah. Shot in a holdup. Two years ago."

"God. That's awful." He let it go. Then she said on a sigh, "Okay, yeah, I suppose that makes sense. That you can't make someone feel normal again. And it's not like Jenna never smiles or anything. But it's just…like…like she's got the wrong bulb in or something. It's just not as bright as it used to be. And I'm sorry, but it's really beginning to bug me."

They rode in silence for the next mile or so while Hank tried to sort out his jumbled feelings. Why should Jenna's happiness mean diddly to him? But it did, never mind that he was being hypocritical as hell, since hadn't he basically retreated from life after Michelle's death? Still and all, it was different for him.

Wasn't it?

He frowned at that for a second before letting the thought go, only to grab on to the next one like a trapeze artist a bar, that he was proud of this child sitting beside him. His daughter. Underneath the attitude and the smart mouth and all those scary, baby-female hormones was a kid with the guts to admit that maybe she'd made a mistake, a kid who clearly loved the woman who'd raised her and wanted the best for her.

A kid he was beginning to respect a whole lot. It was kind of a shock, since he hadn't expected it, but it was a feeling he liked just fine. Whether he could ever let go enough to love again, he couldn't say. But respect…well, that was something he could work with.

Hank wiped a hand across his mouth and said, "Has it been so terrible so far? Working for me?"

"I haven't done anything yet," she said.

"Just answer the question."

She seemed to think this over for a bit, then said, "Well, no. But—"

"But?"

"I still don't like that you smoke."

Hank grimaced. "Okay, I won't do it around you. How's that?"

"Well, okay, but I don't see how that's going to do you any good, is it?"

Hank stole a peek at her face. "Did your uncle smoke?"

"God, no," she said, her tone implying Uncle Phil would never have done anything that stupid. "But my grandfather did. So did my mother. Although it wasn't the smoking that killed her." She glanced over. "You know about my mother? That she killed herself?"

So much for her not knowing the whole story. "Jenna might've mentioned something about it." He paused, then said, "That must've been hard on you."

"It was weird. I hardly ever saw her, so it's not like I miss her, not exactly. But the idea that somebody I knew would kill herself…"

When her voice trailed off, Hank asked, "You fixin' to cry?"

Blair shook her head. But he could see she was fighting not to, all the same.

"Hey, how's about we stop at Ruby's, get some lunch?" he said, which got a "Sure, whatever," in reply. A moment or so later, he said, "You know something?"

"What?"

"You're a pretty tough kid." He looked over at her skeptical expression. "No, I mean it. Not many kids could come through what you have without falling apart. I bet you've been a real help to your aunt."

The knot between her brows relaxed, as did her mouth, which curved up just slightly at the corners. "We're all each other has," she said simply.

And it was all Hank could do not to say Well, now you both have me, which just about scared the blue blazes out of him.

* * *

Jenna glared at the proofs, ready to rip them into shreds. That's it—she was calling Annemarie and telling her it had all been a big mistake, she'd return the advance first thing in the morning because no way in good conscience could she foist something this banal off on her readers. And had she not felt this way with every single book, she might even have followed through on it. But honestly—by the time she got to this stage, she'd read the damn book so many times it just looked stupid. The funny parts weren't, the mystery wasn't and the dialogue made her gag. Next time she turned in a manuscript, it was going to have a note attached that said, "Do whatever you want with this as long as I never have to look at it again."

Except she was far too anal to actually do that.

Tempted to thump her skull to get the blood moving again, Jenna glanced at her watch, startled to discover it was well past noon. And that she was still niece-less. Getting to know one another was all well and good, but this was Blair they were talking about. Much as Jenna adored her niece, the child had been known to cause major eye-glazing from time to time. And besides, Jenna was about to bust from curiosity.

She left everything right where it was on the dining table and hiked on down to the office, where she found a handdrawn map and a note that said anyone interested could find Hank there, unless he'd gone to Claremore for a bit, in which case he'd be back soon, just leave a message on the chalkboard—a new addition, tacked beside the office door, a piece of chalk dangling from a string attached to it—and he'd take care of it as soon as he got back.

There were no messages. But then, there were no cars in the lot, either. Including his truck.

Well, she thought as she lit out for the spot indicated by the map, at least his heart was in the right place. But if she trekked all the way to the back of beyond and they weren't there, she was going to be seriously ticked. Well, mildly ticked, anyway. At least she would have had a half hour away from the Book from Hell.

A flash of something through the trees as she approached turned out to be sunlight glinting off Hank's truck, parked in what one might charitably call a driveway. The man himself was sitting on the lopsided steps of the porch, smoking. As she got closer, she could see he was speckled from head to toe in paint. Kind of a peachy color, from what she could tell. Bags from Ruby's littered the porch steps, rudely reminding Jenna she'd forgotten to eat lunch.

The pup, who'd been dozing in a patch of sunlight near the house, popped up onto his feet and gallumphed over to her, making Hank jerk his head up. When he caught sight of Jenna, his mouth twitched up at the corners, just for a second. Jenna's initial assessment was that this was one shell-shocked hombre.

Dodging the manic dog, who was hell-bent on wrestling her sneakers into submission, she stopped at the foot of the steps, her hands shoved in the pockets of her shorts. "Why do I get the feeling this is one of those 'If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy' kind of things?"

His laugh collapsed before it got all the way out. He drew on the cigarette for all it was worth, letting the smoke out in a slow, steady stream before steadily, and unnervingly, meeting her gaze. A humidity-laden breeze ruffled his hair, several strands of which flopped across his forehead. Much to her consternation, her skin started buzzing. "The good news is, most of the downstairs is painted."

"Peach, I take it?"

"Calypso Parfait, if you wanna get technical. Which has got to be the dumbest name for a color I've ever heard."

"Not your choice, I take it?"

"Oh, no."

Jenna laughed and sat beside him. Well, on the other side of the step, anyway. Far enough away to avoid being sucked into his gravitational field. "You took her into Claremore?"

"Yep."

"By yourself?"

"Yep."

"You are a brave man," she said, and he chuckled, which made her feel things she didn't want to feel. "Where is she?"

"With Libby. She came by about a half hour ago—"

"So somebody else followed your map?"

"—so somebody else followed my map. Anyway, she was all hot to help, but after fifteen minutes I sent them away before they giggled me half to death."

His expression brought a giggle to Jenna's lips as well. "You'll get used to it."

"They say after a while you hardly even notice the hair shirt, too," he said, which upgraded the giggle into a full-blown laugh.

He looked at her, smiling enough to crinkle the skin at the corners of his eyes, and for just a moment…

"Other than the giggling, how did it go?" she asked, realizing too late she'd have to be on another planet to avoid this man's gravitational pull.

He stubbed out the cigarette, folded his hands between his knees and gave a nod. "Not too bad, actually. Gonna take a while for us to feel our way around each other, but we talked some." Once again, those dark eyes of his shifted, linking with hers. Once again, her skin started buzzing. But the way his expression had softened, the wonder in his voice, threatened her already tenuous equilibrium far more than a few staticky skin cells. "She's a good kid."

"Yes, she is," Jenna said, then stood up, planting her clammy hands on her hips as she surveyed the house. "So…what is this place?"

She guessed from his silence that she was doing a lousy job at pretending he wasn't getting to her. "Where I'm gonna live," he said. "Once I get someone else to help run the motel. Come on—" he pushed himself to his feet as well, grabbing his drink off the step "—I'll give you the grand tour."

She followed him inside, blinking against the glare of the walls. "Wow. Sure wakes you right up, doesn't it?"

"I figured giving her a say in the colors might help that easing-in thing you were talking about."

Oh, great. Now the buzzing shifted into a gentle glow inside her that had nothing to do with the blinding walls, especially as it was still very much there after they'd climbed to the second floor, which was still in assorted shades of dingy gray. Like the downstairs, ten seconds and she'd seen it.

"Bedroom, bedroom, bath," Hank said. "Oh, and a storm cellar out back. In case of tornadoes."

Hmm. Tornadoes. She went over to the window in the larger of the bedrooms and peered down into the overgrown backyard. With the woods so close, it was like being in a tree house. "You get them often?" she said, trying her damnedest to sound nonchalant.

"Here?" he said behind her. Actually, right behind her. "Last time a twister touched down in Haven proper was back in the forties…. Funny thing is, you can live in Tornado Alley your whole life and never see one of the damn things. But the threat's always hangin' over your head." One hand wedged into his back pocket, he propped the other one flat against the smudged window frame, squinting against the bright light as he, too, looked down into the yard. "You just never know." He paused, his mouth gone taut. "It's not gonna get easier, is it?"

Still back there with the tornadoes, Jenna was confused for a moment. Then the light dawned. "Oh, you mean about Blair?" She crossed her arms, forcing her attention back outside, praying he'd stop watching her so intently. "'Fraid not. If anything, the older they get, the more complicated they get."

Her skin heated as she felt his gaze lingering on the side of her face.

"It's been rough, hasn't it?" he said, and it was everything she could do not to shut her eyes against the seductive potency of his gentleness.

"At times," she said stiffly, startled when a tear popped out of nowhere and slithered down her cheek. But not nearly as startled as she was when the pad of Hank's thumb followed the tear's path.

"Don't," she whispered, pulling back, stunned at her body's immediate betrayal from a single, simple touch.

Wordlessly, Hank walked away, his footsteps ominously loud in the empty room. He grabbed an old broom lolling in a corner, turned it upside down and swept down a nest of cobwebs out of a corner.

"I'm sorry," she said, afraid she'd maybe wounded his ego. "I—"

"Nothing to be sorry for," he said mildly, glancing at her for the space of a heartbeat before attacking another clutch of cobwebs. "Blair had a lot to say about her uncle. Sounded to me like you were right on the mark about that mutual admiration thing they had going."

Still shaken, all she could manage was a clipped, "Yes."

"Guess your husband was a pretty good guy, huh?"

Jenna felt as if she'd fallen into an emotional river, desperately trying to hang on to a slippery rock so she wouldn't be swept away. Except she'd been holding on to that rock for what seemed like an eternity, and she was so cold, and tired, and alone.

Folding her arms over her middle in a vain attempt to corral her suddenly loopy feelings, she said, "The best. In fact…"

Broom frozen in midswipe, he turned. "What?"

"If it hadn't been for Phil, I wonder how well I would've done with Blair."

The broom came down, whoosh against the floorboards. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I worried about her too much."

He reached for his drink, which he'd left on the windowsill, took a long pull from the straw. "Why?"

"I don't know, really. Maybe because I was petrified she'd be like her mother. Maybe because…she was my only shot and I didn't want to screw it up? But Phil never seemed to go through the trauma-trauma-melodrama that I did about things. He was always so damn calm. About everything. He always seemed to know what to do, what to say."

"Sounds scary."

She smiled. "I'd never thought of it that way. I was too busy being grateful that at least one of us seemed to know what the hell they were doing."

He set his drink down again, propped the broom back against the wall, then came closer, his hands jammed in his pockets. "For God's sake, Jenna—your husband's been dead for, what, three years? So unless Blair's been raising herself, seems to me only one person's eligible to take the credit. So I don't get it."

She could feel her heartbeat thudding at the base of her throat. He was close enough for her to feel the heat and energy pulsing off his body. Or maybe she was just imagining it. What she wasn't imagining was her rapidly loosening grip on that rock. "You don't get what?"

"You." He moved even closer, his eyes burning into hers. "Why you don't trust your instincts. Why you can't see what a great job you've done with Blair. Why you seem so confident one second, so scared the next." He angled his head, then slipped one hand from his pocket, where it hovered at his hip, his fingers fisting, relaxing…fisting again. "Why you're shaking," he finished, his voice barely more than a rumble.

A soft sound that was half sigh, half sob, escaped her lips as she fought the urge to walk into his arms.

And lost.

Chapter 9

On a sharp intake of breath, Hank gathered Jenna close, his eyes squeezing shut as the sweet smell of her plowed through his senses, as her hair, softer than a dream, snagged on his rough fingertips. She tightened her arms around him, not crying, just holding on, and tenderness and vulnerability and—oh, yeah—damn-I'm-in-trouble-now desire knotted in his gut, only to explode into a million white-hot shards a split second later. For more than two years, it had been all about control, about not letting himself get close enough to touch, or feel, or care about another woman who got him right where he lived. But guess he wasn't the unfeeling sonuvabitch he'd tried to turn himself into after all, huh?

But he didn't want to feel. Not like this. Not again.

Ah, hell. Déjà-vu time. It'd only happened once before, this bam-between-the-eyes, no-sense-fighting-the-inevitable feeling that told him now, as it had with Micky, that he was a goner. Except there had been no obstacles that other time, not really. But there sure as hell were obstacles now. Plenty of 'em. Not the least of which was the lady herself, who might be letting him hold her in a moment of weakness, but who was bound to come to her senses in a second or two and realize she was only using Hank as a surrogate for her dead husband.

Except then she lifted her face, her expression downright beseeching, and before he could think about all the pros and cons and rights or wrongs, he lowered his mouth to hers, taking what he had no business taking, giving what he had no right to give. He fully expected her to pull away, her eyes wide with regret and confusion at her own behavior, stumbling over her apologies for her momentary lapse of good judgment.

So when she didn't, when she instead grabbed his shoulders and held on tight, when her lips went soft and yielding and hungry under his, he didn't quite know what to make of any of it, other than the fact that he was having a damn good time. Such a good time, in fact, that heaven knows where things might have led had not somebody chosen that precise moment to yell out, "Hello? Anybody here?" from the foot of the stairs, scaring the daylights out of both of them and blasting them apart like somebody'd set off a firecracker a foot away.

"Just a sec," he yelled back, noticing that although they hadn't been kissing long enough for Jenna's lips to get puffy, she was bright red from her neckline clear up to the roots of her hair.

"You might want to stay put for the time being," he said, then painfully made his way down the stairs. Fortunately his jeans were snug enough to contain things—which unfortunately was contributing to his discomfort—so he could at least face Danny Andrews and SueEllen Tibbs without embarrassing either them or himself.

They were holding hands and grinning, too young to know the pitfalls life held in store for them. And God bless them in their innocence, Hank thought, something like envy trickling through him.

Under spiked blond hair, Danny's grin grew even wider as he thrust out his hand. A good-lookin' kid, Hank thought as they shook, even if he still had a ways to go before he finished filling out.

"I hear you're lookin' for someone to help manage the place?" he said, and Hank grinned himself, thinking that Maddie sure knew what she was about.

"You hear right," he said, and was halfway through explaining what the job would entail and about the apartment and all when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. All three of them turned around to watch Jenna's descent, which she was managing as regally as a queen arriving at a royal ball. Two little coins of red on her cheeks was all that was left of her blush, but she still avoided Hank's eyes, which irked him even more than he thought it would, even though he wasn't surprised.

She smiled and acted friendly enough when introduced, only to pull a fast one on him by excusing herself and skedaddling out of there like Cinderella before the clock struck twelve, knowing damn well he couldn't come after her.

After she left, he turned back to SueEllen and Danny, whose smiles dimmed in the face of Hank's scowl. So he rearranged his features into something less frightening—he hoped—and suggested they go back to the office so he could show them the apartment and discuss salary, if they wanted. By the time they got there, Hank had almost convinced himself it was just as well Jenna had left when she had, because God knows what he would have said, anyway.

* * *

"I told you he wasn't so bad, once you got to know him." Libby flopped down on her stomach beside Blair on her bed, dragging her ponytail in front of her to inspect it for split ends. They had the door to her room closed, even though that made it hotter, but at least her brothers wouldn't bother them that way. And with the CD player turned up, they couldn't hear them, either. "When Daddy broke his leg last fall and then a storm blew the roof off the henhouse, Hank came right over and fixed it for us. And after Mama died? Hank was the first one to ask if we needed anything…this look like a split end to you?"

Blair duly inspected the strand of hair thrust in front of her and said yeah, maybe, so Libby chewed it off.

"Anyway," Libby went on, picking the hair off her tongue, "it's just for a couple weeks, right? Shoot, I'll kill for a summer job. But no place around here will let you work until you're at least fifteen. Oh, I almost forgot!" She sprang up to sit cross-legged on the bed, her eyes bright. "April Gundersen's gonna have an overnight campout for her thirteenth birthday in a couple weeks and I already asked her if I could bring you and she said sure. So you wanna come? There's gonna be maybe six or seven other girls there, and they're all cool, trust me."

Blair grinned. "I'll have to ask Jenna, but okay, sure." She missed her friends back home. They'd e-mailed each other a few times, but it wasn't the same as hanging out. And Blair had met a couple of Libby's friends already and she was right, they were pretty cool. But they didn't think they were cool, which was why they were.

They talked about other stuff for a while, but eventually the subject came back around to Hank, mainly because Blair couldn't shake loose the feeling there was something behind his hiring her.

"Like what?" Libby asked, stuffing a homemade nacho in her mouth and pushing Joe, one of the Fraziers' dogs, away when he tried to jump up to see what she was eating.

"I dunno. But when we were together today? I'd sometimes catch him looking at me funny. Like he was trying to figure me out or something."

"Huh." Frowning, Libby resumed chowing down the nachos. Then she said, "Maybe he likes your aunt? So he's trying to, you know, get on your good side or something?"

"That's nuts," Blair said, even as her stomach pitched at hearing somebody else voice her own fears. "They hardly know each other."

"So? You never heard of love at first sight?"

Yes, she had. From Jenna, who'd told her probably a hundred times she'd fallen in love with Uncle Phil within five minutes of meeting him. "That's not what's going on here. I'm sure of it," she added at Libby's skeptical expression. Heat tingled in her cheeks. "Because I already asked Jenna and she said no."

Libby's eyes got wide. "Why'd you ask her?"

"'Cause I saw them together, a few days ago. And Jenna had her hand on his arm."

Libby squinted, like she was thinking about this, as another chip vanished into her mouth. "Would it be so awful? If your aunt got married again?"

"I don't know. I mean, I never really thought about it." Not until they came here, anyway. "Especially as Jenna doesn't date or anything, so I figured she wasn't interested. But I sure can't see her with Hank." She and Libby called all grown-ups by their first names when they were alone. It made them feel more grown-up themselves, for some reason.

"How come?"

"Because…" She squirmed underneath Libby's scrutiny. "Because he's so not right for her."

"Why? Because he's not all citified and stuff?"

Realizing how Libby was reading her objections, Blair let out an exasperated, "Of course not. Geez. It's just…" She sat up herself, hugging her knees to her chest so she could rest her chin on top of them. She hated feeling confused like this, of being scared so much of the time but not knowing why. "Haven't you ever had a bad feeling about something, but you couldn't figure out exactly what it was?"

Libby sank back against her pillows, licking cheese off her fingers. "Yeah. The day Mama died. I just knew something was wrong, even before Mr. Adams came to get me out of class."

"So you know what I'm talking about."

"Kinda. But my bad feeling was because something had happened. Your bad feeling is because you think something bad might happen."

"So?"

"So it's not the same thing. And anyway, if your aunt said there was nothing going on between her and Hank, what's the big deal?"

Blair frowned. "But wouldn't it feel weird if your dad found somebody else?"

"Maybe. At first. But nothing's gonna bring Mama back, for one thing. And for another, I am so sick of being the only full-time female around here. I mean, Mrs. Stilton's okay, but it's not like I can talk to her about stuff. Besides—" she reached over to get her Dr Pepper off the nightstand "—grown-ups need sex. Goin' without it too long makes 'em grouchy."

Blair blushed so hard her roots felt hot, even as she couldn't help laughing. "Says who?"

"Says everybody. Couldn't you tell when your aunt and uncle had been doing it? I don't know about your house, but there was always lots of grinnin' and whistlin' around here the morning after."

Not something Blair wanted to think about right now. "But what if your father's new wife didn't like kids very much?" she said. "Or she wanted all your dad's attention?"

Libby's brows drew together. "You been out in the sun too long or what? Why on earth would Daddy marry somebody who didn't like kids? And besides, we're not talking about my daddy, we're talking about your aunt and Hank. And since you already said you liked him—"

"I said he was okay. I didn't say I liked him."

"Whatever. You know, this is a dumb conversation. Especially if nothing's goin' on to begin with. Seems to me there's enough to worry about in life without goin' looking for stuff." She wiggled her fingers. "Hand me the chips, huh?"

Blair had to admit, Libby had a point. Several of them, in fact. What was she so upset about? If she were honest, she'd have to admit Hank was more than okay. She did like him. Even if he did smoke. It was just…

She stuffed a nacho into her mouth, handing a chip to the dog.

Sometimes, she almost wished she were a kid again.

* * *

Jenna had run all the way back to the cottage, and now, nearly ten minutes later, she still stood in the middle of the living room, her hand clamped over her mouth, her heart doing a tommy-gun number in her chest. Oh, yeah, she'd let go of that rock, allrighty, only to bash her brains out on the next one jutting up out of the current.

So, what exactly had prompted her to give Hank the come-hither look? Curiosity? Self-pity? Idiocy? All of the above? And now what? Somehow she had a strong feeling that "Oops! My mistake!" wasn't going to cut it.

Oh dear God, the man could kiss. And no, she wasn't in a tizzy just because he tasted like chocolate milk shake. Although she might be in a tizzy because that was the first time a man had kissed her—as in, the kind of kiss that could easily have been a prelude to other things—in quite a while.

Her knees gave way and she dropped onto the sofa.

And a great sadness rolled over her, prompting her to begin what she knew was going to be the arduous task of once again shoring up her resolve not to get involved. Because now she had no doubt, not even a smidgen, that it would be all too easy to do exactly that with Hank Logan. Which came as a shock, not only because this was Hank Logan she was talking about, but because she'd never even considered the possibility of having strong feelings for another man, or that her hormones and her emotions could join forces against her resolve with such devastating results. In other words, up until a few days ago, her falling in love again had been a non-problem.

Some control freak she turned out to be.

And running away had been juvenile and petty, hadn't it? Okay, so maybe she wasn't exactly a sexual sophisticate, and maybe that had been her first kiss in a dog's age, but it was still just a kiss. A kiss that made her cross-eyed, yes, but still…just a kiss. So get over it, Jenna. So she needed to do just that and get back with the program, here, which was to figure out how she and Hank were going to tell Blair he was her father. Soon. Like today. Then Hank and Blair could go about doing their father-daughter bonding thing and she could stay out of it.

And she would stay out of it, boy. Because her hormones and emotions could argue with her until the cows came home, but she wasn't falling in love again. Not with Hank, not with anybody.

There, she thought, getting to her feet. Much better.

Now all she had to do was go face Hank, apologize for acting like a blonde, and all would be well.

* * *

Hank was standing behind the office counter, entering the week's receipts into his computer accounting program and trying to enjoy his new recording of Mahler's Sixth, when Jenna sailed in, a woman clearly hell-bent on setting things to rights.

Figured. Maybe he'd resolved one aspect of his life—Danny was set to move in at the beginning of the week, soon as Hank vacated the apartment, SueEllen to join him soon as they were married next month—but this part of Hank's existence was getting more complicated by the second.

"You can save your breath," he said, exiting the program, then folding his arms across his chest. "I know what you're going to say."

Jenna blinked. "You…do?"

"Uh-huh. Something about the kiss being a mistake, right?"

Color flooded her cheeks. "Well…maybe not that word, exactly—"

"But close enough."

Her breath left her lungs in a rush. "You were right. It has been rough, steering Blair through all this. I had a weak moment."

"Yeah. Me, too."

He could tell she hadn't expected that. "You, too?"

"Yep. Beautiful woman throws herself into my arms—"

"I didn't throw myself!"

"—and it's been a long time for me, too. And contrary to popular belief, I'm only human." A lot more than he'd thought, apparently.

"Oh." Was that disappointment flickering across her face? "So…we don't have to worry about it happening again?"

His laugh startled both of them. Maybe she could brush off that kiss as inconsequential, but all he had to do was think about it and he got this ache so deep down inside him, his toenails hurt. "Oh, I'd say we have to worry plenty." He braced his hands against the edge of the counter. "Wouldn't you?"

The apprehension in her eyes sliced straight to his soul. Or where his soul might be if he still had one. "We can't get involved, Hank. And even if we could—" she swallowed "—I don't want to."

"Neither do I, sugar," he said, because that's what he'd programmed himself to say, to believe, from the moment the grim-faced ER doc had come out of surgery the night Michelle died and told him they'd done everything they could. Never mind that Jenna's words dented his ego a bit. "But one has nothing to do with the other, does it?"

"For me it does."

"Because you're a woman, you mean? No sex without emotional ties?"

If his bluntness rattled her, she didn't let it show. "Is that so wrong?"

"No. But I dare you to look me in the eye and tell me there's nothing happening between us."

"Okay, so there's an attraction—"

"And that's all I'm talking about, honey. Chemistry."

"Doesn't mean we have to act on it. Or should." Tiny lines bracketed her mouth, flattened and nearly colorless from her effort at keeping things under control. But ambivalence mingled with the lush heat in her eyes, giving her words the lie. "I've never gone the casual-sex route, Hank. Phil and I met when we were eighteen, for pity's sake."

It took a second. "You telling me he was your only lover?"

After a moment, she nodded.

Great. Her only lover. And by all accounts a paragon, too. Even discounting the million other reasons why this would never work, that alone would be enough to earn Hank a big, fat REJECT stamped across his forehead.

So why was he getting ticked? He'd managed just fine without a woman in his bed for two years. He sure as hell didn't need this one, even if all systems indicated he should think about ending the dry spell with somebody. Soon.

Problem was, he didn't want somebody else.

And it had been a long time since he'd allowed himself the luxury of wanting anything.

"So what are you saying? Only one to a customer?"

"No. I don't know. I'd never considered it before…" She clamped shut her mouth; Hank grinned.

"Before this?"

"That didn't come out right. I'm not considering it now…and I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she said, more to herself than to him. Then she lifted her chin. "You know as well as I do that our having sex wouldn't make a drop of sense."

"Could be fun, though."

Right on cue, she blushed. "That's beside the point."

He felt his expression harden. "And God forbid you do something just because it might make you feel good. Just because you want it."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" She swiped her hair away from her face, then held it there, her eyes riveted to his. "This isn't the same as…as buying a pair of shoes, or, or ordering pizza because you suddenly don't feel like cooking dinner!"

By this time, he'd circled the counter to stand directly in front of her, crowding her, in fact, close enough to make her back away if she wanted to. But she didn't. Oh, no, she didn't move an inch.

Not even when he lifted a hand to cup the side of her face. She was trembling slightly and her eyes widened, but not only did she stay put, he thought maybe she even leaned a little into his hand.

Her lips parted slightly, making him crazy.

"I didn't think I could ever want a woman like this again," he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "And God knows why it's you. Because you're right—making love to you wouldn't make a lick of sense. But then—" he lowered his hand, stuffing it into his back pocket "—life doesn't exactly make a whole lotta sense anyway, does it? So maybe living for the moment isn't such a bad idea."

"My sister lived for the moment," she said stiffly. "And believe me, I never envied her."

Well, hell—even a dumb old ex-cop like him recognized the sound of a door slamming in his face.

"I gotta go mow the grass," he said, heading for the door.

"Dammit, Hank!" Jenna yelled, following him. "Why are you taking this personally?"

He reeled around so fast she nearly crashed into him. "Maybe because I don't see any other man in the near vicinity?"

"And maybe this isn't about you, it's about me! And here's a newsflash for you—pressuring a woman into having sex went out with poodle skirts and gas guzzlers!"

"What?! I've never pressured a woman into having sex in my life!"

"Then what the hell do you call what you were doing now?"

"Tryin' to get you to explore your options!" He took a step closer, looming over her. She had to tilt her head back to see him, but damned if she didn't hold her ground. "Trying to make you realize maybe it's okay to do something for yourself once in a blue moon without worrying the pros and cons to death! That nobody's gonna judge you for taking a break from being the 'good one' every now and then. That's all I was trying to do. But since you've said 'forget it' in no uncertain terms, I won't bring up the subject again. You stay on your side of the fence, I'll stay on mine." He turned away, starting for the tool shed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do—"

"It's not that easy," she said behind him. He pivoted back to see tears crested on her lower lashes. "I can't just go with the flow like that. I'm not made that way, and it's not fair of you to expect me to be someone I'm not. And frankly—" he watched her throat convulse "—you're not acting like the man I'd begun to think you were."

On a harsh sigh, Hank let out a choice swear word, then walked over to an old bench under one of the ash trees and dropped onto it, yanking his cigarettes and lighter out of his T-shirt pocket. He tapped one out, lit up, then leaned forward with his hands loosely clasped between his spread knees, taking his sweet time before finally getting up the nerve to look at her.

"I don't know what kind of man you think I am—hell, I don't know myself what kind of man I am, other than a screwed-up one with an overdeveloped taste for shoe leather—but you're right." He took a pull off the cigarette, pushed the smoke right back out. "About all of it. Well, most of it, anyway. I do think you're too hard on yourself. But I had no right to think a toss in the hay with me was the answer to your problems. And I apologize."

Several seconds passed. Then a few more. Then, finally, she came over and sat beside him on the bench, clutching the edge on either side of her knees. "So…you promise to behave from now on?"

He smirked. "Yeah. I swear."

Out of the corner of his eye, because they weren't facing each other, he saw her shoulders sag with relief. The stab to his heart that followed only drove home his increasing suspicion that this was about more than sex. Too bad, he thought, taking another drag, because the only-about-sex realm was safe. Predictable. Not the stuff of heartache and nightmares.

"Good," she said, "because we need to talk about Blair without all this—" she waved her hand around "—chemistry stuff clogging up the works."

Well, that said it all, didn't it? Yeah, she was attracted, the attraction of a lonely widow who hadn't had any in quite some time, who was so used to not having any that continuing not to have any wasn't a big deal.

So what's your point, Logan? You just said yourself you weren't looking for anything serious, either. Right?

Hank tossed the cigarette into the dirt and ground it out, wishing he had a piece of gum or something to get rid of the vile taste in his mouth. "Okay. What about Blair?"

"I think it's time we told her the truth."

Hank waited out the punch to his gut, then said, "You sure?"

"What I'm not sure about is putting it off any longer." When he didn't say something fast enough to suit her, she said, "Let me guess. You're still not ready."

"Hell, Jenna, I'll never be ready. Not so's I'd know I was, anyway. But it's Blair I'm thinking about. Not me. I mean, we just barely started to get to know each other—"

"And continuing under false pretenses could really backfire on us."

At that, he twisted around, meeting her troubled gaze. "You're not exactly bein' consistent here, honey."

"I know, I know." She sighed. "I just wish the right answer would drop out of the sky and hit me on the head."

"Don't hold your breath."

A rueful smile pulled at her mouth. "Don't worry. I'm not."

He refocused his attention on the woods across the road. "So…when?"

"Tomorrow? If you're planning on working on the house, I could bring lunch, and we could tell her then?"

"Sure. Fine," he said. Then he felt the bench shift when she stood.

Hank got up, too, to walk her to the edge of the driveway. The humidity was up some; the air smelled like rain, maybe. And Jenna's scent, definitely.

"There's no easy way to do this, is there?" he said.

Looking toward the cottages, she shook her head. "The older I get, the more I think there's no easy way to do anything." She took a deep breath, then turned to him. "I'm sorry I can't…follow through on your suggestion. I mean, I'm really, really sorry. But I just…" Shaking her head, she glanced away again. "I just can't."

He watched her walk away—if she didn't like it, tough—recalling with a definite fondness the good old days when lust was enough.

* * *

The next day, Blair's bad feeling had not only not gone away, it was worse. Jenna had been acting weird the night before, distracted, as if she only half heard whatever Blair said to her. When Blair asked her what was wrong, she said the galleys were making her nuts, which Blair knew they sometimes did, but still. Usually, Jenna had like this button she turned off and on when it came to her work. But last night, Jenna was being so strange Blair was almost—almost—glad to go back to work for Hank.

Except then he started acting funny, too, getting on her case about all kinds of stupid stuff, like when she started complaining about her reading list and he took the school's side. God. Or when he asked her what she liked to do for fun, and she said hanging out at the mall with her friends, and he got this real ticked look on his face. And then he started in on how she needed to be careful about her diet if she wanted to be a vegetarian. Like he should talk, with his smoking and everything.

Other than that, though, it wasn't too bad. He didn't go ballistic if she spilled paint on the floor or complain if she didn't do it exactly right. She could've done without the dumb music, but she kinda got used to it after a while. And most of the time, he didn't talk to her like she was a kid, or—worse—try too hard to be her "pal," the way some of her teachers did. But then, what difference did it make? In a couple of weeks, they'd be gone and she'd probably never see him again.

Anyway, she'd just about gotten over the icky feelings when Jenna showed up with lunch, and it was like these prickly things sprang up all up and down her spine. Especially when she caught the strange looks Jenna and Hank gave each other when they thought she wasn't looking.

They were upstairs in the smaller bedroom, just finishing off the last wall, when Jenna arrived. "Where do you want to eat?" she asked. "Outside on the porch? It's not too hot."

"I'm not hungry," Blair said, smashing her roller into the pan, so mad she could actually taste it, like something bitter and dry in her mouth. It was so obvious they were into each other. Did they think she was blind?

"Half a sandwich," Jenna said. "And some juice. You can't keep working on an empty stomach, honey."

Eyes stinging, she slapped the roller onto the wall, grinding in the paint. "I'm not hungry, okay?"

"Then at least come out onto the porch with us while we eat," she heard Hank say quietly behind her. "Have something to drink before you get dehydrated."

She felt like there were too many thoughts stuffed inside her head. But she also realized if she didn't join them, they'd only start asking questions, and then she'd ask a question she didn't want to hear the answer to. Because, maybe, if she just kept her mouth shut, if she pretended she didn't know what was going on, this would all blow over by the time they went home. Because they would have to go home, back to their real lives where everything was normal and Jenna had her teaching job and they didn't need anybody but each other. So she took a deep breath, dumped the roller in the bucket of water so it wouldn't dry out, went downstairs and pretended everything was fine.

For a long time, she simply sat there, saying nothing but listening to Jenna and Hank talk about stuff, mostly about the town and some of the people in it and how Jenna should go to the local library and make the librarian's day. Then they got to talking about the Fraziers and Libby's father, and Blair remembered she'd totally forgotten to ask Jenna about the overnight Libby had invited her to.

"I don't see why not," Jenna said, wiping her mouth with a napkin, then tucking it neatly into her empty sandwich bag. "Whose birthday is it?"

"April something. Guntherman?"

"Gundersen," Hank said, then shook his head. "Tell her thanks, but no."

"Why?" Blair said, puzzled. "I already told her I was coming."

"Then tell her you changed your mind, or your aunt had plans you didn't know about. Besides, where do you get off accepting an invitation before you checked with your aunt?"

"Since she's never said 'no,' I didn't think it was any big deal."

"Probably because she knew who you were staying with. She doesn't this time. I…it's not a good idea, you spending the night over there. April's okay, I suppose, but those brothers of hers are bad news."

"They seemed okay to me."

Hank's eyebrows crashed over his nose. "When'd you meet the Gundersen boys?"

"At Ruby's the other day when Libby and I walked into town? The two youngest ones came in, and Libby introduced them to me." Her brow puckered, she glanced from one to the other. "Why? What's wrong with them?"

"They just bear watching, is all. Billy, the oldest one, has been linked to a couple burglaries over in Pryor, though nothin' stuck. And there was some vandalism up at the high school last year, couple of the kids said they heard the Gundersen boys making noises about breaking in, messing things up."

"But nothing's been proven?" Blair asked.

"No. But…" He paused. "They're not exactly what you'd call gentlemen, Blair. I don't like the idea of you bein' around them, that's all."

"That's so not fair! It's their sister giving the overnight, not them! And I've met her and most of the other girls who'll be there, and I don't think they're anything like that! Besides, if Libby's father lets her go, what's the problem?"

"Libby's known the Gundersens her whole life. I doubt any of the boys would dare mess with her." A half smile touched his lips. "She's knocked the stuffing out of more than one bully who tried to mess with her younger brothers. But you're not Libby."

Blair had her mouth open to protest when she felt Jenna's hand on her arm. "Maybe Hank has a point, honey—"

"Oh, so now you're taking his side?"

"This isn't about sides—"

"Then what is it about?" She glared at Hank. "All day long you've been bugging me about stuff that's none of your business, and now you're acting like you've got some right to tell me who I can or can't see! Well, you don't!" She jumped to her feet, her fists clenched, tears burning her eyes as she looked at Jenna, who was sitting there with that worried look that Blair hated so, so much. But she had to get it out, she had to, never mind what she'd said before, about trying to ignore it, because there was no way she could look the other way for the next two weeks.

"I don't care what's going on between the two of you—and please don't say there isn't, Jenna, I'm not blind and I'm not stupid and I can see the way you look at each other—but whatever. That doesn't give him the right to tell me what to do! He might be your boyfriend, but he's not my father!"

Blair watched all the blood drain from Jenna's face, saw her and Hank exchange another glance, then her aunt gave Hank a nod that for some reason made something jolt in Blair's stomach.

Hank slowly got to his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets, while Jenna just sat there, her eyes fixed on Blair, one hand knotted on her lap. Here it comes, Blair thought, her vision blurring as anger clogged her throat.

"I'm not your aunt's boyfriend," Hank said quietly. Blair whipped her head back around to Hank, her mouth open to argue when he added, "But I am your father."

She froze, her mouth still open. Inside her head, something started to pound.

"What did you say?"

He didn't look too good, but he said again, "I'm your father. That's why Jenna brought you here. So we could meet each other."

Blair stumbled backward, clutching her stomach, a memory from when she was four or five pushing past her jumbled thoughts, a memory of her asking her mother where her real father was, of her mother's tears when she told her. "You can't be," she said, shaking her head. "My father is dead!"

Chapter 10

Only once before in his life had Hank felt this helpless. Hearing Jenna's breathing hitch behind him, he figured she wasn't feeling much better.

"Oh, dear God, sweetie," she said. "Sandy told you that?"

"Yes," Blair hissed, scrubbing at her tears with the palm of her hand. "W-when I was real little. She…she said he didn't want me, that he left her to deal with me by herself. And that she later heard he'd died."

"She was wrong," Hank said softly, figuring anger about things that had been none of his doing was wasted energy at this point. "On all counts."

Blair's gaze limped back to him. Judging from the fury in her eyes, she had not come to the same conclusion. "My mother must have really hated you to tell me you were dead."

"Blair—!"

"Maybe she did," he said, briefly touching Jenna's arm, empathizing with his daughter more than she could possibly understand right now. "Though I swear to you I never gave her cause. She walked out on me, Blair, I'm guessin' before she even knew she was pregnant. But she never came back to tell me, either. As God is my witness, I never knew about you until a few days ago."

Her focus shifted to Jenna. "Why did you let me believe all these years my father was dead?"

"Blair, please believe me, I had no idea your mother told you that. She never said anything. And neither did you, sweetie. How would I have known?" The agony in her voice speared straight to Hank's heart. "And even if I had, I didn't know the truth, either. Sandy absolutely refused to tell anybody who your father was. So I didn't know about Hank. Not until…"

Jenna's eyes lifted to Hank, twin worry lines carved between her brows. But Blair intercepted the glance, severing it with a raw-voiced, "What?"

God almighty—why couldn't he think of a single thing to do, or say, to straighten this mess out? It was obvious from the distrust blazing in his daughter's eyes that, with every word he or Jenna said, they were only digging themselves in deeper.

Jenna's shoulders lifted with the force of her inhalation. "There was a diary in your mother's things. After she died. In one of the entries, right around the time you were born, she named Hank as your father. If it hadn't been for that, I still wouldn't know who your father was."

"She died in March," Blair said coldly. "Why didn't you tell me then?"

"It wasn't that easy, honey—"

"God, Jenna—I'm not a baby! Why didn't you just come right out and tell me, instead of making up some stupid story so you could drag me out here like this! Why did you lie to me?" She swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks. "Why does everybody lie to me?"

"I didn't lie to you, Blair—"

"You didn't exactly tell me the truth, either, did you? I mean, are you even setting a book here, like you told me?"

After a moment, Jenna shook her head.

"God—I hate you! Both of you!" Blair screamed, then took off down the steps and away from the house as fast as her long legs would carry her.

* * *

"Blair!" Panic shrilled the word as Jenna called after her niece, her senses short-circuiting completely when she felt Hank's hands on her shoulders.

"Let her go, honey," his voice rumbled, stirring her hair inches from her ear. "Give her time to work some of this off."

"She shouldn't be alone, not now—"

"Yes, she should." Gentle pressure on her shoulders momentarily quelled what she realized was mounting hysteria. "And you're gonna let her because you know she needs to be alone, too."

On a strangled cry, she yanked away, spinning around to face him. "How can I let her be that unhappy? And how the hell can you be so damn calm about this?"

"Calm?" He barked out a humorless laugh. "Honey, if my stomach produced any more acid, I'd melt. I'd always kinda figured I'd have a few years grace period with my kids before one of 'em told me they hated me. I had, what? Five minutes?"

"My point exactly."

Hank propped one hand on one of the support posts, the other on his hip. "She's pissed, Jenna. And hurt and confused, just like I was when I found out. But she's a smart kid. She's not gonna go off half-cocked—"

"I should have told her," Jenna said, not hearing him, now prowling the porch like a crazed beast. "Or at least warned her, something, so this wouldn't have been such a shock. Why didn't I figure out that Sandy must have said something, that that's why Blair never asked about her father? Oh, God—!"

Having reached the edge of the porch, she dropped onto the top step like a marionette with its strings cut, burying her face in her hands, only now aware of the tremors spasmodically racking her body. "How could I have screwed up so sp-spectactularly?"

After an ominous, too-long silence behind her, Hank joined her on the steps. Draped an arm around her shoulders. Further eroded what little common sense she had left.

"You did not screw up, honey."

"How can you say that?" she mumbled into her palms. "You saw what happened, the way she looked at me…."

"Jenna? You're really ticking me off. So shut up."

Oh, goody. Just what she needed right now, Mr. Macho. Except she wasn't exactly minding the way he was gently massaging that knotted muscle between her shoulder blades.

She sat up. He moved his hand to the top of her arm and tugged. Still trembling, she leaned, right into that man-smelling, Mack-truck solidity. "Or what?"

"Or I'm gonna have to get mean."

Months' worth of anxiety pushed an odd, not-pretty sound that was more snort than laugh out of her mouth.

"What's so blamed funny?"

"You couldn't even swat the dog the other day when he peed on your shoe." Jenna tilted her head to see into dark eyes every bit as worried as hers must have been, and felt her heart stumble and weave perilously close to the In-Love pit. "I don't think I've got much to worry about."

She saw his eyes dip to her mouth, just for a second, and she decided she was very glad that neither of them could read minds. Then he abruptly let go of her shoulder, shifting them both so that there was now a good three, four inches of sticky, steamy air between them. "I don't suppose you do at that. You know Sam Frazier's number?"

She frowned. "It's programmed into my cell. Why?"

"Call him. Betcha dollars to doughnuts that's where Blair's headed."

With an "oh," she reached around and got her phone, made the call. A half minute later, she clipped her phone back to her belt and said, "Sam said he'd keep an eye out, call us when she shows up. If she shows up."

"She will."

"And you know this how?"

His broad shoulders lifted, dropped. "Instinct."

She looped her hands around her knees, gazing out over the matted, tangled yard. "What they don't tell you is, the older you get, the less you realize you know. At the rate I'm going, I should be a total idiot by the time I'm seventy." Beside her, Hank grunted, she assumed in agreement. She glanced over. "So what do we do now?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're younger. Fewer worn-out brain cells."

He met her gaze, amusement taking the edge off all those uncompromisingly harsh features. "Play it by ear, I suppose."

"That's the best you can come up with?"

"'Fraid so." She jumped when he reached across her lap and captured her left hand, entwining their fingers. A feeling that was half-scary, half-safe lapped through her veins. "Still feel like a screw-up?"

Her mouth twisted. "What do you think?"

Hank shifted her hand in his, his thumb grazing her wedding rings. Then he looked at her. "Well, honey…at least you're not alone."

Jenna's heart stumbled again, this time teetering close enough to the edge of the pit to see right to the center of it.

And she knew, if she fell, there would be no crawling out.

* * *

"Hey, Sam," Hank said with a nod when he entered the Fraziers' clean but cluttered living room. "She know I'm here?"

As good as his word, Sam had called the minute Blair showed up. Jenna had been all for going right over, but Hank had—at great peril to his blood pressure—persuaded her not only to hang tough long enough for Blair to calm down, but that he should be the one to talk to her first.

You know, for a man who wasn't much for talking, he sure as hell seemed to be doing a powerful lot of it these days.

Taller and leaner than Hank, with strands of pale half-gray, half-blond hair drifting over a high forehead, Sam's shoulders lifted underneath a loose white T-shirt. "Depends if she heard your truck pull up or not."

Curiosity beamed from the man's light-brown eyes; Hank inwardly acknowledged it wasn't fair, keeping the truth from somebody inadvertently plopped in the middle of this mess. He reached out, squeezed Sam's shoulder. "I'll explain soon," he said, and the smile that used to be a permanent fixture on Sam's high-cheek-boned face made a sudden reappearance.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just send her on down and keep the rugrats out of your hair."

Less than a minute later, he heard Blair's reluctant descent, the stair treads' screaking in sympathy, it seemed. Feet…legs…arms pretzeled over her midsection…shoulders…and, at last, a prize-winning glower. When she finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Hank said, "Seems to me I've seen that very expression in my mirror on more than one occasion."

No response.

"Come on. Let's go outside where we can talk."

"What makes you think I've got anything to say?"

"What makes you think I don't?"

He counted it as a small victory that she actually followed him, even though, as she would put it, it was under duress. They walked out a ways from the house, toward a fenced-in pasture where a half dozen cows lay under the shade of a cottonwood, disinterestedly chewing their cud and periodically shivering off flies. Sam's farm was strictly small potatoes, not unlike the one Hank and his brothers had grown up on. In Sam's case, though, family tradition fueled his determination to keep the mainly subsistence operation running, although he supplemented his income by teaching at a local community college. Hank couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for Sam, keeping everything going after his wife's death, but he couldn't fault the man for trying to maintain some sort of consistency in his children's lives…and that single glimpse of the kind of self-sacrifice parenting required hit him smack between the eyes.

When they reached the post-and-rail fence edging the pasture, Hank leaned on it, deliberately not looking at his daughter, who may or may not have been shooting daggers at him.

"You tell Libby about me?"

"No," she said after a second.

Hank glanced over to see Blair leaning against the fence as well, but a good five or six feet away. "How come?"

She frowned at him, squinting against the early-afternoon sun. "Are you serious?"

"Just figured you'd probably want to talk it over with somebody, is all. Libby seems like a logical choice."

"Well, I didn't." A pause while she refocused on the cows. "Where's Jenna?"

"Back at the cottage."

"Why didn't she come?"

"You want to talk to her?"

"I didn't say that. Just wondered how come you're here and she's not."

Hank managed to keep a lid on his temper by the skin of his teeth. Now wasn't the time to get on her case about her snotty attitude. "As it happens, she wanted to, but I thought it might be better if I ran interference first. She's pretty upset about what you said to her."

"She's upset? Excuse me? Nobody lied to her, did they?"

Then again, maybe now was as good a time as any. "Nobody except your mother, who left Jenna with the burden of havin' to clean up somebody else's mess. So maybe you should get off your high horse and start thinkin' about this from your aunt's perspective. After more than twelve years, suddenly this piece of information lands in her lap that's gonna change several people's lives. And she's got nobody to turn to for advice."

He patted his shirt for his cigarettes, realized he'd run out and forgotten to buy more last time he went shopping. "So what's she supposed to do?"

"Tell me the truth." Betrayal flashed in her eyes. "But I guess grown-ups don't have to follow the same rules as kids, huh?"

"No, they don't," he said, watching her eyes go wide. "Not when the stakes are as high as these were. And don't give me attitude, like nobody else has ever gone through this but you. How do you think I felt when I found out about you? That your mother didn't think I deserved to know I had a daughter? Thirteen years I'll never have, that no number of pictures can replace. Then to top it off, your aunt didn't tell me right away, either. So, trust me—I know exactly how mad you are. Until I realized she was only trying to protect you."

"Protect me? From what?"

"From what she didn't know. You're the most important thing in the world to her, Blair, in case you missed it. And she had no idea why your mother chose to keep my identity a secret. For all your aunt knew, I could've had a record a mile long, or been a substance abuser, or liked to beat up women. She wouldn't have been doing her job if she hadn't checked me out. And that takes time."

"But it was okay for you to know about me, for me to work for you—" She turned away, her mouth working overtime. "She had no right—"

"She had every right," he said quietly. "Whether you think so or not. And before this day is out, I want you to think real hard about apologizing to her, because she's worrying herself sick about this."

Her forehead still crumpled, Blair picked at a splinter in the wood for some time before saying, "Just tell me one thing."

"What?"

Cold and defiant, her gaze met his. "Did you love my mother?"

Hank silently swore. "We hadn't really known each other all that long, Blair." Cringing at the hurt in her eyes, he plowed ahead. "The problem with honesty, is that sometimes you hear things you might not want to. I was only twenty-five, honey. I—"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said, slamming her hands into the top rail before spinning around and stomping away.

* * *

It was nearly dark when Jenna heard Sam Frazier's truck pull up in front of the cottage. Making herself stay put on the sofa, where she'd been re-reading the same paragraph in the new Grisham novel for the past hour, Jenna tried to arrange her features into as non-censuring expression as possible. Hank had called her after his conversation with Blair, ostensibly to comfort her. Only, for all his macho posturing, the weariness in his voice told her all too clearly his and Blair's first official father-daughter chat encounter had bombed, big-time.

And the jolt to her heart had told her he was no less a man because of it.

The screen door slammed shut behind Blair. Meringue abandoned Jenna and, with a series of accusatory mews, trotted over to her girl, writhing around her ankles until Blair picked her up.

"You mad at me?" she asked, surprising Jenna.

"No. Worried about you, maybe. But not angry."

"You should be." She let the cat drop onto the floor. "I acted like a brat."

Jenna tossed the book onto the coffee table and opened her arms. A second later, Blair was in them, too many bony knees and elbows to get situated right away. But they finally managed, Jenna kissing her baby's hair, smelling of something pan-fried, over and over.

"I wish things could just go back to the way they were," Blair said against Jenna's chest. "Before…all of this."

"Yeah. I know. But they can't."

Her niece sat up, worry settled deep in her eyes. "We're still going back home, though, right? I mean, you don't expect me to stay here? With him?"

Her brow creased, Jenna smoothed back Blair's hair from her face. Were her own exhaustion and stress shadowing Blair's words with subtexts? Or was there really something more going on here that she wasn't getting? "Of course not. Neither of us would ever force you to stay where you didn't want to. We haven't even talked about visitation, actually. But whatever we decide, you'll be part of the process."

Her expression darkened. "I don't want anything to do with him, Jenna. Ever."

The subtexts began to shuffle out of the shadows. "Blair, I know you're still upset—"

"You can't expect me to just suddenly accept some stranger as my father! To…to act like everything's cool when it isn't!"

"Nobody expects anything, sweetie. Not right away, certainly. But you know, the man you thought was 'okay' yesterday, before you knew who he was, is the same man today—"

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't. So help me out here, okay?"

Blair scrambled up from the sofa, only to spin around and drop into the chair opposite, a mutinous glare contorting her face. When she didn't say anything, Jenna said, "You know, Hank's just as scared as you are."

"Yeah, I just bet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He sure wasn't acting like he was scared. I mean, God—what gives him the right to tell me what to do, how to think, when he doesn't even know me? It's not fair!"

"Life rarely is," Jenna said, thinking how her words nearly echoed Hank's from the day before. "But you have to give this a chance—"

"Why? Nobody asked me if I wanted this. Just because he and my mother had sex doesn't give him the right to order me around, or…or to stick his nose in my life!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Blair. But he is your dad—"

"He is not my dad. And there's no way I'm calling him that!"

Jenna's hands flew up. "All right, all right—you don't have to call him dad. You don't have to call him anything. But we can't undo what's done. You can't pretend he doesn't exist, because like it or not, Hank Logan is now part of your life. Part of our lives," she added, wishing she could ignore the sizzle of awareness those words provoked. "And sooner or later, you're going to have to deal with that fact."

With something that sounded like a growl, Blair popped up again, tramped a few feet away, then wheeled on her, tears trickling down her cheeks. "Why didn't you leave things the way they were? Why did you have to tell him?"

At that moment, Jenna would have cut out her own heart to save Blair from her confusion and pain. But her niece also needed to see she wasn't the only one with something at stake here.

"Because I couldn't in good conscience keep that kind of secret from another human being! Because he deserved to know you!" Jenna rose from the sofa, willing her voice to remain steady. "And because, believe it or not, you deserve to know him! What's not fair is blaming Hank for something that's not his fault. I can't make you love your father. I can't even make you like him. But Hank Logan is a good man, whether you want to acknowledge that at the moment or not. So you will get to know him, if it's the last thing I accomplish on this earth. Starting with dinner tomorrow night."

"Oh, no—"

"Oh, yes. And don't even think about running off to Libby's, because you will be here if I have to tie you to the chair."

Stunned into silence, Blair gawked at Jenna openmouthed for the space of several heartbeats until—once again—she tore to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Chapter 11

"Where is she?"

"In her room," Jenna said, stepping aside to let Hank in. "Sulking."

Even if his gut hadn't been all balled up to begin with, one look at Jenna's pinched face would've done it for sure. A shame, too, because the smell of tomato sauce and garlic was almost tempting Hank into thinking he was hungry.

And the sight of Jenna in that long, gauzy skirt and sleeveless, midriff-skimming top, her hair loosely piled on top of her head with all those wispy little strands floating around her face, stirred another kind of temptation altogether.

He set down the old albums and things on the living-room side of the counter, then rolled up his shirt sleeves. He'd thought maybe he should aim for a step above his normal T-shirt-and-jeans look, but even with the fans going and all the windows open, it was still hot in the cottage. How could it be so humid and still not rain?

"So," Jenna said with a bright, dumb-looking smile, pouring dressing over a large salad, "how's business?"

"Picking up," he said, then frowned. "She give you grief today?"

"No, actually. Since she hasn't said three words to me since last night."

"Damn, Jenna. Maybe this isn't such a hot idea."

"You got a better one?" She dragged a pan of something with lots of bubbling cheese on it out of the oven.

"No," he admitted. "What's that?"

"Eggplant parmesan. You'll love it."

"Did I say anything?"

"You didn't have to. Look," she said in a low voice, "I know this isn't ideal, but it's the best I could come up with. And I don't mean the eggplant. So you and I are going to act perfectly normal and have a perfectly lovely dinner. She has to join us or no Libby's, but then I mitigated the ultimatum somewhat by saying whether she participates or not in the conversation is entirely up to her."

In spite of the tension ripping his insides to shreds, Hank felt a grin tug at his mouth. "Who the hell uses the word mitigate in ordinary conversation?"

"A borderline hysterical control freak who's petrified her child will never speak to her again?" Without thinking, he reached out to her; she smoothly sidestepped his touch, nodding toward the albums. "What's all this?"

Now, the thing was, Hank was not by nature much of a toucher—outside of sexual situations, anyway—a fact that used to exasperate his overly tactile mother no end. Michelle had been an exception. And now Jenna, around whom keeping his hands to himself had become damn near impossible.

And her Mother-May-I? arbitrariness about it was beginning to get up his nose. Even though he told himself he understood.

"Some of the family photos Cal brought over," he said, his words more clipped than he'd intended. "I thought Blair might like to see them. Maybe."

Jenna nodded; his guess was she didn't trust her voice just then.

"I told Ryan, by the way." She looked up, her brows slightly dipped. "My other brother. Cal already knew." His mouth twitched. "And something tells me Ryan and his wife Maddie already knew, too. Anyway, they're all hot to meet her and welcome her into the family. Maddie, especially. So she's invited all of us over to her and Ryan's place for the Fourth for a cook-out."

"Oh, Lord, Hank—that's only a couple days away!"

He shrugged. "Maybe throwing her into the deep end's the only way to get us all through this, y'know? And I'd like for her to at least get some sense of her family here before y'all go back to D.C."

Although he'd thought he'd come to terms with their leaving, hearing the words out loud made his stomach flip. And not just because Blair would be going back east. In a way, though, it was just as well, wasn't it? Because, no matter how much he told himself he wasn't interested in letting a woman get under his skin again, the longer Jenna stayed, the more likely that's exactly what was going to happen. He couldn't even put a finger on why, not yet. So it was better for everybody that she left before he figured it out.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, blasting his thoughts to kingdom come, and he said, "Sure," only to nearly fall over when a can of beer landed in front of him. Until he realized it was that non-alcoholic stuff. He held it up, brows raised. She angled her head.

"It tastes the same, right? So you can at least pretend it's the real thing."

"Honey, I hate to tell you this, but nobody drinks beer for the taste."

He watched as she wrapped a loaf of bread in foil, then stuck it in the oven. "How much do you drink? Exactly?"

In the midst of popping the top—it would have been rude to hand it back to her—he looked up. "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's none of my business, it's just that I saw you buy that six-pack, and—"

"Ah." He took a swig, set the can down on the counter and watched the condensation meander down the sides for a moment. "God knows I've got my flaws, but boozing it up isn't one of 'em." He looked at her. "In fact, I've still got four cans left from that six-pack. Relieved?"

"Yes, frankly." A smile flickered across her lips before she glanced toward Blair's door, then back at Hank. "Show time," she said, wiping her hands down her skirt, and Hank wanted to hug her so bad, he thought he'd pop.

* * *

"And this one's of your grandmother when she was about your age."

Jenna watched her niece for a reaction as Hank leaned over the coffee table to hand Blair the same photo that had gotten the ball rolling barely a week ago. "So now we know where the red hair came from. She had a real thing for classical music, you know? Taught piano most of her life."

Blair's expression remained impassive, as it had through all the other pictures Hank showed her. Jenna's heart bled; if it hadn't been for Hank's surreptitious, reassuring smiles throughout the evening, she wasn't sure how she'd have made it through.

"You would have been their first grandchild," he said, and Jenna saw just the tiniest hitch in Blair's movements as she wordlessly set that picture on top of the others. She'd deliberately sat apart from them, forcing Jenna and Hank to sit next to each other on the sofa, close enough for their pheremones to do a do-si-do. This was awful, but Jenna was having a devil of a time concentrating on the photographs and not on the fascinating infrastructure of veins and tendons in Hank's hands. A breeze had begun to stir with the advent of dusk, cooling the air, if not tension of a hundred kinds sizzling in the small room. Underneath the high-pitched sexual awareness she was apparently powerless to ignore, let alone shake, hummed an ever-present concern for Blair, a combination certain to drive her bonkers if one or the other didn't give soon.

Blair was right: life definitely wasn't fair.

"And that's me," Hank was saying, "with your uncles Cal and Ryan, when we were all kids. You met Cal, remember? The day we found Mutt?"

At the sound of his name, the dog, stretched out on the floor a few feet away, groaned. Which was more than Blair did.

"Anyway," Hank went on, "Ryan and Maddie are having a cook-out on the Fourth, and I thought that might be a good time for everybody to get acquainted."

That got the first real reaction of the evening. Blair's eyes darted to Hank. "You told them?"

Jenna could sense Hank's weighing his words. "You're their niece, honey. They'd skin me alive if I kept that from them." He paused again, then added, "They're real excited about meeting you. Like I said, you're the first kid in this generation. And family ties are real important around here—"

"May I be excused now, Jenna?" Blair interrupted, getting to her feet. "I'm not feeling well."

Realizing she'd pushed as far as she dared for one go-round, Jenna nodded. "Do you need anything?" she said to Blair's retreating back, but all she got was a short, "No" in reply. After her door snicked closed—that it didn't slam Jenna took as a sign of progress—Hank sank back onto the sofa, his breath rushing from his lungs. A second later, rock music seeped from underneath the door, accompanied shortly thereafter by an off-beat, off-key voice.

"Kiri Te Kanawa has nothing to worry about," Jenna said, leaning forward to straighten out the loose photos, and Hank let out a shaky laugh. Then she felt his weight shift slightly behind her, flinching slightly when his palm landed between her shoulder blades. How quickly she'd become accustomed to the feel of his hand. Next she'd find herself yearning for it, and that would never do.

She leaned farther forward, shutting the open album.

"Should I go?" he said softly behind her, removing his hand. But in spite of the shrill little voice shrieking Hell, yes inside her, she shook her head.

"Good," he said. "Saves me the trouble of arguing with you."

A laugh sputtered from her lips as she thought how much she'd come to genuinely care for this man. And how nice it was just to have a friend again. Of course, there was the minor problem of her wanting to jump the friend's bones, but, as with most things, this too would pass. At least, she fervently hoped so.

She picked up a photo of Hank's parents, one taken when they were already middle-aged. His mother, Mary, her hair a tangle of short gray-and-auburn curls, had bright eyes and a brighter smile, while his dad, Hank Sr., wore the sweetly smug expression of a man who'd gotten everything he wanted. Hank had told Jenna how they'd been childless for fifteen years before he was born, followed a year and a half later by Ryan, then it had been another eight years before Cal came along. He'd said that his mother had died of cancer when Hank and Ryan were still in high school, his father struggling along listlessly until his own death five years later.

"They were great together," he said behind her. "Always laughing and kidding each other. Except when one of 'em ticked the other one off," he added on a chuckle. "But their fights were like summer storms, over in a flash and leaving the air clear afterwards." Another chuckle. "We could count on being sent to bed early on those nights, too." He leaned forward, his arm brushing hers as he removed the photo from her fingers. "Being around them spoiled me."

"For what?"

"For anything less."

A small but potent tremor shimmied through her. Her marriage to Phil had succeeded by dint of sheer dumb luck—she'd stumbled onto the right guy at the right time. No more to it than that. For some reason, that made Hank's loss more poignant, somehow. It had taken him, what? Thirty-five, thirty-six years to actually find someone who met his criteria, only to have her ripped from him.

Then again, did the circumstances surrounding how one person met another diminish the pain of losing them any less?

Jenna was about to say Tell me about your fiancée when Hank blindsided her with, "Blair told me you're thinking of doing a book signing in Tulsa?"

Oh, Lord. With everything else going on, she hadn't even thought about that. "Thanks for reminding me," she said flatly, getting up to clear the dining table. He stood as well, following her and taking the plates from her hands.

"Don't you like doing them?"

"Okay," she said, collecting the glasses and following him into the kitchen. "You can stop right there. How much did Blair tell you?"

"She said you'd had a panic attack or something at one a few years ago," Hank said mildly, setting the stack of dishes next to the sink. "That you haven't done one since."

"Yeah, that about sums it up."

"And that you agreed to do this one if she came to work for me."

"Yep."

"So you're over whatever it was that made you freak then?"

"Nope." To her annoyance, her hands began to shake. "In fact, the thought makes me want to throw up."

"Why?"

"I wish I knew. I can teach, I can function just fine in other situations. At least, I can now. But I had a problem with chronic shyness as a kid. In fact, my mother used to get on my case because I wouldn't look up when she introduced me to someone. For the most part, I outgrew it. But every once in a while it crops up, without warning. I'd always had some trouble with book signings, but that day…" She shut her eyes, shaking her head. "I totally lost it. Haven't done one since."

He crossed his arms. "So what's different about this time?"

"Because I need to get past this. Especially if I expect Blair to face something that scares her."

He reached over and took her hand, making her flinch. "You'll be fine."

She snorted. But she didn't remove her hand from his.

"That was three years ago, honey. Your husband had just died. You were stressed and grieving. No wonder you lost it. Hey—you want me to go with you?"

"Oh, Hank…that's very sweet—" And it was, an offer that made her heart swell "—but you'd be bored out of your skull. Unless you get off on watching neurotic authors sweat."

"Hey. If I can spend three hours with a teenaged girl and live to tell about it, you can handle a few fans."

"Remember that when I barf all over your shoes," she said, finally, reluctantly, slipping her fingers from his warm, strong grasp and walking out of the kitchen and back into the living room, where she bent over to pick up the album and photos. "Don't forget these…."

"No, keep 'em," Hank said. "Let her go through 'em whenever she wants."

"Good idea. Hey…what's this?" A loose photo slipped out of the album and fluttered to the floor. Jenna squatted to pick it up, but Hank got there before her, muttering a succinct cuss word when he saw it.

"I had no idea this was in there—"

"Lemme see," Jenna said, grabbing for it, only to find herself in the midst of a wrestling match as Hank, an embarrassed and thoroughly adorable grin stretched across his face, held it out of her reach.

"Forget it!"

"Oh, come on," she said, scrambling up onto the sofa cushions and wrapping one arm across his chest from behind to steady herself when she lunged after the picture. When she lost her footing and nearly took both of them down, Hank handed it over. Cackling with the thrill of victory, Jenna dropped cross-legged onto the sofa, only to burst into laughter when she got her first look.

"Omigod! Is this you? That's hysterical!"

"Now you know why I was the only eighteen-month-old kid in the county with a buzz cut."

A wide-eyed, slightly stoned-looking Hank, no more than six or eight months old, stared solemnly out at her from the photo, a bumper crop of thick, black, three-inch long stick-straight hair jutting out at a hundred different angles from his too-big-for-his-body head. The crowning touch was the adorable little jumper with a ducky on the front.

"Add a tongue stud and six-inch platform boots," she got out around her laughter, "and you could have filled in for the lead singer in KISS."

"Very funny," he said, but when she finally tore her gaze away from Heavy Metal Baby long enough to look up at him, he didn't look all that ticked. What he did look was…

Oh, dear.

Flushing—again—she stood, handing him the picture, but he shook his head. "What the hell. Maybe it'll have the same effect on Blair it did on you."

They stared at each other for the space of several heartbeats until he said, "Well, I guess I'd better be going" at the exact moment she said, "It's getting late…"

Jenna walked Hank and Mutt outside, to the edge of the porch. Crickets chirped and frogs peeped and the warm, humid air grazed her skin, smelling of night—she often thought how strange it was, that the air could actually have a different scent after the sun went down—and Hank and whatever she was giving off. Fear? Desire? Stupidity?

Hank started down the steps, only to turn back. "I don't suppose you'd like to go into Claremore tomorrow to help me pick out some furniture for the house? You and Blair, I mean? Danny's going to move into the apartment as soon as I get my carcass out of there and Cherise fumigates it."

She laughed, but said, "I don't think that's a good idea. In fact, maybe we should give Blair a day or so to absorb a few things?"

"Yeah, you're probably right. Oh, that reminds me…" He reached into his back pocket and took out a folded envelope. "Her first few days' pay. Thought maybe she might like to go buy a new CD or something."

Jenna took the envelope, still warm from his body heat, resisting the insane urge to clutch it to her chest. "I'll tell her."

"Well. I suppose I should be going. Cherise is coming at 7:00 a.m., otherwise she'll never get done by dinnertime, she says."

Again, Jenna felt an irrepressible giggle burst out of her mouth. "I must be getting slap-happy. I haven't giggled for thirty years, I don't think."

Hank's gaze swept her face, a smile softening that hard mouth. "From you, giggling sounds good."

On impulse, she bounced up to kiss him on the cheek, lingering a second longer than necessary, to absorb his scent, so different from Phil's. A second that cost her another slice of her sanity, since Hank turned his head to brush his lips across hers. Just a whisper of a kiss, really, nothing to write home about, before he wordlessly continued down the stairs, he and the dog, the darkness swallowing them both up.

A gnawing, aching emptiness screamed inside her, driving her back inside and to the kitchen, where she pawed through the bottom cabinet, looking for the Homeland bag still filled with stuff she wasn't supposed to have bought to begin with, probably wouldn't have bought if Hank Logan and his damn pheromones hadn't launched their assault on her still-groggy libido. She planted her butt on the kitchen floor, ripped open the bag of Chee•tos—the fried kind, not those lame air-puffed things—and had stuffed her mouth when she noticed Blair standing there, looking down at her.

"Jenna? You okay?"

Fortunately, a mouth full of half-masticated Chee•tos pretty much kills the chance of hysterical laughter escaping. Nodding and chewing, Jenna held out the bag, rattling it in a peace offering. Blair slid down onto the floor beside her, reaching into the bag. "These things are bad for you."

"I know," Jenna said, thinking, oh, honey, you don't know from bad, since it was probably in very poor form to confess to the child that she had a major case of hots for her father. She crammed another handful into her mouth, mumbling, "Tough," around them.

"Is this Hank?" Blair said, holding up the baby photo so Jenna could see it. She stopped chewing, mainly so she wouldn't choke, and nodded.

A giggle bubbled out of Blair's mouth. Then another. Within seconds, the pair of them were laughing so hard, tears were streaming down their cheeks and they had to hold on to each other to keep from collapsing right there on the kitchen floor.

* * *

God. It had been like forever since Jenna had tucked her in. It was kinda nice, actually, feeling like a kid again. For a little while, anyway. It had felt good to laugh like that, too. Made things seem a little less weird.

"You've got Chee to dust on your chin," she said, grinning up at her aunt, Meringue purring like crazy beside her on the bed.

Jenna swiped a hand across her chin. "Better?"

"Uh-huh."

"What about Hank? You feel any better about that?"

Blair sighed. "I dunno. Maybe. A little." Then she thought about that picture of him as a baby and giggled. "He was so funny-looking!"

"You should have seen the look on his face when I found the picture," Jenna said, grinning. "He was positively mortified."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Then she tugged Blair's hair. "He is human, honey."

"I know," Blair said with a sigh, then started picking at the hem of her sheet.

"You're wearing your grump face again," Jenna said. "Spill."

Why did grown-ups always assume you could explain what was bothering you? That you could somehow take all these tangled-up, scary thoughts and untangle them into nice, neat sentences that they'd understand?

"It's not like I can explain what I'm feeling."

"That's okay. Just try. Even if it doesn't make sense to you, maybe it will to me."

After she sorted through her thoughts for a minute, Blair said, "Well, I don't feel quite so mad anymore. Just…scared."

"About?"

She shrugged. "That's the hard part. I mean, when I thought Hank was just somebody we'd met on vacation, he was okay. Well, once I started to get to know him and stuff. But then I found out he was my father, and…I don't know. Everything changed. I mean, it's like so permanent now. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Jenna said with a real funny look on her face. "I think I do."

Suddenly, a thought Blair didn't even know was there pushed its way to the surface. "I think…I think I'm afraid to love him."

Jenna's expression got even stranger. "Because…of what happened with Phil?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe…because here's this man who's supposed to be my father, so it's like I'm supposed to suddenly love him and stuff when I don't even know him. I mean, how weird is that?"

"It's very weird, sweetie. It's weird for all of us. But there's no pressure, believe me. All any of us can do is take this one day at a time—"

"And then there's this whole thing about…" She hiked herself up on her elbows. "When I asked him if he loved my mother, he said it was all about sex—"

"He said that?"

"Well, no, he didn't exactly say that, but I figured it out. So it was like I was this big mistake, you know? I mean, my mother didn't want me so she didn't even tell my father about me, and…and…"

She didn't mean to cry like some baby, but suddenly she was, and Jenna was hugging her and telling her she wasn't a mistake, dammit, she was a gift, which really got Blair because while she knew Jenna swore, she'd never done it in front of her before.

Then Jenna pulled back to take Blair's face in her hands, her own eyes filled with tears. "This is going to sound terrible, but I used to thank God every day that your mother decided you were better off with me. In fact, my biggest fear was that she'd change her mind and come back for you."

"But why didn't she want me?"

Jenna let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know, honey. I'd given up trying to figure your mother out long before you were born. But what's important here is that your uncle and I did want you. And your father really does want to do his best, if you'll give him that chance." She hugged Blair again, hard. "You are loved, Blair Noelle Stanton, more than you can even begin to imagine. You got that?"

After a moment, Blair nodded.

"I know you're feeling a little lost right now," Jenna said into her hair. "So am I. And Hank. Who knows when any of us are going to feel normal again? But you know, sweetie, everything happens for a reason."

"You really believe that?"

"Yeah. Deep down, I really do. Even if we don't understand it at the time," her aunt said, that funny hitch in her voice again. Then she kissed Blair on top of her head, the way she used to do when she was little, and hugged her harder, and somehow, Blair felt a little better. Not great, but better.

* * *

"Okay, Ryan's about as laid back as you can get," Hank said, pulling the truck up behind Cal's in Ryan's driveway, late in the afternoon on the Fourth, "but his wife, Maddie, doesn't know the meaning of the word stranger. She's also got a bit of a romantic streak in her, so this whole reunion-with-my-long-lost-daughter thing is right up her alley."

Between them, Blair rolled her eyes, but at least she didn't look disgusted. Jenna decided to be grateful for small favors.

The past forty-eight hours had been nerve-wracking. For one thing, Blair continued to blow hot and cold about her father. Although she voluntarily showed up for work, the Grump Face still made frequent appearances. Hank had muttered something about needing a score sheet to keep track of whether he was ahead or not. Jenna's take on it was that even if Blair might not yet think of Hank as her father, at least he'd been upgraded to human. Yes, despite the frequent where-did-you-get-those-extra-heads? looks which Jenna had assured Hank were perfectly normal and not to be taken personally. He'd gained a point when Blair noticed he was wearing a nicotine patch—because, he'd said, having her gave him a reason to take care of himself—only to lose that point by setting up a basketball hoop in the driveway, which earned him an accusation of trying to buy her love. And he still refused to let her go to the Gundersen birthday party, even though Jenna had the feeling Hank was taking his new role a shade too seriously. But since he knew the boys and she didn't, she'd deferred to him, earning her the all-grown-ups-are-dumb look.

The bright side to all this was that focusing on the stuttering Blair-Hank relationship diverted her attention—somewhat—from the equally stuttering Jenna-Hank relationship. Memories of the other night, of his solid torso clamped underneath her arms when she went after the photo, the way, for those few minutes, she'd felt giddy and silly and free, had taunted her ever since. Because she liked feeling giddy and silly and free. Oh, boy, did she like it. And boy oh boy oh boy, did she like being smushed up against all those lovely muscles, being engulfed by all that concentrated, yummy male scent.

Did she like the barely contained hunger in his eyes when he looked at her.

Gulp.

They all got out of the truck, including Mutt, Jenna clutching a bowl of her "famous" hot potato salad to her more than slightly jittery stomach, as she got a load of one of the largest, most oddly shaped Victorian-era houses she'd ever seen, planted in the middle of an oversized, heavily shaded corner lot. She knew Ryan Logan was the town doctor, had been, in fact, the only physician in the immediate vicinity before joining a small clinic a few months ago, that he'd married Maddie barely two months before; and that Cal Logan, the "baby" of the family and still a bachelor at nearly thirty, raised horses. And that was about it.

She suddenly felt unsure about how she was supposed to fit into all this. Or even if she did. And Hank's touch at the small of her back wasn't doing a blessed thing to soothe her jangled nerves. Although he'd been the soul of discretion around her since that evening, his you-stay-on-your-side-of-the-fence-and-I'll-stay-on-mine declaration had gone the way of the dodo bird. This was a man more than interested in hopping that fence and seeing exactly how green the grass was on her side. In fact, sometimes she thought—

Blair let out on an excited squeal. "There's kids?"

They'd just gotten around to the front of the house; a small dark-haired boy and an even smaller wispy-haired blond girl streaked past toward an amply proportioned woman in a tiered skirt and Birkenstocks, a long salt-and-pepper braid snaking over her shoulder, who was getting out of a beat-up truck parked in the front of the house.

"Yep," Hank said, removing his hand. Fingerprint-shaped scorchmarks now undoubtedly graced her blouse. If not her skin. "Maddie's got three, including a baby. Why? You like kids?"

"She loves them," Jenna said with a smile as Blair gravitated toward the twerps, hesitating when they hurled themselves into the woman's arms. "She's been chomping at the bit to start babysitting, but most parents don't want someone younger than fourteen. Who's that?"

"Ivy Gardner, the town midwife. Used to be close friends with my mother…oh, hell. What's she doing here?"

"Who? Ivy?"

"No, the other one. Her daughter, Dawn. Damn." Trailing Ivy by several feet was a younger, thinner version of Ivy in a short, sleeveless yellow sheath and backless sandals, her thick, reddish-brown hair worn like her mother's in a braid that dipped well past her waist.

"Old flame?" Jenna said.

"What? Oh. No. Not mine, anyway. Well, not anybody's, technically. But she and Cal always had this weird kind of friendship, ever since they were kids. I think Cal might've even been sweet on her in high school, although nothing ever came of it. And it's not like he's been carrying a torch for her or anything."

"But…?"

"But whenever they show up in the same place at the same time, things get tense. And I thought she was supposed to be engaged or married or something?"

As they came closer, Jenna could tell the younger woman wasn't wearing any rings. And when they were introduced she could see in Dawn's dark-brown eyes that recently-screwed-over look. While Jenna couldn't relate personally, she'd been the ventee enough times over the years, when various girlfriends had lost boyfriends or lovers or husbands, to recognize the signs.

"Hank! Wondered when you were gonna get here!"

Jenna turned at the sound of the pleasant baritone as Dawn and Ivy continued on to the house. Her guess was the tall, mustached man and tiny, wiry, baby-toting woman in shorts and a halter top coming their way were Ryan and Maddie Logan. Welcomes and laughter and glad-you-could-comes burst around them like fireworks as both Blair and Jenna found themselves engulfed in hugs and Blair somehow ended up with the baby, a pudgy little thing with serious dark eyes and an onion-sprout tuft of dark-brown hair caught in a barrette on top of her head. After a minute or so, the men went off to do whatever men did at these things, Hank with the potato salad in tow, while Maddie led Blair and Jenna into the house and back into the kitchen. Like the other rooms Jenna had glimpsed as they'd trucked through, this, too, seemed to be in the throes of redecoration. Maddie's gaze followed Jenna's to the array of paint splotches adorning one wall, some of which were so bright, they vibrated.

"Ry and I can't seem to agree on a color," Maddie said in her sandpaper voice, grinning. "But then, if it's anything other than white, he gets nervous." The grin broadened, taking up most of her thin, almost boyish-looking face. Suddenly Jenna recognized Maddie as the woman who'd delivered the pies to Ruby's that first morning. "I figured if I threatened him with the lime green or the turquoise, I'd have a better chance of getting that pale yellow on the top left."

Jenna laughed, then said, "Okay, what can I do to help?"

"Not a blessed thing," Maddie said, buzzing around the kitchen, her gray eyes shining with delight under feathery gold-brown hair as she set glasses of iced tea in front of both of them. "Just sit and talk to me while I finish up the salad. This is just so exciting," she said to Blair with a warm, infectious laugh, reaching across the table to squeeze the girl's hand. "You're my first niece! Oh, shoot, Amy Rose—no, no, sugar!" Maddie reached over to extricate one of Blair's blouse buttons from the baby's slobbery mouth, which provoked a squeal of protest. "Well, I'm sorry, little bit, but those aren't for eating. Here, gnaw on this." She handed the baby a bottle of juice, then smiled at Blair, her hands on her hips. "You're real good with babies, aren't you?"

Amy Rose settled back with her juice in Blair's arms as if she'd known her cousin forever. Blair beamed. "I love them." Then she looked up at Maddie. "Where're the other kids?"

"Not in here, thank goodness," Maddie said, finally tending to the waiting salad. "Why don't you go on out and see if you can find 'em?"

Blair hauled the baby up onto her hip and was gone in a flash. Jenna chuckled. "You ever need a baby-sitter, she's your gal."

"Oh, yeah? That mean you two're planning to stay here in Haven?"

Jenna flushed. "Oh, no. Sorry. I mean, when Blair's here visiting her father. I can't…I'm not…"

"Why don't you grab those bags of rolls," Maddie said softly, rescuing Jenna from having to explain the unexplainable, "and I'll just get this—" biting her lip, she squatted slightly to get a good grip on the oversized salad bowl "—then we can head on out back and join the party." They'd no sooner set foot on the back porch than Maddie halted, bumping Jenna softly with her elbow. "Land, would you look at that?"

Jenna glanced over, but all she saw were the three brothers huddled around the grill, Cal tending to the hot dogs and hamburgers, the other two standing there with their arms folded, hanging on to their beers, having one of those conversations which don't require actual eye contact. "Look at what?"

"The three of 'em in the same place at the same time, that's what. Been a long time since that's happened. Especially with Hank. Especially on holidays." She sighed. "I got him here for Thanksgiving for all of twenty minutes. Christmas, we made it through a whole hour. But look at him, standing there and interacting with people like a normal human being. Lord, he's even smiling. Now what do you suppose caused that?"

"Gas?" Jenna said. Maddie let out a hoot of laughter which carried across the yard, snagging the men's attention. Ryan looked over and winked at his wife, who made a face at him. But Hank looked over as well, hooking Jenna's gaze in his own. Then, slowly, seductively, a grin spread across his face that made Jenna feel as woozy and disoriented as if she'd come off an amusement park ride.

Maddie glanced over at Jenna, one eyebrow raised. "Sure don't have to ask what caused that," she said, then toted the salad down to the picnic table.

* * *

Stuffed to the gills and feeling pretty mellow, Hank hooked a foot on the side porch's bottom step, watching Ryan in the porch swing, rocking the sleeping baby. "Well, well…if you don't look the picture of domestic bliss."

Ryan's grin tucked up underneath his moustache. "Best way in the world to get out of clean-up detail." The baby wriggled in her sleep and Ryan's hand shot to her back, coaxing her back to sleep, and a twinge of irritation pinged through Hank, that he'd missed this. That he'd never get to do this. Not with one of his own, at least. Grandbabies, maybe. But that was a long way off.

Speaking of babies, the sound of the kids' laughter a few feet away made Hank twist around. Blair was happily lording it over the kids and the dog, all of whom clearly worshipped the ground she walked on.

"It's going okay, I take it?" Ryan said. "With Blair?"

"Too early to call." Hank came up the stairs to sprawl in a wicker armchair. "Got off to kind of a rocky start."

"That's understandable."

"Yeah. I suppose it is." He folded his arms across his chest, telling himself he did not want a smoke. "She's a good kid, once you get past the attitude. And so damn smart it's scary. Sometimes she just cracks me up. When she's not confusing the hell out of me."

"Welcome to parenthood," Ryan said with a wry grin, then added, "You and Jenna work out the arrangements yet?"

"Not really. I suppose she'll go back with Jenna to D.C., go to school there, maybe spend holidays and vacations here?" He shrugged. "Nobody wants to disrupt her life any more than it already has been."

"It's a big adjustment," Ryan said gently. "For all of you. No sense rushing things."

"I don't intend to."

"I wasn't just talking about Blair."

Hank's heart knocked against his ribs. The past couple of days had been agonizing. All he could think about was Jenna's climbing up on the sofa and onto him to get that picture, the flash of triumph in her eyes and her laughter when she did, the feel of all that sweetness wrapped around him, just for a second. He'd plumb forgotten how good it felt to make another human being laugh. And he'd realized, as that particular human being sank onto the sofa with her prize, her skin all flushed and her hair floating every which way around her face, how much Jenna Stanton needed somebody to make her laugh.

And damned if Hank didn't want the job.

"Is it that obvious?"

Ryan let out a snort of laughter that startled the baby. "In the two hours since you've been here, Maddie counted sixteen times that you touched the woman in some fashion. And that was only when she was looking."

"She kept track?"

"Are you kidding? That's the most fun she's had since…" Ryan cleared his throat. "Never mind. So," he said quickly, "you got a case of the hots, or is this something more?"

Even a week ago, Hank would've been ticked that Ryan and Maddie were sticking their noses in where they didn't belong. Now he didn't even care. When had the wall around his heart he'd kept in such good repair these past two years begun to disintegrate, a wall built out of never agains and can'ts and won'ts? It still wasn't gone, not totally, but he could sure see out over it, now. And you know what? The view wasn't half bad.

"Anything says it can't be both?" he said, and Ryan let out another laugh.

"Who was it who was saying to me just a few months ago that a man's better off without a woman to mess up his life?"

Hank's mouth twisted. Yeah, he remembered that night, when he'd tangled with an ornery screwdriver and Ryan had stitched it up. "Must've been the anesthetic talking."

"Lidocaine doesn't affect the brain, bonehead."

"Wasn't talking about that kind of anesthetic."

After a moment, Ryan said, "So how's it feel? Not being numb anymore?"

Took another couple of moments for Hank to reply. "I never really was, you know? All I was doing was holding the pain in. Only thing is, you get so used to thinking you don't want something for so long…" He shrugged, not knowing how to end the sentence, counting on Ryan—who'd done some pretty good wall-tending of his own before Maddie'd come along and convinced him there was room in his crazy life for her and her kids—to understand.

Sure enough, Ryan nodded and said, "Oh, yeah. I know how that goes." Except then he added, "Sure would be convenient, you getting together with Jenna. For Blair's sake, I mean."

Another heart knock. Images of bungee-jumping flashed through Hank's mind—the potential thrill of soaring through the air like a bird, the potential disaster if the cord busted. "Convenient, hell. For one thing, her life is back east. Mine's here. For another, there's this little matter of her having said, point blank, she's not interested."

"In you?"

"In anybody."

Ryan adjusted the baby in his arms. "Because of her husband, you mean?"

"That would be my take on it."

"Hey. If you've changed your mind, so can she."

Is that what he'd done? Changed his mind? "Just like that, huh?"

"Didn't say it wouldn't take time. But if that gal's responsible for the look on your face I've seen today, you'd be an idiot not to go after her. If that's what you want."

"And that's your professional opinion?"

"Yep. You can leave twenty bucks on the hall table on your way out."

Hank stood, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked out over the yard, watching Blair chase the kids, watching Cal and Ivy sitting in metal lawn chairs, chewing the fat. Normal stuff. Good stuff. Was he really ready for this again? Ready enough to court someone who was sure she wasn't?

"Y'know," Ryan said behind him, "before Michelle, you were never afraid to take risks." Hank turned to find sympathy in his brother's pale-blue eyes. "The past couple of years, though, it was like somebody'd sucked your soul out, leaving this husk in your place. I know it's been a while since we were close, but watching you today, I see glimpses of the brother I used to know. The one I missed."

"You must be kidding. I used to torment the hell out of you."

"Okay, so maybe I didn't miss that part," Ryan said with a smile. "But you never made fun of me for not being able to keep up when I was sick so much as a kid. And later you taught me how to work out and how to stand up for myself. And boy, did you come down hard on me whenever I was tempted to give up or take the easy way out. Hell, Hank…I wouldn't have had the guts to apply to med school if it hadn't been for you."

Hank waited out the funny feeling in his chest before he said, "You sure you still talking about me?"

"Uh-huh. Sorry to blow your rep as a badass."

One side of Hank's mouth quirked up. "Just don't let it get around, okay?"

"Deal. Long as you don't blow this second chance."

Hank glanced away, then back at his brother. "You really think I should go for it?"

"Oh, for crying out loud—you need to have your hearing checked or what? Hell, yes, you should go for it—"

"There you are," Maddie said, coming around from the front yard and up the porch steps, a little out of breath. "It's Elmer Forbes, asking if you were on duty tonight. I didn't have the heart to tell him you weren't, he says somebody set off a firecracker right under his living-room window and now his ears are ringing."

"You tell him to come over, I'll check him out?"

"Too late," she said, taking the baby from him and tucking her against her chest. "I already put him in the exam room."

With a soft chuckle, Ryan got up from the swing, watching his wife carry off the baby with a look on his face that sent a stab of pure, unadulterated envy through Hank. Before he went into the house and on back to his home office, Ryan said, "Don't do what I did, Hank. Don't be afraid of the 'might coulds' as Daddy used to say. When I think of all those months I lost that I could've been with Maddie, I could kick myself."

After Ryan left, Hank stayed put, his hands on his hips, mulling over his options. Then he happened to see Jenna headed around toward the front of the house, looking about as alone as he'd ever seen a human being look, and—just like that—his choice was made.

Chapter 12

Feeling overloaded—too much food, too many people, too many thoughts to deal with—Jenna wandered off from the main party, hoping to find a little peace out front.

Wrong.

Out by Ivy's truck, Cal Logan and Dawn Gardner were deep in a heated argument, their voices too low to overhear what they were saying—not that Jenna wanted to!—but their body language leaving no doubt as to the intensity of the their conversation. Leave, Jenna's conscience ordered. Now!

In a sec, she said back. Well, not said, but whatever. She had overhead Maddie and Ivy say something about Dawn's fiancé breaking off their engagement, that she'd come out here for the long weekend to get away from the heat in New York—which couldn't have been much worse than the heat here—and to get her head back on straight.

From Jenna's vantage point, it sure didn't look as though Cal was doing much to aid Dawn's recuperation process. My goodness, she hadn't seen male posturing like that since the last time she'd watched a Clint Eastwood movie—

Oh. Hmm. Dawn was in Cal's arms. Sobbing. And he was rocking her…

"Oh, hell," Hank said in a low voice behind her, making her jump a foot. "That's not good."

"Why not?" Jenna whispered back.

"It just isn't. She's on the rebound and he's always had a blind spot where she's concerned. She lit out of here for New York so fast after she graduated from high school she practically broke the sound barrier. She wouldn't move back here in a million years, and Cal's horse farm is his life. He'd never give it up."

"Geez. And they say women jump to conclusions. Maybe all he's doing is giving her a little comfort?"

"Uh-huh," Hank said, then slipped an arm around her waist to steer her away. "C'mon, Ryan's fixin' to set off some fireworks in a minute…what?" he added, when she unslipped herself.

"I really wish you wouldn't do that."

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I really wish you'd make up your mind whether you liked me touching you or not."

"Liking it isn't the question," popped out before she could catch it. At his raised eyebrows, she pushed on as if doing so would erase her previous words. "And maybe if you'd stop pawing me, I wouldn't have to 'make up my mind,' as you put it."

"Fine. No problem. You don't want to be touched, I won't touch you."

Oh, hell. Now she felt like crying. Great. But seeing Cal and Dawn, watching Ryan and Maddie's easy, loving relationship all evening, had taken their toll. "Hank, I'm sorry I'm acting like a ditzy female, but that's the best I can do right now. I feel as though I'm being yanked in a thousand different directions and I'm not strong enough to resist any of them. And let me tell you, that is not comfortable."

He looked at her steadily for a long moment, then said, "So tell me something—is one of those directions toward me?"

Her entire body jerked. "And if I say yes?"

His single, deliberate step toward her, his gaze still fixed on hers, might have sent her heart rate through the roof had it not been for tentative smile barely curving his lips. "Are we still talkin' about sex?"

"I don't know anymore," she said, because she really didn't and no longer had the strength to figure any of it out, and his smile increased a notch.

"Well, now. Talk about your interesting turn of events."

Now her pulse went ballistic. Up until that minute, she hadn't realized just how much her own control had been dependent on Hank's reciprocal resistance. Not to sex—that had never been in doubt—but to something more. And judging from the look on his face, this was a man with serious Something More on his mind.

"That's not fair," she whispered, shaking her head. "You're not supposed to—"

"I know." Another step. "Wasn't planning on it. Then you had to go and make me start seeing things from a new perspective." Judging from the agonized expression in his dark eyes, this was no idle come-on. Small comfort. "Make me consider possibilities I would have never entertained even a month ago."

Oh, sweet heaven. Oh, dear sweet merciful heaven—what in the name of all that was holy was she going to do now?

"I…I…" Four hundred thousand words in the English language, and not a single one that made any sense. On a soft, but exquisitely frustrated cry, she hotfooted it around to the back of the house.

* * *

"So what you're sayin' is—" Cal interrupted himself to take a long swallow of his Bud "—you scared her off. For crying out loud, Hank—you ever hear of the concept of subtle?"

Hank signaled to the bartender for another round, shoring up his resistance to the thick cloud of cigarette smoke. Between the roar of conversation and the throbbing jukebox, a person could hardly hear himself think in here. Just as well, he supposed. After the fiasco with Jenna over the Fourth—thank you, Ryan—Hank figured it was time to get a second opinion. Not that he needed advice, exactly. Just a sounding board. A sounding board who actually knew something about women this time. Lots of 'em.

Hank's invitation had clearly surprised his little brother. And pleased him, too, Hank suspected. Lord Almighty—at this rate, the three of 'em were gonna be cozier than the Cartwright brothers.

He frowned at his beer, convinced he could hear his mother's sigh of relief.

"I don't do subtle, Cal," he finally said.

"Then maybe you should think about starting."

"I thought women liked men to be upfront with them? Let 'em know where things stood?"

Cal chuckled. "That only works if things are standing the way they want 'em to. Which leads me to ask where you've been for the past twenty years, that you're so clueless now. Word is you used to have to fight 'em off with sticks."

Hank swiveled around on the stool to face into the room, propping his elbows up on the bar. "That's just it. Before Michelle, I don't recall having this much trouble. It's true—women always came on to me."

With a grin, Cal tilted his bottle to his lips. "Braggart."

"Just stating a fact."

"Uh-huh. And with Michelle?"

"Totally different ballgame. It was just this immediate, mutual thing, you know? None of this dancin' around each other, each one tryin' to figure out what the other one wanted. Or expected." He took a swig of his beer. "It was…easy, for lack of a better word."

"And Jenna's not?"

"Hell, no."

A bosomy blonde of indeterminate age wedged herself between them to order a drink, giving first Cal, then Hank, the eye. Neither of them took the bait, even when she jiggled it about six inches in front of their noses. Her drink appeared; pouting, she grabbed it and sashayed back into the crowd.

"Looks like you could've had that one without too much effort," Cal said.

"Yeah, well, there's easy, and then there's desperate."

Cal focused on the side of Hank's face for a second. "You realize you've never talked to me about Michelle before?"

"Not just to you. To anybody."

"That's good, then, isn't it? That you're talking about her? Hey—" Cal prodded him in the arm, snatching up his beer. "Pool table's free."

"Aw, hell, Cal—I haven't shot a game in probably ten years."

"Good. Means I'll beat the pants off you." Cal threw a ten on the bar before Hank could protest and slid off the stool, he and Hank easily dissuading the pair of skinny punks sniffing around the table from even thinking about it. Cal made a great show of choosing the right cue stick. "What were we talkin' about? Oh, yeah. Michelle."

Leaning heavily on his own stick as he watched his brother rack the balls, Hank shook his head. "Not Michelle. Jenna."

Cal carefully lifted the rack, shot a look at Hank. "Okay. First thing you gotta ask yourself is, what do you want out of this?"

"And if my answer is…I'm not sure yet?"

"Then you're in deep you-know-what. Kinda hard to formulate a plan without a specific goal in mind." Cal nodded toward the balls. "You go first."

Suppressing a groan, Hank set down the cue ball, took position, and let 'er rip. Balls went every which way, but none of them landed in any pockets. Except the damn cue ball.

"Don't you dare laugh," he growled at his brother, who was clearly enjoying the hell out of this. "I told you it'd been a while."

Chuckling, Cal chalked his stick, then plucked the cue ball from the pocket. "Stripes," he called, then prowled the perimeter of the table, squinting and cocking his head from time to time, before finally choosing his angle of attack. Crack! The 9 ball went sailing neatly into the far corner pocket. "See, you gotta weigh your options, decide what you wanna do, then line up your shot. Nine times out of ten—" the 12 vanished into a pocket "—you'll get what you're aiming for."

"Courtin' a woman isn't the same as playing pool, dumbass."

Ready to make his next shot, Cal glanced up at Hank. "That what you want to do? Court her?"

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. Yeah. Maybe."

Cal made his shot, then straightened, his eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Yeah. Why? Because until you can answer that, there's no point in even pursuing the matter." He picked up his beer, took a swallow, set it back down. "For one thing, you sure you're over what happened? With Michelle?"

"Over it enough that I can't let this go."

"But not completely?"

Hank shook his head. "I'm not sure that'll ever happen."

"You think that's fair to her? Because if you go into this half-assed, it's liable to blow up in your face."

"And if half-assed is the best I can manage?"

"Then let's go back to my first question—why? Why her? Why now?"

Hank leaned against the low wall cordoning off the pool table from the rest of the bar, watching Cal sink ball after ball. "Because I find myself looking for reasons to be around her?" His mouth pulled into a tight grin. "Because I never know what's going to come out of that smart mouth of hers. Oh, hell, Cal…I don't know…" He let out a frustrated sigh, thinking there had to be more to it than that, but damned if he could figure out what. "I just like the way I feel when I'm with her, okay? I like who I am when I'm with her."

"And you're absolutely sure what you're feeling has nothing to do with her being Blair's aunt?"

Hank gave a dry laugh. "I'm not absolutely sure about anything. I just wish to hell I knew what I was doing. What's so funny?"

"Got news for you, buddy. When it comes to women, there's not a man alive who knows what he's doing. Either it clicks or it doesn't."

"So what you're saying is, it all boils down to sheer dumb luck?"

"That's about the size of it."

"And all that crap about goals and plans of action…?"

Cal shrugged, then sank his last ball. "Just a ploy to get you to figure out a thing or two on your own. You rack 'em this time."

With a frown, he did. "So…do I dare ask you what happened with Dawn over the Fourth?"

"Nope."

"Did something happen with Dawn?"

Cal thunked the cue ball onto the table, his refusal to look at Hank revealing a lot more than he'd probably like. "I thought we were talking about Jenna."

"Since the sum total of your advice seemed to be that I was on my own, I changed the subject."

"That's blackmail."

"Yep."

Cal acted like he was studying the balls real hard for a moment or two, then finally said, "Okay, take this for what it's worth, okay? If this is something you think you want, you're gonna have to play it cool. Maybe Jenna's still hurtin', too. But I also saw the way she kept looking at you at Ryan's the other day. My guess is she's as confused as you are. Maybe even more. You come on too strong, she's gonna bolt again. A vulnerable woman might be ripe for seduction, but the aftermath tends to get real messy."

"Spoken from experience, I take it?"

That got a humorless laugh. "Oh, yeah."

"Dawn?"

Cal glared at him.

"Okay, maybe you're right," Hank said. "But if I don't do anything, she'll go on back to D.C. and the whole thing'll be dead in the water."

"I didn't say do nothing, blockhead. Since Blair's your kid, you've already got a built-in reason to be around Jenna, right? So just do stuff together, let things take their own course. Come out with 'em to my place, take 'em to dinner or into Claremore for a movie. In fact, you know what? Maybe the best thing is go through Blair. You know, suggest to her y'all go out to dinner, then let her pass it along to Jenna?"

Hank smirked. "The woman's not stupid, Cal. And neither is my daughter."

His brother shrugged, unaffected. "Either Jenna's gonna fall for you or she's not. Ultimately, the deciding move has to be hers. But if you don't put yourself in the position for her to make that move…" Another shrug, then a nod toward the table. "Speaking of next moves…let's see if you can actually get something other than the cue ball into the pockets this time, huh?"

* * *

"You put some of the pictures up," Blair said when she arrived at the house the next day. She dumped the soft-sided cooler in which Jenna'd been packing their lunches on the table by the front door, shucked off her sneakers and tramped barefoot across the living room to get a better look. She was in her usual outfit of sloppy T-shirt and shorts; the tiny blue earrings Hank had bought her sparkled in the bright morning light slashing through the still shadeless windows. He leaned against the door frame separating kitchen from living room, one hand slipped inside his pocket. His daughter turned to him, smiling, her braces outflashing the earrings. "Cool."

For the most part, they'd been getting on okay this past day or so, probably because he'd backed down about her going to April Gundersen's birthday party. But that'd only happened because he'd run into the two younger boys, Keith and Derek, when he'd been in town picking up supplies to build Mutt a dog run, and they'd gone into this whole song-and-dance about how Billy, their oldest brother, didn't even live with them anymore 'cause he was eighteen now and he was the one who always got them in trouble and since he moved out, they'd been clean. But what cinched it was when they said they knew Hank would tan their hides if anything happened to Blair, and April really, really wanted Blair to come to her party.

When he'd told her she could go, he thought she'd come close to hugging him, but apparently thought better of it. He'd been more than a little disappointed that she hadn't. But at least she seemed to be working toward accepting the situation, and him, and that was all that mattered, wasn't it?

Standing and staring at the pictures like that with her hands stuck in her back pockets, she reminded him a lot of how she'd looked the first time he saw her. Except not as pissed-off. God willing, she'd stay that way after what he had to say.

Hank'd decided Cal was probably right about his needing to take things slow with Jenna. But damned if he was gonna let slip through his fingers the best thing to happen to him in more than two years. All he had to do was figure out how to make those two things fit together.

Sure he could understand Jenna's being scared. Hell, he was, too. And it wasn't like he expected things to be all neatly tied up and figured out by the time she and Blair went back east. But dammit, he knew what it felt like to practically strangle on your own loneliness. And for the first time since Michelle's death, he was more concerned about somebody else's welfare than he was his own. From the minute he'd found out he was Blair's daddy, he'd made up his mind to somehow eliminate the distrust in his daughter's eyes. Now he was equally as determined to eliminate the sadness in Jenna's. And didn't that just turn everything he'd thought about what he wanted from life right on its head?

But there it was. However, that also meant he had some fast talking to do. Especially if Blair was still opposed to the idea of him and Jenna getting together.

She suddenly turned, tilting her head at him. "What?"

He pushed off the door frame and started toward the sofa, a peach-and-aqua Southwestern style number that was the only thing he could find that even remotely went with the walls. He kept telling himself it was growing on him. "Come here and sit down for a minute. I need to talk to you about something."

She didn't move. "It's about Jenna, isn't it?"

Hank jerked around, refusing to react to the beginnings of a mutinous expression. Or to his heart about to hammer right out of his chest. "How'd you know that?"

Her brows shot up. "You mean, you're not going to tell me I was only imagining the way you kept acting all cozy with Jenna on the Fourth?"

"No. I'm not," Hank said after a moment. "But there hasn't been anything to say before now. I swear," he added when she rolled her eyes. "Frankly, I'm not sure there's really anything to say now."

"So why are we having this conversation?"

Somehow, Hank managed to squelch his irritation, but only because if this was ever going to pan out, he needed Blair in his camp. "Because I thought you'd appreciate me being honest with you, that's why. I like your aunt, Blair. A lot. Wasn't something I expected, sure wasn't something I was lookin' for, so to be honest, I'm just as blown away as you probably are. Now you gonna come sit down with me and talk this out, or stand there and sulk for the rest of the day?"

Well, that popped out the Grump Face but good, boy. But at least she didn't run screaming from the room. In fact, she stomped over to the sofa, sinking onto it with another great sigh. Following her lead, Hank set his own butt down on the edge of the tan leather recliner he'd bought at the same time as the sofa.

"Okay. So you like my aunt," she said, making sure Hank caught the emphasis. "So what does this mean, exactly?"

"Exactly? I have no idea. Except that I'd like to spend more time with the two of you before you go back. So I can get to know both of you better."

"And then what?"

"Well, I suppose that's up to her, isn't it?"

"Do I get a say in it?"

"About how I feel about Jenna? No." At the anger that flashed in her eyes, he added, "Just what is your problem with this, anyway? You think I'm not good enough for her or what?"

Genuine surprise crossed her features. "No! It's just…"

"It's just what?"

"I don't know. I can't explain it."

"And how in tarnation am I supposed to fix whatever it is that's bugging you if you can't explain it?"

"I don't want you to fix anything. I just want…" Her mouth clamped shut; frowning, she shook her head, refusing to look at him. Hank let out a sigh of his own.

"Blair, honey, listen to me. It's been more'n three years since your uncle died. I think your aunt's real lonely. I know you love her, and want to look out for her, but that doesn't give you the right to decide who she does or does not keep company with. Or the right to impose some kind of limits on how much I care about her."

She tucked her feet up underneath her, winding a strand of hair around her index finger so tight Hank worried about her circulation. "Does Jenna feel the same way about you?"

Oh, Lord. Honesty was one thing, but no way was he discussing his and Jenna's mutual sexual attraction with his thirteen-year-old daughter. "I don't know. Although at the moment," he added with a rueful tug at his lips, "she doesn't seem real hot on the idea, if you wanna know the truth."

"That's because she loved Uncle Phil more than anything in the world, you know. There's no way you could compete with him!"

Hank felt his hand fist on his knee. "I'm not walking away from this simply because your aunt used to love somebody else. If she's not ready, that's fine. I'm prepared to deal with that. What I'm not prepared to do is give up without at least letting Jenna know what her options are—"

"She doesn't need options!" He saw tears well in Blair's eyes. "All she needs is to be left alone, for things to go back to being the way they were before—"

"That's not possible, Blair, and you know it—"

"—and she totally doesn't need somebody who's only going to hang around until he gets bored!"

A two-by-four upside the head would have had less impact.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She swiped at her cheek with the heel of her hand. "How long did you say you were with my mother? Two weeks?"

Hank inwardly swore, then said, "I also said she left me, if you recall."

"Yeah, but you also said—"

"I know what I said, Blair. And I know that wasn't what you wanted to hear. But I can't change what happened almost fourteen years ago, or who I was then. Besides, what happened between your mother and me has absolutely nothing to do with this. Believe me, I am not interested in something casual with your aunt. I mean, think about it—why would I risk ticking you off if I wasn't serious?"

"How should I know?" A tear escaped, lurching down her cheek. "I don't even know you!"

"Then you'll just have to take my word for it, won't you?"

She sniffed, suspicion radiating from her eyes. "Yeah, well, it sure would be convenient if we could be one happy family, wouldn't it?"

There was that damn word again. "How do you figure that? Seems to me no matter what happens, either somebody's life's gonna be uprooted or you and I have to spend most of the year apart. Trust me, me liking your aunt does not make things easier—"

"Would that bother you? Us being apart?"

Hank felt like he'd missed a turnoff somewhere. "What kind of a fool question is that? Of course it would bother me! Why would I want to lose you when I just found you?"

One shoulder bumped up to rub against her cheek. "I dunno, I just figured maybe you like, felt this responsibility for me and all because I was your daughter," she said, and a small, but significant, flashbulb went off, illuminating at least one tiny corner in his very dim brain.

"Oh, for the love of…" He scrubbed one hand across his mouth, then shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. "You are, without a doubt, the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me. You scare me to death, and you confuse the hell out of me, but every single time I look at you, I think, Wow…this is my kid. My kid."

She sniffed again. "Then…you don't like Jenna more than me?"

"Ah, hell, sweetheart," Hank said, his heart cracking right in two. "C'mere."

On a soft, strangled sob, Blair unfolded herself from the sofa and practically catapulted herself into his arms. She was too big to cuddle, her long legs nearly reaching the floor, but Hank wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly as she cried softly into his T-shirt. And as he sat there, holding his daughter in his arms for the first time in his life, fragments of understanding began to piece themselves together. Which was a good thing, since he doubted the child on his lap had a clue about what was making her so confused and unhappy.

He grabbed a tissue from the box by the chair and handed it to her, then leaned back to better adjust all their limbs, nestling his cheek in her soft, girly-smelling hair. "Baby, whatever does or does not happen between me and your aunt has no bearing on how I feel about you. And let me tell you something else—I have never in my life grown tired of the people I really cared about." He thought about his spotty relationships with his brothers over the past decade and smiled. "Might've wanted to stay out of their way on occasion because of my own bad mood, but deep down, I was still glad they were there. Maybe you and I still got a lot of getting acquainted to do, but you're part of me, Blair, part of this family. And nothing in heaven or earth can change that. You got that?"

After about a thousand years, she nodded against his chest, and Hank blew out a sigh that partly stemmed from relief and partly from the effort of making the longest speech in his entire life. Then she straightened and looked at him, her pale brows pulled way down.

"Camping," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"Jenna said we can go camping, but she doesn't know anything about it. Do you?"

Hank smiled. "Enough to keep us from getting eaten by bears. You wanna go camping?"

"Yeah." Then she snuggled down again, resting her head on his chest. "Hank?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"You ever hurt either one of us, I'll never forgive you."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

Chapter 13

"You mean to tell me this is your first time?"

"Oh, yeah," Jenna said, watching Hank hammer in the last stake for the smaller of the two tents—she and Blair would sleep in one, Hank in some dinky thing barely large enough to cover the whole man. "Mother wasn't real big on rustic. Let alone self-sufficiency."

Hank grinned over at her, prompting the usual stomach-flipping reaction. Blair had gone off to investigate the nearby lakeshore, leaving her alone with a man who, over the past week, had been making her more confuzzled than ever.

Hank had basically handed over the reins for the motel to Danny so he could spend more time with them. Both of them. They'd gone to dinner, they'd gone to the movies, they'd gone sightseeing all over the county, including to the Will Rogers museum. She wasn't daft enough to think his attentiveness was entirely for Blair's sake, although the kid certainly seemed to be lapping it up. But although he'd been considerate and funny and friendly, he hadn't touched her once. Not even to catch her when she stepped off the curb the wrong way in Claremore and nearly landed on her can. Oh, he'd been solicitious enough. Just from a distance.

Clearly, something was up. Or maybe not, she thought wryly, her gaze drifting to places it shouldn't. Maybe she'd finally put him off, cooled his ardor, gotten the point across. Whatever. Of course, since she was clearly in a contrary mood, Hank's keeping his distance was having exactly the opposite effect on her. If anything, the opportunity to observe him in action just as a human being—and, perhaps more important, as a father—was only making her more…hungry.

She'd gone through two more bags of potato chips, a half gallon of some cheapo rocky road ice cream that wasn't even that good, and she'd lost track of her Chee•tos consumption. She'd tried substituting pretzels, rice cakes, non-fat Pringles, but nope. Nothing but the real fat-saturated goods would suffice.

Her bras were all too tight, her jeans fit her like second skins, and she'd had to abandon at least two pairs of shorts that she couldn't get buttoned.

This was not good.

Hank came over, reaching across her legs to grab a soda out of the cooler, his T-shirted chest barely grazing her jeans-clad thighs. No body contact whatsover, none, and still a shiver raced through her, tightening her nipples. Hank sat up, his face a study in innocence. Except, yeah, she'd noticed where his gaze had lingered before he hauled it up to her face. Damn lightly-lined bras.

"Cold?" he asked.

"Uh-uh."

Chuckling, he got up and went back to his tent. She got up, too, and followed him.

"Okay, buster—what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you flirting with me or aren't you?"

"You think I'm putting my neck in that noose, you're nuts. Hand me that support, wouldja?"

She picked up what she hoped he was asking for, only to have to follow him around to the other side of the tent to give it to him. "And if you think you're getting off the hook that easily, you're nuts. A week ago, you couldn't keep your hands off me. Now you won't touch me at all."

Understandably enough, he frowned. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"That's not the point."

"It's not?"

"No. The point is, you're up to something and I know it. I mean, were you not looking at my chest a minute ago?"

"No more than you were looking at my crotch earlier."

Her face flamed. He laughed. "Honey, we've already been over this ground." He threaded the tent doohickey through the sleeve thingy, slipping the end through the metal-ring dooflatchy at the tent's base. "What's not as clear—" he vanished to the other side of the tent "—is what the next step is." Then he popped back in her line of sight. "I do know, however, that you're the one who has to take it."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, it's killing me to keep my hands to myself. But damned if I'm gonna give you the ammunition to say I'm crowding you or pressuring you into decisions you're not ready to make."

"So what you're saying is, you still have the hots for me."

He looked straight into her eyes. "Honey, I want you so bad my eyeballs ache."

Well, that pretty much cleared up the issue, didn't it?

"Tell me something," he then said, "and pardon me for sticking my nose in where it probably doesn't belong, but believe me when I say I'm doing this for your sake—did you and your husband have a good sex life?"

She started, then nodded. "Well, yeah. I thought so."

"On a scale of one to ten…?"

"A nine."

One brow lifted.

"No one's a ten. Sorry."

"Okay, we'll let that go for now. But what made it so good?"

"This is stupid—"

"Just answer the question."

"Because we loved each other, why else?"

The tent now erect, Hank leaned over and yanked out a tab or whatever it was, threading a stake through it and driving it into the ground. "Were you ever physically attracted to another man while you were married?"

"Of course not!"

"And have you been physically attracted to another man since your husband died?"

When she didn't answer, he straightened up, his gaze implacable. "Well, honey, I haven't wanted another woman since Michelle died, either. So maybe we should think about that, huh?

"Hey, sugar," he said with a grin as Blair appeared. Apparently able to switch gears a lot more easily than Jenna, he walked over to the truck and pulled three poles and a tackle box out of the bed. "Time to go catch dinner."

Blair gawked at him as if he'd grown another head. "Hello? I don't eat meat?"

The poles lowered slightly. "Not meat. Fish."

"Which you're going to catch by letting it swallow a hook, then let it die from suffocation by keeping it out of the water. That's horrible."

"Aw, Blair…" The poles still clutched in his hand, he looked over at Jenna, who lifted her hands in a whatcha-gonna-do? gesture. Then he let out a heavy, defeated sigh before dumping everything back in the truck bed. "Fine. No fishing. So what are we going to have for dinner?"

"Oh, I brought portobello mushrooms," Jenna said. "We can grill them over the campfire."

"You have got to be kidding." His nose crinkled. "Mushrooms?"

Blair started to giggle at Hank's woebegone expression. "They're really good, you'll see," she said, only to laugh even harder when Hank sank onto a felled log, dragging his hands down his face until he looked like a basset hound. Then, apparently fueled by his daughter's increasingly hysterical giggles, Hank launched into a truly awful comedy routine—loud, fake crying, clutching his stomach in agony, even collapsing doubled over onto the ground.

Jenna stood there, laughing as well at Hank's silliness, entranced and amazed at the transformation these two people had wrought in each other. Blair hadn't laughed like that since Phil's death, she realized…only to sober when it hit her that neither had she.

* * *

The rustling outside his tent startled Hank awake. Since there was no accompanying snuffling, or the sound of loud, frustrated ransacking, Hank didn't figure the rustling came from something he probably didn't want to meet up with in the dark. He squinted at his watch—just past 2:00 a.m. The sleeping bag didn't want to let go at first, but he finally broke loose and crawled out of his tent into the moonlit night, in time to see Jenna's moonlight-gilded hair disappear behind a crop of rocks, as she headed down to the lake. He shook out his shoes and shoved his feet into them, checked her and Blair's tent to make sure she'd zipped it back up, then went after her. He found her seconds later, sitting in her sweatshirt and jeans on a plastic grocery bag, her hands locked around her knees as she stared out over the gently rippling water.

"I take it you're not a sound sleeper," she said, not looking at him as he approached.

"Not when I've got a pair of inexperienced females under my care. Thought I told you not to go wandering off by yourself? Especially at night?"

"I'm what? Thirty feet from the campsite?"

He sat down beside her. "Your butt'll get wet," she said.

He said, "I'll live," and she chuckled. "So why are you out here?"

"I've always been a lousy sleeper. Since I started writing, though, it's even worse. There's always a story, if not three or four, pinging around inside my head." She glanced over at him. "Don't tell anyone—" she lowered her voice "—but I hear voices."

"I believe it," he said, and she swatted at him. Then she said quietly, "You know, I told her I was setting a book out here. As an excuse for the trip."

"I know. But you're not."

"I wasn't. Now I think maybe I will." She hugged her legs tighter. "This is a great little area of the world you got here."

"But you wouldn't want to live here."

After a moment, she said, very carefully, "I don't know. I've always thought of myself as a city girl. But this is nice. Very nice."

The subject seemed to dry up for the moment, then he said, "You still doing the book signing on Saturday?"

"Uh-huh." She angled her head toward him, her eyes soft and silver in the moonlight. "But you can't come."

He turned away, surprised by how much her refusal cut him. Then her hand landed on his arm, her touch electrifying even through his shirt. "Phil went with me to every book signing I did. So I never had any reason to try to get over my fear, because he was always there to catch me. So what happened the first time I had to do one without him?"

"You freaked."

"Royally," she said, removing her hand and linking it with her other one around her knees again. "So I have to do this on my own. To prove to myself I don't need a backup."

"Okay," he said with a sigh, admiration reluctantly supplanting his hurt feelings. "Can I at least take you and Blair to dinner afterwards?"

"Deal."

"You really love what you do, don't you? The writing, I mean."

She cocked her head, her smile enigmatic. "Let's put it this way—I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing. Who wouldn't get off on being in absolute control of other people's lives?" Then she laughed. "Except when they decide to do something you hadn't counted on. What about you, though?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you love being a cop?"

"Do I have to answer that right now?"

"No. But someday, I'd like to know." He was mulling over that "someday" business when she said, "But I would like to know what happened with Michelle."

He stiffened. "Why?"

"For many reasons." Her voice might have been gentle, but he could hear the resolve underneath her words. "For Blair's sake."

"What happened that night has nothing to do with Blair."

"Maybe not." She plucked a stone off the ground, reared back and sent it sailing across the water. "But think of it as—" she looked at him "—an investment."

"In what?"

Once again, she focused on the shivering water. "That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I want to know what happened."

His breath left his lungs in a long, ragged sigh. To refuse her would be pointless, especially as he knew, sooner or later, he'd tell her anyway.

It took him a minute to figure out where to start. "We'd just gotten engaged," he began. "I'd told Ryan and Cal, but Micky wanted to tell her folks in person. So we decided to do it at Thanksgiving, since they'd already invited us anyway. They lived in one of Dallas's outer suburbs; I was on duty until four, so Micky went on to her folks early to help her mom with dinner. Apparently, they ran out of something right before I was supposed to get there, so Micky ran down to the 7-Eleven a few blocks away.

"I got to her parents' house, they told me where she was, that they'd expected her back by then…and I don't know, I got this sick feeling. I didn't let on, but I said I'd go down to the store and surprise her or something…I don't remember what I said. I remember her mom, though, smiling at me, so damn happy…" He sucked in a breath, shook his head.

"Anyway, I knew a block before I got there what had happened. Don't ask how, I just did. I was the first on the scene. The perp had split, the guy behind the counter was dead, and Micky…"

Jenna reached over, slipped her hand around his.

"She was still alive," he said on a shuddering breath. "Unconscious, but alive. She died two hours later, in surgery. She never knew I was there."

Jenna squeezed his hand, then took it back, propping her cheek on her folded arms. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," she said softly. Then, after a good minute, maybe more, had passed, she asked, "How'd you two meet?"

"What? Oh. She was a grade-school teacher. My partner was supposed to go talk to the kids for Career Day, but his wife went into labor with their third kid. So I went instead." He shook his head, marveling at how the memory didn't sting anymore. "I was a goner from the moment she said, 'Hi.'"

Jenna chuckled, the sound reassuringly normal. "Are you still in touch with her parents?"

"Not much. It's too hard. She was their only child."

He heard a soft, sympathetic sigh. "And they never caught who did it?"

"No. There'd been no rash of previous robberies in the area, and oddly enough, nothing after. No witnesses, no leads, nothing. For all we know, it could've been somebody just passing through, some punk with enough sense to use gloves and bury the weapon where nobody could find it."

"And it made you nuts, didn't it? Not being able to find him?"

"Hell, it still does. Not constantly, not the way it did at first, but not a day goes by that it doesn't cross my mind." He turned to her. "Does that make a difference? To you?"

"To us, you mean?"

"All right. To us."

"There is no us, Hank."

"Yet."

The soft hoo-hoo of an owl filtered across the lake. "Do you really think an 'us' would work?" she asked.

Not a flat-out an us wouldn't work, Hank noted. "I have no idea."

"But you'd like to try."

After a moment, he nodded.

She brushed her hair out of her face, looking out over the water again. "I don't know." He could barely see her smile in the half-light. "Between the two of us, we have an awful lot of baggage for one relationship, don't you think?"

"That's what attics are for, honey."

Her laugh sang out into the night. And dammit, his hand just reached right out of its own volition and cupped her jaw—

"Please. No," she whispered, her words skimming over his mouth.

"Why not?" he said, returning the favor, thumbing her lower lip and taking great pleasure in her trembling response. "Or am I just imagining that you're on the fence?"

"No. You're not imagining it." She pulled away, but not without a great struggle on her part, he didn't think. "But I'd really rather not be pushed off—"

"Hey!" They both turned at the sound of Blair's worried voice. The kid stood about ten feet away, hugging herself. "What are you two doing out here?"

"Talking," Jenna said, doing a so-so job of masking the slight tremor in her voice. She patted the space beside her. "Come join us."

"No way," Blair said, clearly shivering. "It's all cold and icky. I just wondered where you were, that's all. When I woke up and you weren't there."

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to worry you." Jenna got to her feet, slowly, as if her joints ached her a little. Hank stood as well, not even bothering to hide his irritation. Fortunately, it was dark enough that Blair wouldn't notice. "C'mon," Jenna said, approaching her niece and slipping an arm around her waist. "I'll walk back with you. I gather we're going to need all the rest we can get for the hike your father's planning for tomorrow."

She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a smile that told him absolutely nothing. So maybe it was just as well that Blair had shown up when she had. Because, he thought as he trailed them back to the campsite, this letting Jenna make the next move business was like to kill him.

Especially as he had the sinking feeling she never would.

By the time the camping trip was over, Jenna had the sinking feeling she was fighting a losing battle.

After she and Hank had dropped Blair off at April Gundersen's the following evening—and don't think glances didn't ping around the Gundersen living room at that—her hand was all but on the white flag. Boy, it was getting uncomfortable up there on that fence. Especially in the vicinity of the particular body part where fence railings were likely to chafe. A body part that, as Hank had brought to her attention, didn't tingle for just anybody.

And you only got points taken off for mixed metaphors if they were in the same sentence.

The ride back to the Double Arrow had been fraught with all kinds of things, not the least of which was the sound of Jenna's conflicting emotions grating up against each other inside her head. She was almost tempted to be angry: if only he hadn't done this about-face, if only he hadn't turned out to be so damn admirable, if only he didn't make her laugh. And even, sometimes, forget.

But only sometimes.

Hank pulled up in front of the cottage. She sat for a second, thinking she should say something. But what? The wind had picked up, presaging a storm, grumbling in the distance. Again.

She gave up and got out.

"Have a nice evening," he said to her back as she started up the porch steps. "By yourself."

She turned. Although the engine was still running, he'd propped one elbow on the open window. "I don't get too many of those," she said, eyes burning.

"Don't suppose you do."

"Thought I'd, um, make some notes. For the new book. The one I'm setting here?"

"Sounds like a plan," he said, yanking the gearshift into reverse.

She took a step back down, feeling like an idiot. "Don't be angry. Please."

His hand gripping the steering wheel, he looked over at her, surprise filtering through his annoyance. "I'm not mad at you, Jenna. If anything, I'm ticked at myself for thinking…"

"What?"

"Never mind," he said, executing the jerkiest three-point turn in history.

"Why don't you understand, Hank?" she said to his dust, then went inside. Checked for superfluous wildlife. Fed the cat. Logged online and deleted a slew of e-mails for low mortgages, cheap Viagra, miracle weight-loss programs, nude pics of pop stars.

Told herself she needed the shower because the humidity had been horrid all day and she couldn't stand herself.

And that it had been a long time since she'd done an all-over moisturizing.

And since her skin was all soft and smooth now, it might be fun to slip into the satin and lace undies for a change. Funny, she didn't remember that much cleavage the last time she wore this bra.

After she changed clothes three times, finally settling on a hot pink jersey sundress that forgave the wider hips and waist that came with the cleavage, she realized there wasn't a single thing in the house she wanted to eat, so it was off to Homeland.

The package of T-bones called out to her. Okay, there were two, but she could freeze one for another time, right? And while she was at it, she might as well pick up some salad stuff, and they had macaroni salad on sale in the deli, yeah, that looked good. Except then, as she was paying for the food (including a bag of pork rinds large enough to feed half of Texas), she thought, Hey, dumbo—you're only going to be here a few more days—just when do you think you're going to eat this second steak?

That's when she heard the loud thud of her butt landing in the dirt as she toppled right off that fence.

The shower. The lotion. The undies. The steaks.

Who the hell did she think she was kidding?

Jenna let out a soft gasp—the cashier asked her if she was all right—grabbed her bags and practically ran to the car. Boom-chicka-boom went her heartbeat as she fumbled getting the key in the door, then yanked it open, threw everything on the passenger seat, hurtled herself inside and slammed shut the door as if she could actually get away from…from…

The inevitable.

For some reason, the second she allowed the thought to complete itself—denial had never been her strong suit—a sense of peace washed over her. Of course, it was the same sort of peace she gathered a drowning person felt when they finally stopped struggling and simply let the water in, but still.

She shut her eyes for a second, muttered a prayer for strength, then pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the Double Arrow.

Chapter 14

"Do you see this?" Jenna said the instant Hank opened his door, nodding toward the paper grocery sack in her arms, on the top of which lay the biggest bag of pork rinds he'd ever seen. Sensing food in the offing, Mutt trotted over to investigate.

"Uh…pork rinds?"

"Yeah. Pork rinds." She pushed past him into the house, then stood in the middle of the living room looking like she had no idea where to put the bag. Mutt planted his backside right in front of her, eager to aid in the decision-making process.

"And do you know what I was going to do with these pork rinds?" she asked, quivering with agitation.

"Eat them?"

"Exactly! And do you know why I was going to eat them?"

"Because…you were hungry?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm hungry all right," she said, finally stooping to set the bag on the floor beside the recliner. Hank could practically hear the dog's Yes!!! from where he stood.

"Uh, honey, I don't think that's a good—"

"Yep," she said, "that's just what I was going to do." She was all over the place like a pinball, her hands on her hips one second, forking through her hair the next, her expression contorted with a combination of confusion and panic. "I was going to go home and sit there by myself—" she darted to the sofa "—and scarf down that entire bag—" then back to the chair "—just as I've demolished bag after bag of Chee•tos—" and over to the window, only to spin around and head back to the sofa "—and potato chips and corn chips over the past two weeks…oh!"

Hank had intercepted her on her last pass, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Cut it out! You're making me dizzy!"

She went completely still in his arms, her eyes searching his. Then, on a strangled sigh, she collapsed against him. "Well, dammit, you're making me dizzy, too, Hank Logan. Not to mention fat."

He hooked a knuckle underneath her chin and lifted her face to his, feeling pretty much the way Mutt did with that grocery bag. "What are you sayin', Jenna?"

One shoulder shrugged, her small smile one of resignation. If not outright defeat. "That the fence is history." He nearly jumped when he felt the back of his shirt being yanked out of his jeans. "That I have no idea where this road is going to lead—" he shuddered at the sensation of her fingers tracing the muscles in his back "—but damned if I can resist finding out."

Well, all of this might have been a lot of fun if he hadn't heard the hysteria shimmering in her words. So he reached behind him and took hold of her wrists, bringing them around to tuck them against his chest. Rustling off to his right distracted him; he glanced over to see the dog nosing around the bag, but since he couldn't seem to get past the pork rinds, Hank figured he could let it ride for the moment while he tended to more important things. Like his future.

"Why?" he said softly.

"I told you. It was either you or those damn pork rinds."

"There's a first," he muttered.

"Don't let this go to your head, but frankly, it was no contest." She wriggled free and went straight for his shirt buttons—

"Dammit, dog! Git outta there!" He wrenched himself free and flew at the dog, who let out a yike and scooted away from the bag. Hank snatched it up, peered inside. "Shouldn't this stuff go into the fridge?"

"You've got exactly ten seconds," she said. He noticed she was breathing kinda heavy.

He hauled ass into the kitchen, threw everything in the refrigerator and tore back to the living room.

She was gone. Panic shot through him until "Up here!" sailed down from the second floor. A clap of thunder shook the house as he raced upstairs, a sudden gathering storm devouring the remaining daylight. She clicked on his bedside lamp just as he reached his bedroom door. For some reason, he'd expected to see her stretched out on the bed wearing nothing but a smile. Instead she was still wearing that clingy soft dress, sitting almost primly on the edge of the king-sized mattress and scanning the room.

"Where's the mess?"

"Perfection takes time. I've only been here a week."

The new mattress barely sagged when he sat beside her, her gaze direct and unflinching and encouraging when he slipped one hand underneath her hair at the back of her neck. She met him halfway in a kiss that went from tentative to desperate in about two seconds. "You sure about this?" he asked.

"About this moment? Oh, yeah. About anything more…?" She shook her head.

Well, he supposed he could live with that. "So…this is just sex?"

He didn't think she'd ever answer. But at last, she reached up, sifting her fingers through his hair. And shook her head a second time.

"But just remember two things," she said then, lowering her hand to his chest, her fingertips five points of fire against his skin. "One, this was your idea. And two, if this takes—" her eyes met his "—you're stuck with me."

Testing her, he let his fingers do the walking up the inside of one soft, mouth-wateringly smooth leg. When she made a funny little sound in her throat, he grinned. "Shouldn't we have gone on a date or something first?"

"Please. I haven't dated since my senior year of high school. Hated it then, have no desire to resurrect the practice now."

Her fingers skirted over his face, down his throat. Although she had obviously shaved, he remembered he hadn't. "I might scratch you."

"Promises, promises," she said, and he never stripped so fast in his life. Then he stripped her. Life was good.

"You know," he said a few seconds later as the flickering light from the dicey electricity strobed over their naked bodies, "you're pretty damned forward for someone who's supposed to be shy."

She smiled. "Only with strangers."

Which she demonstrated shortly after when, seconds later, even though Hank had pretty much resigned himself to a nice, long, agonizing foreplay session, her fingers wrapped around him. "Oh, goody," she whispered, obviously pleased. "I got the express."

Of course, what she didn't know was that he'd been ready to leave the station for weeks. "You telling me you're ready?"

"See for yourself if you don't believe me." So, naturally, he accepted her invitation. And somehow, her little hiss of pleasure brought out his perverse streak. What the hell—he'd planned on holding back for twenty minutes anyway, right?

"Um…what are you doing?" she asked, as he began a leisurely exploration of her breasts, her ribs, her belly, gently scraping his beard over her sensitive skin as he went. Her pale skin was nearly translucent. And she smelled so damn good he nearly cried. When he reached the small, barely visible scar, he planted an extra kiss there before heading farther south.

"You tormented me for two weeks," he said, nuzzling, kissing, smiling when her breath hitched. "My turn."

"Not…fair!" Her fingers tangled in his hair. "I didn't…oh!…do it on purpose!"

"So I am. Deal with it."

Suddenly his head got yanked up, her grasp on his hair almost painful. "Inside me. Now. Or suffer the consequences."

"Which are?" he said, shifting to substitute his fingers for his mouth. He wasn't picky. And despite her attempt to squirm out of his reach—he made sure she couldn't—he doubted she was, either. Lightning flashed outside, the ozone combining with her sweet musk scent as the first fat drops began pelting the roof, slithering down the window.

"You creep!" she said, although the way she opened to him, arching her hips the way she was, kinda told she didn't really mean it. "I'm too close…"

"You want me to stop?" he whispered, pressing kisses into her neck, tonguing a nipple, just a quick overview to see what she liked. He could always go back later for more in-depth research. Although, preliminary results seemed to indicate that she apparently liked everything.

"I want you—"

"In here, I know," he said, dipping inside, gently searching for…yeah. Right there. "How's this?"

With a startled cry, she shattered on a climax so long and hard, he damn near envied her. He'd always wondered if what they said about women in their forties was an exaggeration. Now he had proof positive it wasn't. Whew.

And then it was quiet. Too quiet. Well, except for the storm, which had gotten good and cranked up by now. Hank half heard the dog click into the room, plop down on the floor with a groan. He hadn't known what to expect—whether she'd become self-conscious, pulling the sheet up over her, whether she'd turn away or want to cuddle or even get up and get dressed again, apologizing for having made a mistake and that she hoped there were no hard feelings. His heart actually skipped a beat at that last thought, that she'd change her mind.

But she didn't do any of those things. Instead, she lay there on her back with one knee bent, unconcerned about her nakedness, one arm flung over her eyes. She was still breathing pretty hard, her small breasts, the nipples rosy, rising and falling and tempting him beyond all reason to see if what had just happened hadn't been a fluke.

Hank propped himself up on one elbow, lifting a hand to smooth the hair away from her face. "You mad at me?"

She peered at him from underneath her arm, her expression unreadable. "Told you I wasn't going to be able to hang on."

"Something tells me—" he skimmed a hand over her flat stomach, making the muscles flinch, then up to claim one of those pretty little breasts "—there's more where that came from."

"After that one? In about three weeks, maybe."

Finally he saw the smile trying to gain a foothold, the twinkle in those blue, blue eyes, and relief washed over him.

"You forget who you're in bed with," he said, and she groaned and covered her eyes again. So—just to prove his point—he started fooling around again. The nipple sat right up the instant he touched it, which he found extremely gratifying. Even if it didn't do a thing for his aching groin. Then she started some song-and-dance about being small, the way women did, and he told her he liked these just fine. Besides, he said, she'd look funny with big ones.

She burst into laughter, then lowered her arm to her stomach, concern flickering in her eyes. "Why didn't you join me?"

He had to think about that for a minute. "Because I wanted to be sure you were ready. For me."

Understanding softened her expression. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. So get over here and let me return the favor, huh?"

Which she proceeded to do with the flair of a woman who, yep, had definitely had a good sex life with her husband. But in between the dumb jealous pang that ripped through him and the time his eyes rolled back in his head came the realization of exactly what it took for her to do this—

His shout of release coincided with an ear-splitting thunder-clap. He lay there with his eyes closed, tracing the bumps in Jenna's spine as she lay molded to him, as both his heart rate and the thunder rolls subsided. When he finally got around to opening his eyes, it was pitch dark.

"Damn. First time it ever made me blind," he said, and Jenna started laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath.

And Hank knew, right then and there, that he'd do damn near anything to keep this woman in his life.

* * *

Well, hell. She'd done it now, hadn't she? As if she hadn't been already besotted with the goof before, she had to go and do the deed with him. And he had to go and be good at it, no less. Maybe even a ten, although no way was she going to tell him that. Might as well just plop her heart on a silver platter, hand it to him and say, "Here. No charge."

And the thing is, she knew he'd take great care of it. So why couldn't she simply let go of the damn tray, already?

They sat at his kitchen table in the candlelight, Mutt whining for one of the steak bones. Hank had pulled on his jeans—sans drawers, Jenna noted—while she'd slipped into his shirt. And her panties. No bra, though. There didn't seem to be much point. The outage had apparently not affected the motel or any of the cottages, according to Danny, although when Jenna had checked on Blair, the Gundersens, too, were without power. The girls had simply moved their party indoors, however, and were none the worse for wear.

Jenna didn't mention where she was, although it was disconcerting being inside a body that wanted to scream, Guess what I just did? to anything that passed.

"Are you okay?" Hank suddenly asked, reaching across the table for her hand. Up until then, they'd talked about fairly mundane things—about Hank's not being certain yet what he wanted to do with the motel; about how Michelle had taken out a life insurance policy when they'd gotten engaged that he hadn't known about, naming him her beneficiary; how her parents had refused to let him give the money to them, which is why he had enough cash to refurbish the motel even though it wasn't yet running in the black—all related with an openness that stole her breath. And her heart.

Startled by the timing of his question, Jenna looked over at him. Not even candlelight could soften those features, she thought. Nor would she want it to. "Sure," she said, skimming her fingertips along a fairly recent scar on his forearm. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shrugged. "Just wondered if you had any…doubts?"

"I'm not going to lie and say I don't. But that doesn't mean I'm the least bit sorry I'm here." She tapped the scar. "How'd this happen?"

A rueful grin touched his lips. "Ornery screwdriver. Don't ask." His thumb idly stroked her knuckles. "Do we know what comes next?"

She smiled, a little, relieved that he hadn't said something like, I love you, Jenna. Marry me. "I can guess. Although give me a minute to let dinner settle."

Hank chuckled. "Now, there's the woman who writes those books. But that's not what I meant."

"I know it isn't. But I can't think further ahead than tonight. Baby steps, Hank. That's all I can do."

"We need more time. To figure this out." The earnestness in his expression tore at her heart, even as it salved it. She'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to be wanted like this. She hadn't, however, forgotten what it felt like to want back. Or the consequences of that wanting—which was the spider-silk thread tethering her to habit, wasn't it? "Stay the rest of the summer," he said. "I'm sure Blair won't mind."

"I can't. I've got a class to teach."

"When's it start?"

"Mid-August. I need time to prep for it, though. Twenty pieces to read and critique."

"So have them sent here."

It was very tempting. Especially when he was stroking the pulsepoint on her wrist like that. "And maybe I think better when I'm not being pressured?"

He lifted her hand to his mouth, turning it around to kiss the inside of her wrist. "Is that what I'm doing? Pressuring you? And don't even think about bringin' the word convenient into this conversation—" he leaned across the corner of the table, his breath in her ear making her shiver "—because, honey, I have already been down that road with my daughter and have no wish to make a return trip." He began trailing a series of gentle kisses down the side of her neck. "There is nothing the least bit convenient about you, lady." With his free hand, he cupped her jaw, his mouth now a breath away from hers. "And I've never been so glad to be inconvenienced in my entire life."

"You're not making this easy."

His mouth whispered over hers. "That was the idea." He got up, pulling her to her feet at the same time and leading her to the stairs. "If I've only got three days to change your mind, I'd best be getting to it, hadn't I?"

* * *

"So," Libby said, "what do you think is going on between them?"

Keeping one eye on Jenna across the bookstore, Blair shifted the cell phone to her other ear. There'd been like, a zillion people asking her aunt to sign books, but no sign of panic that Blair could tell. "I don't know exactly, but—" she lowered her voice "—she's got 'that look.' You know—the morning-after look we were talking about?"

Libby gasped. "Really?"

"Yeah. She's been giggling a lot, too." She shifted in her new shoes, these really cool platforms she'd begged Jenna to buy for her.

"But this could be so cool! I mean, if they get married and stuff, you'd move here, right?"

Blair felt her forehead pinch. She hadn't thought about that. Well, she had, just not in any kind of serious way. She sure couldn't see her father living in D.C. But that would suck, giving up all her friends. Libby was okay, it wasn't that, it was just…

"I don't know," she said. God, these shoes were killing her. "I s'pose, huh? Hey—I gotta go. Hank just walked in. Talk later, 'kay?"

She tucked her phone into her purse, but instead of going back to Jenna's table, she stood there and watched how her father and her aunt reacted to each other. As soon as Jenna caught sight of Hank, her whole face seemed to light up in a way that Blair hadn't seen for a long time. And when Hank got to her, he bent over and kissed her. Not a long, mushy kiss or anything, but long enough to make some ladies standing close by laugh.

Well. That was that, huh? Blair watched them talking for another couple of seconds, trying to figure out how she felt. All in all, not too bad, she finally decided. It had been fun this past week, being with both of them. And Hank had kept his promise about not shutting Blair out when Jenna was around. It felt, well, a lot like it had when Uncle Phil had been alive, even though Hank was very different from her uncle. And okay, it felt good, seeing Jenna so happy.

Hank spotted her, a broad smile creasing his face as he waved her over.

And Blair felt her own smile in response. And suddenly she couldn't imagine what it would be like, not knowing him. Which meant she also had to admit her aunt had done the right thing, getting them to meet each other.

She clumped over to join them, even letting her father give her a hug. That felt good, too.

Things were happening too quickly for her to be sure of anything. But you know, maybe it was going to be okay.

* * *

All the way back to Haven, Jenna sat there with a goony grin on her face. They'd taken her car, but she was still so jazzed, she gladly turned the wheel over to Hank. But, oh dear God—it was as if the last piece fell into place, getting through that signing. No, not just getting through it, enjoying it. The fear that had shackled her for three years had simply vanished. If she could forge ahead on that front, maybe, just maybe, she was ready to forge ahead on another.

"Somebody sure looks pleased with herself," Hank said beside her, and when she met his gaze, teasing and kind and rock-solid all at once, joy such as she hadn't allowed herself to feel for a long, long time swept through her.

Was she really ready to stop playing it safe?

"I guess I am," she said, grinning, answering both questions at once. Hank reached over and squeezed her hand. And winked. Then he said to the rearview mirror, "Hey, you back there—we were gabbing so much about your aunt's doings today, I plumb forgot to ask you how the sleepover went."

"Okay, I guess," Blair said from the back. "April's brothers came into the kitchen when we were in there trying to make popcorn, but we finally got rid of them. God, they're such losers."

Jenna saw Hank's hand tighten on the steering wheel. "Why? What'd they do?"

"They didn't do anything. They were just acting all stupid and loud and stuff. They think they're cool because they're in high school." She delivered these last two words in a singsong voice. "April thinks they're like total retards."

"Blair!" Jenna said. "You know I don't like that term!"

"I was just repeating what April said, geez. Anyway, Billy, their older brother, came by and took them over to his place for the night. The party would've totally sucked if they'd hung around and bugged us. Why are boys so stupid?"

Hank chuckled. "I seem to remember my mother voicing something similar, many, many times."

When they got back to Haven, Hank stopped by his house to check up on the dog, then drove them back to the cottage. That he hadn't dropped them off and then gone home wasn't lost on Jenna. Or Blair, either, apparently. When Jenna suggested going out for ice cream after they changed, her niece tentatively raised her hand, waggling her fingers. "Actually, Jenna? I'm like, really tired. So I think I'll just go to bed, if that's okay?"

"Oh. Well, sure, honey. But it's barely ten o'clock."

"I know," she said, backing toward her room, her glance ping-ponging between Jenna and Hank. She lifted her hand to cover the world's most unconvincing yawn. "But I feel like I'm about to fall over. So…I guess I'll see you two in the morning, 'kay?"

Between her niece's lack of subtlety and Hank's flummoxed expression as he stared at his daughter's closed door, Jenna decided it was a damn good thing Blair's music went on just then, because there was no way she could stifle her laughter. Hank turned, his expression deadpan.

"Guess she's changed her mind about us," he said, and Jenna nearly choked on the next round of giggles. Or she would have, had Hank not closed the space between them in two slow, lazy, but oh-so-deliberate strides and tugged her body against his. Oh, my. She could definitely get used to this.

"She might come back out," she whispered over the shiver as his mouth began a slow, lazy and oh-so-deliberate assault on her neck.

"I somehow doubt it."

"Yeah," she said on a sigh, her head falling back. "Me, too. Is it my imagination, or do you have a thing for necks?"

"Only this one, sweetheart." He planted his hands right smack on her bum and pulled her closer. "Turkey necks, for instance, don't do a thing for me."

Laughter sputtered from her lips, even as sweet little flames of memory licked at her nerve endings, which were sending up an increasingly loud chorus of oohs and ahhs and moremoremore, nownownow.

"You know, this is really, really fun," she said, "but I need ice cream."

Hank pulled back. Frowned. "What?"

Figuring she'd better take advantage of his momentary distraction while she could, Jenna wriggled out of his arms and zipped toward her bedroom. Her nerve endings were not amused. "I'm still wound from today," she said, then lowered her voice. "And she's not asleep yet. Let me get changed, then why don't we go down to the Git 'n' Go for a snack?"

Judging from the look on Hank's face, you would have thought she'd suggested heading for the nearest open field to wait for the Mother Ship. "It'll be good, you'll see. Chocolate—" she grinned "—does things to me."

"Then quit your yammerin', woman, and let's get this show on the road."

After changing into shorts and a baggy cotton sweater, Jenna left a note for Blair on the off chance she did emerge from her bedroom before dawn, grabbed her purse, and they took off. The air, moonlight-laced, seemed almost liquid, vermeiling the landscape and kissing her over-sensitized skin as they walked, holding hands like a pair of teenagers, talking softly, laughing. Enjoying each other and the moment.

Halfway there, in the deep, silent cocoon of night and woods and aloneness, Hank hauled her behind a tree and backed her up against it, silencing her laughter with a I-mean-business kiss that turned her on so much she thought she'd pop. And it felt good—no, wonderful—to let herself ache for him, to revel in needing his touch. A whimper of pure delight burbled from her throat when his hand slipped underneath her sweater, his rough fingertips grazing her heated skin, igniting a shower of delicate, delicious sparks in their path.

She felt the button at the waistband of her pants give way, the zipper hissing open a second later. For a moment, she tensed—Right out here in front of God and everybody?—only to immediately go limp with wanting—On second thought, sure, okay, just don't let me fall. He shocked her, thrilled her, by telling her exactly what he was going to do—and how—and all she could do was moan her assent, thinking, oh, glory, the man was good with his hands.

Her cries set dogs off in half the county. Hank seemed inordinately smug.

"Still need that ice cream?" he whispered in her ear, his breath making her shiver all over again. Laughing softly, she let her forehead fall onto his chest.

"More than ever," she said, which earned her a chuckle. She tried to come up with something clever to say as she went about righting her clothing as gracefully as possible, but the best she could manage was, "Wow."

He held her close, stroking her hair. "There are certain things," he murmured, "a man enjoys giving to a woman as often as he can. But not just any woman." His other palm skimmed up and down her back, underneath the sweater. "The right woman."

I love you.

The words flashed inside her head with the oooooh!-provoking brilliance of a fireworks explosion, shattering into a thousand mini IloveyouIloveyouIloveyous sparkling out over the vast, dark wasteland that had been her life. She lifted her fingers to trace his smile, the words' reverberation fading with each passing second she didn't voice them. What she did say was, "Maybe I could stay another week," and his hand stilled on her back. Then he took her by the hand and led her back onto the road.

"Let's get you that ice cream."

Not surprisingly, given the hour, the store was empty. And cold and loud, thanks to equally overenthusiastic air-conditioning and country music coming from a small boombox Angel had set up on the counter. The poor woman, who must have been bored out of her mind, waylaid them for a couple of minutes' worth of gossip, then went back to reading her Soap Opera Digest while Hank trailed Jenna back to the freezer case.

"Hey, they've got Godiva. Amazing," she said, braving the cloud of frost when she opened the case to grab the last carton of chocolate raspberry truffle. Between the sub-arctic temperatures and Hank's proximity, keeping her nipples under control was a lost cause. One which Hank apparently found very entertaining. "Quit staring," she muttered, letting the freezer door fall closed. The bell over the door jingled, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner and the music.

"But they're so cute," Hank said.

"And you got out of high school when—?"

Her last word was lost in a half squeal as Hank grabbed her and pushed her down behind the canned goods, his finger on his lips.

"Don't move," he mouthed, then pointed to the front. Jenna cautiously glanced up, her stomach flipping at the sight of the big guy in baggy jeans and a ski mask who was pointing a large, rather nasty-looking gun at Angel.

Chapter 15

Oddly enough, her first thought was You have got to be kidding. They were in the middle of nowhere. Since, according to anyone you cared to ask, there was basically no crime, the town's police "force" consisted of three officers, only one of whom was full-time. And it was especially ironic that, despite living in and around D.C. her entire life, she'd never once been mugged or witnessed a robbery. For all the hundreds of thousands of words she'd devoted to Stella Moon's crime-fighting escapades, her real-life experience in such matters was exactly zip.

And she preferred to keep it that way.

"Stay here," Hank whispered, on his feet and out of range before the words Are you nuts? got as far as her lips. Jenna's pulse rocketed into the Red Alert zone when she realized his plans. One look at Angel's terrified expression, though, and Jenna understood, even if sweat pooled in her cleavage as she watched Hank slowly, soundlessly approach the guy from behind.

He's not going to do anything rash. He's a trained professional, not some macho hothead.

Her heart rate shifted down a notch…for about a second and a half, until the part of her brain she'd really rather not hear from right now came back with, Uh-huh, except this isn't a Lethal Weapon movie and Hank's not Mel Gibson and in real life, the good guys don't always win.

Paralyzed, her mouth dry as dust, she watched Hank slowly signal something to Angel, who, bless her, didn't let on. Instead, the woman calmly, if stiffly, went through the motions of cleaning out the cash register—Jenna knew many convenience stores kept the larger bills where they were inaccessible to the clerks, but would they bother in a place like this—?

"What was that?" Obviously jittery, the guy jerked his head toward the door. The gun wavered slightly off target, but only a fraction. Hank stilled behind him, his entire body primed like a stalking lion's.

"Just the wind," Angel answered, her voice higher than usual, but her movements still steady, still calm.

Baggy Pants' head snapped back to Angel and Jenna's stomach lurched right into her throat. "Hurry up, will ya?" he said, gesturing with the gun. "Ain't got all night here."

Jenna saw the flash of irritation in Angel's expression, but the woman kept her mouth shut. Hank took another excruciatingly careful step closer, as if willing his molecules to shift through the air—

She nearly wet her pants when a mammoth, pathetically ugly gray cat with half an ear and one hideous fang popped out of nowhere between Hank and her. It blinked lazily at her for a moment, stretched, yawned…and started for Hank.

Who of course couldn't see it.

In a frantic pantomime, Jenna tried to get the cat's attention, knowing full well it was hard enough to get a cat to come to you when you had something the cat would consider a compelling reason to bother. Instead, all she got for her efforts was a who-let-you-out-of-the-booby-hatch? look before, with a flick of his tail, the thing trotted over to Hank, nearly tripping him by getting between his feet while letting out a rrrr-owwww worthy of a Harley engine.

Things were a blur after that.

Baggy Pants spun around, aiming straight for Hank, now less than five feet away; Angel screamed and ducked and the guy yelled, "Don't come any closer or I'll shoot" just as the freaked cat sprang for his crotch. Jolted out of her stupor, Jenna grabbed a can of something and lobbed it toward the far corner of the store. Glass shattered, the cat flew in the opposite direction and Baggy Pants—by now totally flustered—whipped around again.

Hank seized both the opportunity and the gun in a move so fast Jenna missed half of it and the jerk took off, except then Angel sprang—yes, sprang—from behind the counter and body-slammed him, taking them both down with loud, walrusesque oofs. While Jenna winced, Angel scrambled grotesquely to rearrange her three hundred pounds on the guy's backside, his limbs splayed Wile E. Coyote style underneath her.

When the perp's swearing tapered off to sporadic bursts of labored breathing, Jenna decided it was safe enough to emerge from her hiding place, only to realize everything was shaking—her knees, her stomach, her hands. Clinging to the shelves for support, she made her way to the front, all too aware she was on the verge of hysteria because, after all, she only made up the Stella Moon stuff and this had been real and scary and a whole lot of other things that translated into not fun. Hank was on the phone, presumably to whoever would come take this cretin away, while Angel still sat on the cretin, looking as self-satisfied as Meringue when she'd brought Jenna that headless rodent the other day. The instant Hank spotted Jenna, he waved her over, drawing her into a one-armed embrace while he talked.

The shaking got worse.

Hank hung up and held her by the shoulders, frowning into her eyes. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh." The frown deepened. She let out a breath, forcing a smile to her dry lips. Behind her, the groaning escalated to cussing. Hank glanced over her head, glowering now.

"Go," she said.

His gaze touched hers, just for a second, before he let her go and ambled over to the squashed would-be robber. His thumbs hooked in his pockets, his measured, booted footsteps resounded against the wooden floor like, well, gunshots over the groaning air conditioner, the deejay's prattling and B.P.'s muffled whimpers. Once there, Hank slowly squatted, shook his head, then yanked off the guy's ski mask with enough force to make his head clunk back down onto the floor.

"I can't…I can't breathe! Get her…off…me!"

"Gee, Billy…you wouldn't be scared now, would you?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Logan—"

"You know, Gundersen, I always suspected you were absent the day they passed out brains, but stupid doesn't even begin to cover this one. What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"But I wasn't…wasn't gonna hurt nobody!" he gasped. "I swear! The gun's fake!"

Hank yanked the kid's T-shirt collar backward, making him choke. "Yeah, I noticed," he said, his voice lethally soft. "After you nearly gave several people coronaries, including me. But, hey, long as the gun's not real—" another jerk on the T-shirt "—it's okay, right? Maybe you were plannin' on giving back the money, too. That what you're gonna tell me, Billy?" He let go of the shirt, only to crouch lower. "I can just imagine how well your mama's gonna take this news. Can't you?"

The kid started blubbering, a state in which he remained until the police came and relieved Angel of her robber-sitting duties. Hank said they'd better believe he'd swear out a statement, after which followed some good-ole-boy shoulder-clapping and the kid was dutifully dragged off to the county jail and, presumably, his one phone call.

During this time, Jenna had been leaning against the front counter, her arms crossed tightly over her ribs, riding out the violent shudders periodically wracking her body. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Ugly Cat rubbed up against her shins. Terrific. Now the thing deigns to acknowledge her presence.

Angel waddled behind the counter, dusting off her prodigious behind and looking none the worse for wear as she gave Jenna the once-over. "You don't look so good, honey," she said—a gross understatement if ever there was one—as Hank, who'd disappeared into the bowels of the tiny store, reappeared with what looked like Angel's entire stock of Godiva ice cream.

"Looks like she got three or four bottles of Boone's Farm, too," he said, calmly pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, "So go ahead and add that in. You want me to clean up the mess?"

"Nah," Angel said, entering figures into the cash register. "I'm gonna close up now, anyway. I'll get it. That'll be thirty-three sixty-seven, with tax. Damn, wouldja look at that?" She proffered one chubby hand for Jenna's inspection. "Popped one of my acrylics right off."

Hank forked over a pair of twenties, Angel plopped the six cartons of ice cream into a bag and gave him his change, they traded speculations on how soon it might rain again, and Hank ushered Jenna back out into the muggy night air.

She made it as far as the edge of the parking lot before she fell apart.

* * *

Hank let the bag drop to the ground and wrapped Jenna in his arms, shushing her and repeating over and over that it was okay, nobody got hurt, there was nothing to be afraid of. But Lord Almighty, it'd been a long time since he'd heard a woman cry this hard, great, gulping sobs like she couldn't catch her breath.

"You c-could've been k-k-killed," she said, clinging to him like a baby possum and shaking so bad he wasn't sure how she was standing.

"Honey, I was in more danger from that damn cat than I ever was from Billy—"

"But I didn't know that! You d-didn't know that." She lifted her tear-streaked face to his. "When he turned that gun on you…oh, God, I'm so sorry…it was stupid, I know, throwing something like that—"

"It's okay, honey, you done good. Here…" He slipped her purse off her shoulder and clicked it open, hoping she had tissues inside. She did. He handed her one, which for some reason provoked a fresh wave of tears. "Hey," he said gently, "it's over." Clasping her shoulders, he bent slightly at the knees to peer into her face. "I know it was scary for a minute there—believe me, that little do-si-do didn't do my blood pressure any good, either—but the good guys won. And God willing, Billy Gundersen got the bejeezus scared out of him before he gets any ideas about using a real gun next time."

She blew her nose, then folded her arms tightly across her stomach, not looking at him. Her lower lip still trembled, though, which just tore him up inside. A second later, she turned and started down the road. Not like she was running away, exactly, but not like she wanted to hear any more of what she obviously thought was B.S., either.

Hank sighed, grabbed the bag with the ice cream, and easily caught up to her. "Jen—?"

She whipped around so fast he had to take a step back. "You pulled that little stunt to make up for what you couldn't do for Michelle, didn't you?"

"What? Where the hell'd that come from?"

"You couldn't catch whoever killed your fiancée, so you saw this as some sort of opportunity to atone for that."

"All I saw was a jerk with a gun who needed to be stopped before somebody got hurt! I'm a cop, Jenna. Taking out the bad guys is what I was trained to do." At the skepticism in her eyes, he said, "Okay, fine, maybe it felt good to win one. So sue me. But what happened in there had nothing to do with Michelle. A year, maybe even a month ago, yeah…the idea of getting even might've crossed my mind. But not anymore."

"Why? What happened a month ago?"

"This pair of ornery females showed up in town and knocked my life right on its sorry butt. And in the process," he continued when she averted her gaze, like she couldn't bear to look at him, "got me to rethink the way I was looking at a few things. So believe me, what I did tonight had nothing to do with trying to fix the past. Except…when it was over, it was like…"

He stopped, fighting for words he wasn't sure were there. But he needed to make her understand. Hell, he needed to make himself understand what had taken place tonight. Not back at the Git 'n' Go, but inside his head.

Maybe walking would help jar a few things loose. And besides, if they didn't get this ice cream in a freezer within the next twenty minutes, that was more'n twenty bucks down the drain. So he started down the road, trusting Jenna would at least follow, his muscles relaxing some when she did.

"Look, I was totally nuts for weeks after Michelle's death," he said. "Even though I wasn't on the scene when she was shot, it didn't take much for me to picture it. If I'd've caught her killer? I wouldn't've thought twice about wasting him. And I made good and sure everybody and his dog knew it."

She glanced over at him, then back away. "I doubt anyone blamed you for feeling that way," she said quietly, her voice still unsteady.

"Nobody did. But one of the reasons the force shrink suggested I go on leave was because he said I might have something like flashbacks if I got in a similar situation, which could lead to me doing something stupid. Okay, I thought, six months. Until I calmed down. Thing was, though, I didn't. If anything, the more time passed, the madder and more frustrated I got. So I finally turned in my resignation."

He stopped when they came to a crossroads, watching Jenna's face while they waited for somebody's SUV to rumble through the intersection. "Tonight was like a test I wasn't expecting. But as mad as I was at that punk, I didn't lose it. My adrenaline level might've gone through the roof, but I was definitely focused on the moment. In control." He gave a humorless chuckle. "As much as you can be in control of a loose cannon, anyway."

She didn't say anything; they crossed the road and kept going. And so did Hank. "And not once did I feel like I was in some kind of déjù-vu situation. You know, with you?" he said when she shot a puzzled glance at him. "Different situations, different people. Different outcomes. In other words," he said softly, "if there's an upside to what happened tonight, it's that now I'm sure."

"Of what?"

"That I'm ready." When she looked over at him, her brow creased, he added, "Before tonight, the thought of wanting you scared the hell out of me. Now it doesn't."

She returned her attention to the road, her lack of comment provoking Hank into saying, "You're thinking too hard."

"I've never been through anything like that," she said, sounding like she was running on half power, which in turn gave Hank a real bad feeling. "I'm allowed."

They continued on toward the Double Arrow in silence for a bit until she said, "I don't suppose Angel put a spoon in that bag by any chance, did she?"

"Hold on, let me check." Hank poked around in the bag for a sec, then chuckled. "Damned if she didn't. Which one of these you want?"

"Whatever's handy. I'm not picky."

He handed over one of the cartons and the spoon; she removed the top and stuck it on the bottom like a saucer, then dug in. Three or four bites later, she said, "So. You ready to go back? To being a cop?"

"Nope," he said, a little surprised at that, to be honest. "What would be the point? That's a phase of my life that's definitely over."

She spooned in another bite. "So now what?"

Ah, hell. The conversation had just taken one of those turns he hated with a passion, where all he knew was that it had taken a turn, but damned if he had a clue where it was headed. They reached the motel, turning down the path that led to the cottages. "Dunno. I kind of enjoyed fixin' up the Arrow. Maybe I'll sell up and start a restoration business. Maybe I'll just keep running the Arrow. Or expand it, you know, turn it into something more—" he grinned "—upscale."

"You'd be happy with that?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Hadn't thought about it until just this minute—" which was true "—but it's another way of takin' care of folks, right?"

"Loners don't make very good caretakers, Hank."

"Another phase of my life that's done with," he said deliberately, then looked over, trying to read her expression in the moonlight as they approached her cottage. He couldn't. But he wasn't so thick that he hadn't picked up on a change in her attitude about things, about them, a change that obviously had something to do with what had just happened but that went way beyond it, too. Unless he was mistaken, unless he did something real quick, the window of opportunity for them was about to come crashing down.

She turned to him when they got to the porch steps, holding the ice cream in front of her like a shield. Apologies flickered in her eyes as about a million moths pinged off the porch light, too dumb to recognize a lost cause when they saw it.

Hank liked to believe he was at least smarter than the average moth.

"You still thinking?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"About?"

She sighed, her smile sad. "Couldn't tell you. It's as if there are all these bits and pieces of ideas floating around, but nothing connects with anything else. I just…I just need some time to be alone. To sort some things out."

Hank slipped his free arm around her waist and pulled her close, planting a kiss in her pretty dyed hair. "And maybe you should forget about thinking for tonight and just try and get some sleep. Plenty of time for figuring things out tomorrow."

She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I know this wasn't what you had in mind for tonight."

"Neither was disarming an idiot teenager. But there will be other nights. And mornings." He let her go, then handed over the rest of the ice cream. "I'll bring breakfast. How's nine sound?"

"Actually, I…" He could see the refusal teetering on her lips. But at the last moment, she smiled and nodded. "Nine sounds great. Thanks."

She brushed her lips over his—a chaste, first-date kind of kiss—then he watched her go inside, not liking at all the way things suddenly felt unsettled. Not that they were exactly settled before, but at least there'd been progress.

And since when did he expect things to go without a hitch? Which is all this was—a hitch, a kink to work out. She was still shook up, was all. If she stayed that extra week, he had eight whole days to convince her she could trust whatever this was between them.

And if she didn't, he was screwed.

He walked back down the path to the office to check on things and pick up the dog. Six, no seven, cars were in the parking lot, all with out-of-state plates. Not bad. Word was getting out, at last. Danny was still in the office, sitting at the desk behind the counter with his feet up, listening to one of those new groups that all sounded the same to Hank. The kid scrambled to sit up straight when he saw Hank, as Mutt dashed out from behind the counter like Hank'd just arrived back from three years at sea.

Hank made over the beast for a second or two, then picked up the mail and began sorting through it. "Everything okay here?"

"Oh, yeah," Danny said, getting up, the light glinting off his spiked hair. And the single silver stud in his nose. He didn't dress crazy, though, so that was something. "Quiet as usual, although we got two more calls for cabins in August." Then he leaned forward. "Heard about the robbery over at the Git 'n' Go, though. Can't believe Billy Gundersen would be that dumb."

Hank looked up. "I won't even ask how you know."

Danny grinned. "Shoot, they haven't had anybody in jail since I was in the eighth grade. Big news. Heard his gun wasn't real, though."

"Nope."

"That make things better for him?"

"Not much."

"Good. About time something or somebody put the fear of God in that—"

"What's this?" Hank held up a note in Danny's skinny, nearly indecipherable handwriting, at the corner of which was stapled a very spiffy business card. Hinton Properties, it said.

"Oh, some guy came by today, said he was a developer out of Tulsa. Said his brother or somebody had stayed in one of the cottages a couple weeks back and really liked it, so this guy, Mr.—" Danny craned his head to read the card upside down "—Hinton asked if he could take a tour of the place. I couldn't get hold of you and didn't want to seem rude, so I said sure and showed him around. Then he asked if you might be interested in selling, but I told him I didn't know, he'd have to talk to you about it. So he said for you to get in touch with him as soon as possible and left his card."

"Huh." Hank took the note, folding it up and slipping it into his back pocket. Here he'd just been talking about possibly selling up, so…maybe this was a sign? After all, if he did sell, he guessed there'd be no reason for him not to move to D.C. to be near Blair. And Jenna, if things worked out. With his experience, he could maybe land a desk job on a force out there or something. Never mind that the thought, right at the moment, turned his stomach.

Lord, he was suddenly so tired, he could hardly move. If he didn't get himself to bed soon, Cherise was going to have to vacuum around him right there in the lobby come morning. Which wasn't an option, anyway, since, come morning, he had some serious courting to do. So he said goodnight, called Mutt and headed back toward the house, praying that Jenna's thinking wouldn't take her down any paths he couldn't follow.

* * *

"You mean, Hank just, like, grabbed the gun out of Billy Gundersen's hand?"

A piece of toast poised on its way to Blair's mouth, Jenna's niece sat across the dining table from her, eyes the size of the blue cornflowers that dotted the sides of the roads. This much enthusiasm, especially for something that had plagued Jenna's dreams all night long, she didn't need.

"Yeah," she said into her coffee. She was bathed, she was dressed, she was coiffed, but she still felt like something regurgitated. "Except it turned out not to be a real gun."

"What a dork," Blair said, munching. "Billy, I mean."

Jenna forced her gritty eyes to focus across the table. "Because the gun wasn't real?"

"N-o," Blair said, squeezing two syllables out of as many letters. "For doing something that lame to begin with." Then she apparently got a good look at Jenna's face. "Were you scared?"

"I wasn't exactly having a good time." She winced as another scalding sip of coffee went down her throat, then said, "I'm just glad you weren't with us."

"Oh, I dunno. It would've been cool to see Dad in action like that."

Jenna set down her mug with a soft thunk. "Dad?"

That got a shy, glittery grin and a half shrug. "I'm trying it out. To see how it fits, y'know?"

"Seems to fit pretty well from where I'm sitting," Jenna said with as much of a smile as she could manage this morning.

The grin widened. A second later, the sound of the Fraziers' van horn propelled her niece out of the chair. "Do I look okay?" she asked, twirling around to show off the new mini-dress they'd bought in Tulsa the day before. Libby had asked if Blair would like to come to Sunday School with them; to Jenna's surprise, Blair seemed keen on the idea.

"You look great," she said. "Even if I wouldn't mind seeing another three inches of fabric on that dress."

That got a "Jen-na" and a kiss on the cheek before Blair clomped over to the door. Just before she opened it, however, she turned back, looking a little sheepish. "Y'know, I kinda wish we didn't have to go back right away. I mean, couldn't we stay just a few more days?"

"Not this time, sweetie," Jenna said, feeling as if something cold and nasty had crawled inside her to die. "But you'll be back to visit. Thanksgiving, maybe."

"Thanksgiving?" Blair frowned. "But I thought…" At Jenna's lifted brows, she added, "I mean…the way you and Dad have been acting around each other, I kinda thought…you know. That you'd get together."

"Excuse me? I thought that was the last thing you wanted."

"Yeah, well. Maybe it wouldn't be so awful."

Jenna blew out a stream of air, then shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint you, sweetie."

"But—"

"There's the horn again. Go on, you don't want to make them late." At Blair's crestfallen expression, Jenna said, "We'll talk later, okay?"

Blair stared at her for another second or two, then yanked open the door and stomped off, letting the screen bang shut behind her.

Great. There was a twist to things she hadn't expected. Now she could add disappointing Blair to her list of transgressions. Although Blair would get over it, she imagined. Hank, however…

His knock on her door made her jump out of her skin. She managed a reasonably steady, "Come in," standing and clearing away Blair's plate when he did. He'd brought Mickey D's, she noted with a wry smile. Ruby's was closed on Sundays.

He set the bag on the table and came into the kitchen, snaking an arm around her waist from behind and planting a kiss on her temple. She managed not to flinch, even though her heart did.

"Where's my kid?" He let go, thank God, plucking a mug from the drainer and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Off to church with Libby et al.," she said, afraid to look at him. Afraid he'd see the truth in her eyes before she was ready.

"You tell her about last night?"

Jenna nodded, breathing a sigh of relief when he ambled back out to the table, emptying the bag of what she guessed were Egg McMuffins and hash browns. The smell wasn't doing a thing for her nervous stomach. "She thinks you're cool and Billy Gundersen's a dork."

"Guess I should be grateful it's not the other way around," he said, settling in at the table. "So she went to church, huh?" She heard him take a gulp of coffee. "Guess I should think about going back, then."

"I suppose I should make an effort to go, too, one of these days," she said, taking what she knew was far too long to clean a single plate. "It's just, I've never been real big on church. Mother was Episcopalian, but not what you'd call dedicated, you know? So it never really took with me, either. Not that I don't believe, I just don't play well with others, I guess—"

"Jenna. Stop your infernal rattling and look at me."

She froze at Hank's gentle reprimand, then turned, her arms tucked against her stomach as some sort of lame—as Blair would say—defense against his impenetrable gaze. He sat sprawled in the chair, his arms crossed, one leg stretched out as usual. Laid back, one might think, except that every trace of the gentle teasing from a second before was gone, replaced by an iron set to his jaw she hadn't seen in weeks. Even so, everything in her screamed to reach out, give up, give in to the overpowering longing to feel his skin against hers one last time. Oh, God, she wished the next few minutes were already behind her.

Even if she dreaded even more the nothingness that would be left when they were.

Chapter 16

"What's up?" he said, too quietly.

"I…" She stopped, hauling in a deep breath. "I'm…we're not staying the extra week."

Except for a spasm in his jaw, he didn't react at all. "Mind tellin' me why?"

"I…need more time to prepare for my class than I'd thought, that's all."

"That's bull, Jenna. Now cut the crap and tell me the truth."

Oh, God. "Fine," she said on a rush of air. "I'm scared, Hank. Last night—"

"Was an isolated, off-the-wall thing. That was the first time Angel's had a holdup in more'n twenty years—"

"I know that. For heaven's sake—I'd hardly want to take Blair back to D.C. if it was crime I was worried about."

"Okay. Then why are you blowing me off?"

"I am not blowing you off!"

"Oh, yeah? Sure sounds like it to me. But hey, nobody said just because I fell in love with you that you had to with me."

His words hung in the air between them, threatening to suffocate her. Finally she regained control of her lungs enough to get out, "It wouldn't work, Hank. I can't leave my position, or uproot Blair—"

"Ever?"

She licked her lips, cursing the blush singeing her cheeks. "Our lives are back east, Hank. Not that I don't like Haven, but it's not my home. And Blair's friends back there…these are kids she's known all her life—"

"She can make new friends. She has made new friends. But all the family she's got is here."

"Don't you dare pull that on me, Hank Logan! I was her family before they were, in every way that counted!"

"Nobody's sayin' you're not, sweetheart. But what I'm saying is—"

"I know what you're saying—"

"Okay. I'll move to D.C."

Fear ripped through her. "What?"

"I'll move there," he said with a shrug. "I'd already been giving it some thought, as it happens. And I've got a nibble on the Arrow. So I'll sell up and move east."

This couldn't be happening. "But…but what you just said, about your family…"

"I missed the first thirteen years of my daughter's life. It's come to me that I'd rather not miss any more of it than I have to. And if you haven't figured it out by now, I intend to smash every objection you come up with until you decide to tell me the real reason why you've suddenly changed your mind."

She turned back to the sink, even though there was nothing left to wash. "I haven't changed my mind. I never made any promises, Hank, and you know it."

"That's true, you didn't." She heard him get up from the table, close the gap between them. "Except you can't tell me that, up until what happened at the Git 'n' Go, we weren't at least travelling down the same road. Now suddenly you want to turn back. So, see, what that says to me is that either I misread what was happening between us—"

"You didn't misread anything, Hank," she said, so softly she could barely hear herself.

"What did you say?"

Even though she knew it would kill her, she had to look at him. "I said, you didn't misread anything." Tears flooded her eyes; frantically, pointlessly, she blinked them back. "I'm not leaving because I don't love you, Hank. I've got to leave because I do."

She watched as disbelief, hope, confusion streaked across his face in rapid succession. "That doesn't make a lick of sense, Jenna—"

"Don't you understand? I can't go through losing anyone again! Only, until last night, until I saw that gun pointed at your chest, I thought, okay, maybe I could shove it all behind me, live for the day, the moment, not worry about the future. But after an entire night of being sick with fear, of reliving the horror I went through with Phil…oh, God, Hank," she said, her heart breaking at the look on his face, "I'm so sorry! And believe me, I feel like an idiot right now. But it seems as if I've spent the last ten years mourning people, and I'm tired. I love too hard or something, I don't know. But I do know I hurt too much when they die."

"I'm not plannin' on leaving any too soon, Jen."

She swiped her hand across her wet face. "Neither was Phil."

He glared at her for several seconds, then said softly, "Blair's gonna be gone in a few years. Then what? You planning on spending the rest of your life alone?"

"I have my work. I'll be okay."

He made a derisive sound. "Right. I forgot about all those people in your head."

"Hank, please…don't be this way—"

He suddenly charged her, making her take a step back. "I'll be any damn way I want! In case you missed it, you just pissed me off, honey. Pissed me off but good. I've lost a bunch of people I loved too! So I damn well know what it's like to think that maybe it's easier to be alone than to live. Then you came along and showed me exactly how much of a dumbass I was being."

He cupped her face in his hands, his mouth an inch from hers, her tears mercifully soft-focusing the fury hardening his mouth. "And I saw somebody even lonelier and more clueless than I was, so lonely I had no choice but to haul my butt out of the abyss I'd wallowed in for two years to rescue her. For God's sake, Jenna—don't you get it? I'd rather spend ten freakin' minutes with you than a lifetime without you!"

He captured her mouth in a kiss surprisingly tender, then engulfed her in a hug that was anything but. His heartbeat battered her eardrums; his scent, her senses, until she thought she'd die from the anguish.

"Oh, Hank, trust me…" She skimmed her hands up and down his back, up and down, as if she could imprint his solidness on her sense memory. "Nothing kills love more quickly than fear. And as long as I'm this scared, you wouldn't want to spend ten seconds with me. I'm so sorry," she repeated.

He abruptly let her go. A second later, he was at the door.

"So am I, honey. Because I think we could've been real good together. Real good. But damned if I'm gonna keep reaching out, only to get my hand slapped away."

Then he left, quietly shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Four weeks to the day after they left Haven, Blair slogged into Jenna's home office in her pj's, flopping onto the beat-up love seat on the wall opposite the desk and swinging one bare foot over the arm. Jenna glanced up from the computer screen, her mouth tightening at the oh-so-cheerful expression on her niece's face, sighed, clicked Save and leaned back in her desk chair.

"Nice chat with your father?" True to his word about wanting to know every detail of his daughter's life, Hank had called Blair at least every other evening since their return. God bless Caller ID, which had enabled Jenna to avoid picking up when he called. The last thing she needed was to hear his voice, especially since she'd craved nothing else since leaving Haven. She dragged over the open bag of potato chips she'd been unsuccessfully trying to ignore for the past hour and stuffed two or three into her mouth, breaking off a piece for Meringue, who'd jumped up on the desk when she heard the bag rattle.

"Yeah," Blair said. "Did I tell you, he's going to turn the Arrow into a real resort?"

"Really?" Jenna said through a mouthful of soggy chip bits. "A big one?"

"Nuh-uh. Just fancier. This guy wanted to buy it from Dad, and Dad thought he might sell, but he changed his mind. So the guy, some developer or something from Tulsa? He said he'd still like to invest in the place, anyway. So that's what he's going to do. There's gonna be a lodge and restaurant where the motel block is now, a pool and tennis courts, six more cottages, and all of the old ones are going to be completely remodeled."

"Wow. That'll take some big bucks."

Blair shrugged. "I guess." She twiddled with her hair for a second, then said, "He asked about you again. How you were doing."

Jenna stiffened and crammed in another handful of chips. "An you said?"

"That you were busy on a new book and getting ready to teach and stuff. I figured that was better than telling him the truth."

Startled, Jenna looked up in midmunch. "The truth?"

"Yeah. That you're miserable."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm crazed because of the book, but you know I'm always like that at the beginning—"

"Jenna, hello? I know the difference between the way you get when a book's stressing you out and the way you've been since we came back. God—you're worse now than you were after Uncle Phil died."

Blair's words took her breath away. "That's not true!"

"It is! You're like this, this zombie or something, and this room is your tomb! All you do is sit in here and work and pig out on junk food." Blair swung her leg around to sit cross-legged on the love seat. "If I didn't come in here, we'd never even talk. What I don't get is, why you won't even try to work it out with Dad. You two are obviously crazy about each other."

Jenna looked back at her computer screen. "My relationship with your father is between him and me, Blair."

After a moment, Blair said, "This is scary for me, too, you know."

Jenna looked at her niece. "What is?"

Blair tugged her sleep T down over her knees, hugging her legs to her chest. "Letting myself love somebody else." Twin creases dug into the space between her sandy brows. "But isn't it kind of dumb to think we're only allowed a certain number of people in our lives, and if they die or move away or whatever, that's it?"

Another breath bit the dust. "Yeah. That would be kind of dumb."

"So?"

"So…what?"

"If that's true, why can't you work this out with Dad?"

Jenna leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples for a moment before letting her hands fall to her desk. "Blair, honey, I'm sorry, but your nagging me isn't going to change anything. I'm thrilled for you, I really am, that you're growing so fond of your father, that you've been able to get past your own pain. In some ways, I wish I could be like you. But I can't. Now if you don't mind, I need to get back to what I was doing—"

"I want to go live with Dad."

At this rate, Jenna thought, she'd never breathe again.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me."

"But…school. And your friends…"

"DeAnna's moving next month, and Tiffany's gotten all caught up in this new group, and…I don't know. It's just not the same." She shrugged. "I'd have to start over, anyway. Might as well be there."

"In Haven, Oklahoma."

"Yes, Jenna," Blair said patiently, as if she were the grown-up and Jenna the child. Which anyone eavesdropping on their conversation would have probably thought, anyway. "I like it a lot better than I thought I would. I don't know if I'd want to live there forever, but it's okay for now. And I like Maddie and Uncle Ryan and Uncle Cal. And the kids. And Dad's pretty cool, in a dorky kind of w-way." Then her face crumpled, two fat tears popping out and cruising down her cheeks. "And I can't stand it anymore, watching you be so unhappy and n-not knowing what to do about it!"

"Oh, sweetie…" Jenna was up and over to the love seat in a flash, gathering the weeping child into her arms. From the moment she'd made the decision to find Blair's father, she'd known losing her was a possibility. She'd never dreamed, however, that she'd be the one to drive her away. "I'm so sorry I've been such a wet blanket, I'll try to do better, I swear…."

But Blair was shaking her head against Jenna's chest. "I already told Dad I want to come," she said, pulling away and wiping her eyes. Jenna handed her a tissue. "And he said it was fine with him—" Blair loudly blew her nose, then looked up at Jenna through spiked cinnamon-colored lashes "—as long as it was okay with y-you. And you said it was up to me where I wanted to live."

Even though summer still had a few weeks to go, a chill tracked up Jenna's spine. "Yes, I know I did." Not even trying to keep the anguish out of her expression, she smoothed back her baby's hair. "Okay, fine. You can go. But you can't change your mind in two weeks. If you go, you stay."

"I know that. But I can come back at Thanksgiving, can't I?"

"You'd better!" Maybe it was better that she couldn't breathe, because that would only jostle the knife in her heart. "When…when do you want to go?"

Blair bit her lip. "As soon as possible? Like maybe this weekend, since school already started there? And is it okay if I take Meringue with me?"

"Sure, sweetie," Jenna said, pushing the words through her tight throat. Blair wrapped her arms around her neck and hugged, not with the abandon of a little girl who got what she most wanted for Christmas, Jenna thought, but cautiously, like someone who's not sure she got what she wanted after all.

Well. That was something Jenna knew all about, wasn't it?

* * *

"Libby's already called three times today," Hank said, finally ditching the Tulsa airport traffic and pulling out onto the highway. In her carrier on the seat between them, Meringue, not quite recovered from the mild sedative the vet had given her before the flight, meowed tentatively. You could almost hear the question mark at the end.

"I can't wait to see her," she said, but somehow, there wasn't quite as much enthusiasm as Hank might've expected.

"You havin' regrets? About coming?"

Blair seemed to think about this for a bit, then said, "Yes and no. I mean, I really did want to come back, but I hated leaving Jenna. But I couldn't stand being around her any longer, either. But I thought…"

"What?" Hank said, thinking there were an awful lot of "buts" in that explanation.

"I thought maybe, if I left, it'd make her change her mind. About you."

Oh, dear Lord. Hank gripped the steering wheel. "Are you tellin' me your coming out here was just some kind of stunt to get Jenna to follow?"

"No, I swear." At Hank's snort, however, she let out a sigh. "I didn't know what else to do, okay? It's like I told her…she's worse now than she was after Uncle Phil died. All she does is mope around, she hardly ever smiles, she never laughs, and you wouldn't believe how many bags of chips she's gone through." Then he felt her gaze sear the side of his face, even as his insides churned. "You've got to do something."

"Me? What the Sam Hill am I supposed to do?"

"Tell her she's being stupid?"

"Oh, yeah. That'd go over big."

"I mean it. She obviously loves you—"

The words knifed straight through him. "Which doesn't mean squat, honey," he said after the initial pain subsided, "if you're as scared as your aunt is."

"Why are you taking her side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side. I'm just telling you, there's nothing I or anyone else can do to change her mind until she's good and ready to have it changed. I know, honey. I've been there." And that was the only thing that had kept him from wanting to throttle her, that he did understand. Didn't matter that she wasn't being rational. Rational rarely had anything to do with people's fears. He understood that, too.

"Don't you want to be together?" Blair asked.

Hank glanced over, then back out to the highway. "More than I've ever wanted anything in my life."

"Then—"

"Blair, I'm sorry, but this is your aunt's problem to work out. Not mine. And she made it more'n clear to me before she left that us having a relationship was a dead issue. So do me a big favor and let it lie in peace, okay? Now—you want to stop by Ruby's when we get to town and get some lunch?"

"Whatever," Blair said, ramming her folded arms across her stomach.

They didn't have much to say to each other the rest of the way, which was good and bad. Good, because arguing with any female was hard on the nerves; arguing with a teenaged one was exhausting. And bad because the silence gave Hank far too much time to think about things he'd already been devoting too much time to over the past month, namely, what he could do to blast Jenna out of her cave. Especially if she was as miserable as Blair said she was.

But no matter how many ways he tried to look at the problem, he always came back to the same point, which was that there was no way in hell to force Jenna to see things his way. Much as he might like to.

At least, so he'd told himself a thousand times during the past month.

"I could stay with Maddie and Uncle Ryan. Or Libby," Blair said, making him start. He looked over, frowning at her smug expression.

"What are you talking about?"

She shoved a hunk of hair behind her ear. "When you go to D.C. To talk to Jenna," she added. In case she was being too subtle.

Hank suppressed a groan. Barely. "Didn't you hear a single blessed word I said back there?"

"Maybe she'd feel differently now. If you showed up."

"And maybe I'd just be wasting my time."

"Well, you'll never know unless you try, will you?"

Hank went ahead and let out that groan.

* * *

During the six or so hours since she'd put Blair on the plane for Tulsa, Jenna had finished up the third chapter of her new work-in-progress, chatted with both her agent and her editor, who were both thrilled with how well her book signing had gone—and although her editor had kept mum, her agent had hinted that there was talk about Moon over Oklahoma, the new book, going hardcover—gone grocery shopping, answered some fan mail, and sat on her sofa in a stupor until darkness swallowed the apartment.

Which is where she still was. Alone. No kid, no cat, no nothing save for the occasional whirr of her refrigerator or the whoosh of a car passing by.

But it was safe, right? Boring as hell, but safe.

She wondered what Blair was doing right now, if she was with Hank or whether she and Libby had already rebonded. She wondered if she was going to spend every day between now and Thanksgiving wondering about Blair.

And every day of the rest of her life wondering about Hank.

She knew they all thought she was crazy. Since she thought she was crazy, too, she could hardly blame them.

But this was safe. Painless.

Hunger finally impelled her off the sofa and into the kitchen, where she discovered she'd forgotten to replenish the chip stash when she was out. Bummer. So she made herself a ham and cheese sandwich, carrying the plate and a bottle of water into her office. Bookshelves lined one wall, full of reference books, other authors' works, her previously published Stella Moon mysteries. And in front of the books, photos—of her parents, of Blair…of Phil.

Of Phil, who'd refused to let her give in to the fears that would have kept her from going after her dream.

Who'd refused to sympathize with her whenever she got writer's block.

Who'd refused to let his illness rob him of his joy and love of life. Even at the end.

And this was how she was honoring him? By hiding in a twelve-by-twelve-foot room with a bunch of damn books for company?

Oh, for pity's sake. Step right up, folks and see the Stupid Lady, live and in person.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, only she wasn't sure who she was whispering it to, the man she'd loved for more than twenty years…or the one she loved with all her heart and soul now.

One good thing about stupidity, she thought, picking up the phone to call her department head: it didn't have to be terminal.

* * *

A middle-aged man on his way out held the door open for her. "You ever stay here before?" he asked with a smile, not seeming to notice—or care—that her entire left side was dripping wet. Her car window had jammed an inch from the top just past St. Louis…right as she headed into a storm system that had kept her company for the rest of the trip and left her jeans and sweatshirt clinging to her like a cold, nasty second skin.

"Um, yes, actually," Jenna said with a nervous smile, forking her hand through her damp tangles and trying to keep her teeth from chattering. "Last summer."

"It's a real nice place, isn't it?" he said. She agreed, and he went on his way, leaving her standing there with her heart pounding hard enough to crack a rib, apparently as invisible as a stray dog who'd slunk in when nobody was watching. Danny and SueEllen were both at the desk, signing in a young couple with two little boys; behind them, at the computer, sat Blair and Hank, arguing about something on the screen.

SueEllen, her belly just beginning to pooch underneath her obviously brand new maternity jumper, saw Jenna first and nudged Danny, who was in the process of handing over the keys to the family, who then streamed around her and out of the office, the kids giving her funny looks. Jenna put a finger to her lips before Danny could get his mouth open; Danny glanced behind him at Hank and Blair, still engrossed with whatever they'd pulled up on the Internet.

"Dad, that flight'll get into D.C. before lunchtime."

"Okay, okay, fine…"

Glowering, Hank grabbed the mouse. And Jenna heard herself say, "Going somewhere?"

Blair's head whipped up, a huge smile streaking across her face, followed by a squeal as she bolted from behind the counter and into Jenna's arms. But all Jenna saw was Hank, still seated behind the computer, gaping at her as if she were a ghost.

A second later, except for Jessye Norman's singing the hell out of some German lieder, they were alone.

Slowly, his throat convulsing, Hank rose from his chair and started around the counter, his eyes littered with questions and hope as he gathered speed, closing the last few feet between them in barely two strides and sweeping her into his arms. And Jenna, on a soft cry of relief and joy, wrapped her arms around his waist and hung on for dear life. They simply held each other for a long time, Hank's cheek pressed against the top of her head.

"I'm all wet," she finally said into his flannel shirt.

"Best news I've had all day," he rumbled, then cupped her face in his hands and kissed her until she got wetter.

Finally, they pried their mouths apart—a good thing, since another ten seconds and they'd have both keeled over from lack of oxygen—and Hank said, simply, "Why?" only to promptly start an assault on her jaw and neck and collarbone.

"Because," Jenna said, a little breathlessly, nearly over-whelmed—in a very good way—with all that male solidity pressed along the length of her body, "I couldn't afford a new wardrobe."

Hank chuckled, right next to her ear, then hugged her again.

"And," she added softly, "because it seemed kind of dumb to grieve someone who was still alive. It's like you said—I'd rather spend ten minutes with you, than a lifetime without."

He hugged her more tightly. After a minute, she lifted her head, her hands on his chest. "You were coming to see me?"

Love burned in his eyes. "I was coming to knock some sense into your head."

"Even after everything I'd said?"

"Yeah," he said, his thumbs whispering across her cheekbones, and she said, "Thank you for not giving up on me," and he kissed her again, hard, and said, "You're more'n welcome, sweetheart." Then he added, "You know, that's one scary kid we've got there."

She smiled, nearly giddy with the love she'd nearly denied both of them. And which, ultimately, was stronger than all their fears put together. "I know. Guess we're pretty lucky, huh?"

He skimmed a knuckle down her cheek and smiled back. "Damn lucky, honey. Damn lucky."

* * *

He and Jenna and Blair had a celebratory dinner at Ruby's, complete with chocolate shakes and Ruby's fried chicken for him and Jenna, while his daughter scarfed down a three-egg vegetarian omelette like she hadn't eaten in a year. Sure, there were things to work out yet, like Jenna's teaching job and how soon they could get married—Hank was all for a hurry-up deal at the courthouse next week, since it was obvious Jenna would never go for sharing his house, or his bed, with a thirteen-year-old in residence if they weren't married, but Blair was insisting they have a real wedding because she thought it would be cool to be a bridesmaid, which meant Hank saw a lot of overnights at Libby's in Blair's future, since no way in hell was he gonna be able to keep his hands off Jenna that long—but the major hurdles were behind them.

And the future beckoned, full of promise.

Seated beside him in the booth, Jenna slipped her hand into his, her chin propped in her other one as she listened to Blair go on and on and on about something one of Libby's dumb little brothers—her words—had done.

And Hank grinned, thinking, Fasten your seatbelt, Logan—things are just gettin' good.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-8090-2

FATHERS AND OTHER STRANGERS

Copyright © 2003 by Karen Templeton Berger

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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†How To Marry a Monarch

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†How To Marry a Monarch

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**The Men of Mayes County

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**The Men of Mayes County

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*Weddings, Inc.

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*Weddings, Inc.

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*Weddings, Inc.

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Table of Contents

KAREN TEMPLETON,

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16