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Private Lives
Gwynne Forster


After a bitter divorce, all cookbook author Allison Sawyer needs is some peace–and to lose herself in a kitchen, whipping up delectable meals. But the rustic retreat in the mountains offers more than seclusion. It offers one friendly and very fine neighbor.Torn between her attraction to Brock Lightner and her reluctance to get close to another man–especially one she suspects might be working for her powerful ex–Allison keeps her distance. But the remote, idyllic setting and Brock's rugged sensuality are an enticing combination.A private investigator looking to make a fresh start, Brock is intrigued by Allison. Who or what is she running from? And how can he convince her that he'll do anything to protect her…and to have the chance to love her?









“Well?” he said, his voice low, but insistent. He put his glass on the table and turned to her.


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Kiss me, sweetheart.”

He had never addressed her with such an endearment. Did he mean it? She gazed into his eyes, exposing her vulnerability. His fingers, warm, strong and masculine, worked their magic on her bare back and arms, sending tremors through her. They set her on fire wherever he touched.

She knew she was out of her league, and that he would expect more than she knew how to give. Her lips trembled when she said, “I’m not sophisticated, Brock. I only look as if I am. You…you can teach me what every woman longs to know and feel, because it’s never been mine.”

She tensed when he sucked in his breath, but he tightened his hold on her and whispered, “Do you want me to teach you?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. I do. I do.”




GWYNNE FORSTER


is a national bestselling author of twenty-three romance novels and novellas. She has also written four novels and a novella of general fiction. Gwynne has worked as a journalist, a university professor and as a senior officer for the United Nations. She holds B.A. and M.A. degrees in sociology, and an M.A. in economics/demography.

Gwynne sings in her church choir, loves to entertain at dinner parties, is a gourmet cook and an avid gardener. She enjoys jazz, opera, classical music and the blues. A devoted museum and art-gallery visitor, Gwynne lives in New York with her husband.





Private Lives


Essence Bestselling Author




Gwynne Forster





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve enjoyed this short period in the lives of Allison Sawyer and Brock Lightner. A woman and a man who, having tired of misplaced affection and ill-conceived perceptions of themselves, had decided to go it alone in the belief that having no relationship was better than the kinds of relationships they had in the past. Their struggles to deal with the possibility of true love are impeded by their unwillingness to take a chance, stubbornness and fear of the unknown—until the tide of love becomes so powerful that they haven’t the strength to resist it. I hope I’ve dealt well with these characters. I developed a particular affection for Brock, because I thought he knew how to support a woman in her endeavors without trying to make her dependent upon him—something Allison would not have tolerated.

Time was when the strong, harsh and hard hero was all the rage, but my taste is for men who have human frailties, but overcome them; who can hurt all the way to their souls and still stand strong for themselves, for their women and for their families; and who love their women above and beyond all else. I believe my hero is such a man. Let me know whether you agree.

Kimani Press is reissuing several of my early bestselling titles. Obsession, Beyond Desire and Secret Desire, all-time favorites with my readers, were the reissues for the year 2008. Swept Away, Fools Rush In and Scarlet Woman will be reissued in 2009. All of these are Kimani Arabesque titles, so keep a sharp lookout.

I love to receive mail, so don’t forget to keep my mailbox full. If you send me a self-addressed and stamped legal-size envelope, I’ll send you an autographed bookplate and information about my next release and my book-signing tours. You may write to me at P.O. Box 45, New York, New York 100044-0045. You can visit me online at www.gwynneforster.com.

My thanks for your continued support.

With best wishes,

Gwynne Forster


To my husband, whose strength and courage in the

face of personal difficulties is admirable beyond

words, and for his unswerving support and the joy,

the love with which he fills my life. And to my

stepson, a distinguished engineer, who always finds

time to install/explain/repair his parents’ computers,

printers, phones and other gadgets, to brighten our

lives in other ways and to travel several hundred miles

in order to do it. No woman has a more loving and

supportive husband and son. As always, I thank God

for my talents and for the opportunities to use them.




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 1


So this was it! Allison Sawyer parked in front of the rustic-looking log cabin, turned off the engine and rested her head on the steering wheel of her blue Audi.

“What’s the matter, Mom?”

She put on her brightest smile and looked back at five-year-old Dudley. “Everything’s fine, son. Just fine.” She’d come to the right place. He’d never find them there. With the help of her older sister, Ellen, she hadn’t left any tracks to follow, or at least she’d hoped so. She got out, looked around and breathed deeply the Adirondack mountain air. She unlatched Dudley’s car seat, and he jumped out of the car, grabbed her hand and gazed up at her with a broad smile on his face. He loved the outdoors, and woods were all around them. She felt as if she was about to burst.

After a lifetime of trying to please first her father, whom she adored, and then her much older ex-husband, now she had to please only herself.

“I don’t really have any idea who I am,” she said under her breath as she unlocked the cabin door. “I guess I’m in for a surprise.” She walked into the cabin, which for the foreseeable future, would be her home. She looked around. Not bad, she thought. It could have been far worse, and the chances of Lawrence Sawyer finding her were remote.



Alexandria, Virginia’s muggy summer heat did not appeal to Brock Lightner any more than the garden parties and formal shindigs of his fancy friends and neighbors. He had no intention of trussing himself into a summer, white tuxedo like a turkey stuffed for Thanksgiving, just to escort his unattached female friends, society matrons and politicians’ wives to the round of Beltway receptions and parties. When he told them that he was a private investigator, their gazes would sometimes move from his face to his crotch. He had tried to let them know that just because his occupation was sometimes dangerous, it didn’t necessarily indicate sexual prowess. Now he was sick of it, and vowed that there’d be some changes made.

That morning Brock locked the back door of his Alexandria town house, got into his SUV with his German shepherd, Jack, and headed for the cabin he’d had custom-built to his specifications in the Adirondack Mountains. The one thing he hated about his mountain retreat was that he’d be without his piano for nearly a year. From now on, when he got the urge to make music, his guitar would have to suffice. As he drove, he envisioned the changes he’d make in his life. For starters, his days as a private investigator were behind him. When he returned to Alexandria, it would be to resume his career as a lawyer. For the next twelve months, though, he planned to write a memoir about his adventures as a private detective.



After the seven-hour trip, Brock arrived at Indian Lake shortly before sundown. He found his cabin just as he’d left it the previous September and settled in. At dusk, he noticed a light coming from the only other cabin within miles and decided that he’d better check it out. As far as he knew, the cabin had not been occupied for the past two years.

“Come on, boy,” he said, patting Jack on his haunches. “Let’s go.” He jogged up the hill wondering what and who he’d find. He rubbed Jack’s back, his signal that the dog should be gentle, and knocked on the door. Brock heard someone slip the door chain into place before cracking the door ever so slightly to take a look at him.

From what he could tell, the woman peering out at him was tall. He smiled at her and the door opened a tiny bit more. Shock waves coursed through him as he got a good look at her beautiful, oval-shaped brown face with its flawless skin. He’d never seen such eyes, large, light brown almond-shaped orbs beneath long black lashes. He wondered if he was seeing a mirage. The slight wrinkle that flashed across her forehead gave her a look of vulnerability. He immediately felt the urge to protect her. But why would he want to protect a woman he hadn’t even gotten a good look at?

He inhaled deeply and heard himself say, “I’m your neighbor down the hill. I just arrived today and was surprised to see anyone up here. This place isn’t usually occupied, so when I saw a light, I thought I’d check it out. My name’s Brock Lightner.”

The woman closed the door, appeared to test the strength of the security chain and opened the door a little wider than before. “Glad to meet you,” she said in a soft, refined voice. This time he got a good look at the beauty before him. Just the woman to take his mind off his work, he thought.

It struck him that she wasn’t particularly friendly, or maybe she was just being careful. After all, a smart woman wouldn’t open her door to a strange man in such an isolated place, especially not at night. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I hope we’ll be good neighbors.” There was an awkward silence between them. Then he tightened his hold on Jack’s leash and said, “Well, I’ll be headed home.”

He’d never felt anything like that before. And he knew if she wasn’t married, he’d be back there, and not just once. He sensed that she was there alone. If a man had been with her, he would have been the one to open the door, because darkness had already set in.



Allison quickly closed the door after Brock Lightner left so abruptly. His visit raised concerns, but they revolved around her fear that he was someone her ex-husband had hired to follow her. She had remained in Washington, D.C., after the divorce, but avoiding her rich and powerful ex-husband had been a full-time job. After living for short periods of time in North Carolina, Louisiana, Tennessee and Nevada to throw him off her trail, she decided to settle in this remote cabin near Indian Lake, off Route 28 in the Adirondack Mountains.

Allison’s marriage to Lawrence Sawyer had been rocky. When they divorced, she was given sole custody of their son after her husband was charged with child abuse, a decision that Lawrence regarded as a personal insult and for which he swore revenge. Being a single parent barely thirty years old might have tested some women. But Allison’s relationships had convinced her that it was probably for the best.

“Who was that man, Mommie?”

“He lives down the hill. But I want you to remember that you’re not to talk to strangers. And if anyone tries to grab you, remember what I taught you to do?”

“Yes, Mommie.”

Allison was startled when the phone suddenly rang. She twirled around and rushed to answer it. “Hi,” she said, recognizing the voice of her older sister, Ellen. She sat down. “My God, you won’t believe it but there’s someone else nearby.”

“Who?”

“I’ve never seen anyone like him. That man smiled and my blood turned red hot.”

“You’re kidding me,” Ellen said with a note of disbelief. “Well, you won’t find anyone like that here in the nation’s capital. Be careful.”

“I plan to. It would be just like Lawrence to try to trick me with a good-looking man.”

“You always said you had the strength of Hercules. Now you can prove it to yourself by resisting this guy.”

Allison slumped in the chair. “I am not looking forward to it.” She hung up the phone and turned to see her son, Dudley, staring at her with a quizzical expression on his face.



“Is the man coming back to see us, Mommie?” Dudley asked after Allison had read him a bedtime story and tucked him in.

“I don’t know. We don’t know him, so we have to be careful. Close your eyes and imagine you’re on a nice sunny beach while I read another story about the little boy who loved to build sand castles.” She read until he went to sleep, turned out the light and went to her room.

Why am I suddenly so awfully lonely? This isn’t like me, Allison thought as she lay in bed. She gazed out of her window at the moon, cold and distant, shining through the trees. “He’s tantalizing, all right,” she said aloud, “but I’m not falling into that trap.”

As they usually did on Saturdays, Allison and Dudley got into her car the next day and drove to the only supermarket within twenty miles. When she approached the butcher’s counter, she saw Brock and spun around, hoping to get out of his way before he saw her. But apparently she did not move fast enough.

“Well, how nice to see you again,” Brock said. “Maybe you can give me a few tips about cooking beef. I’m not familiar with this cut.”

When he stood at her door the night before, she had glimpsed very little of him other than his remarkable face and impressive height. Now her breath shortened at the sight of his lean, muscular thighs and beautifully shaped legs protruding from Bermuda shorts that covered one of the nicest, tightest butts she’d ever seen on a man. She wasn’t quite sure of her facial expression, but she was certain that a gaping mouth didn’t flatter her.

“I, uh…I beg your pardon,” she said.

He repeated the request and stepped closer. “This is a lot for a guy to figure out. Which steak is tender?” A grin floated across his face. “Maybe it isn’t steak. I want something to grill in a hurry that will be tender.”

“Try that filet mignon,” she said, pointing to the cut of beef. He stood in front of her and she couldn’t move away. “Would you mind…?”

His gaze was on her and he didn’t smile. Her hand went to her chest as if she could stop the racing of her heart, and still he stared. His eyes seemed to draw her to him. Trembling, she must have swayed toward him because his hand reached out to steady her. He didn’t release her and he kept his gaze locked on hers, holding her captive.

“Mommie, Mr. Wood showed me a big dog out there.”

Dudley’s voice brought her to her senses. “I…I have to go,” she said, though she wasn’t obliged to give the man an explanation. “Come back here. I don’t want you near that dog.”

“He won’t hurt him,” Brock said.

“Is he your dog, mister?” Dudley asked.

“Yes, he is. His name is Jack and he won’t hurt anybody unless that person hurts him or threatens me.”

“Gee, can I play with him?”

Brock glanced at Allison before answering Dudley. “Ask your mother. We’ll do whatever she says.”

“Come on, son,” she said and left without saying goodbye.



By the time Brock finished his shopping and stood outside, he saw no trace of the woman he’d met in the nearby cabin. She still hadn’t introduced herself or divulged her name and she avoided calling her child by name. Clearly she had something to hide. Hmm. He’d have to think about that. One thing was certain: she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. Facing one another in the grocery store, he realized that he’d stirred something in her that made her tremble and almost lose her balance. She had a child, and probably a husband, so he’d better get a grip. He doubted that he had fooled her into thinking he didn’t know one cut of beef from another. He’d just needed an excuse to talk to her, and she was probably smart enough to figure that out.

Using his cell phone, he called the telephone company Monday morning and asked that his house phone be connected. “So you’re back!” the customer rep said. “For you, anything. It’s been pretty dull around here ever since you left last September. You coming to the harvest fest this year?”

“That’s months off, Marge. We’ll see. How are you?”

“Same old, same old. Only difference is now we got a TV here in the office and a couple of chairs for people to sit in. Did some lucky gal marry you since you left here?”

He couldn’t help laughing. Marge asked him that question every year when he returned to his cabin and called to have his phone reconnected. “I’m over the hill, Marge,” he said, which was his usual reply.

“Shucks, Brock. Ain’t a woman under ninety who wouldn’t marry you if she got the chance. Those over ninety would, too, if they could see what you looked like. I’m making biscuits when I get home. Drop by around five-thirty if you want some.”

“You didn’t have to add that last part. I’ll be there. Thanks, Marge, for the welcome.” To his mind, Marge offered just enough mothering to make him feel at home, and although she was naturally friendly, she didn’t pry. She was probably around sixty, he imagined, and that was part of her charm. That plus the fact that she adored a man she’d lived with for over thirty years and who would have married her if she’d been willing.

He put Jack in his SUV and drove to Marge’s house. “Well, don’t you look good,” Marge said, opening the back screen door and coming out to greet him.

He hugged her. “You’re the one. Where’s Bob?”

“Come on in. Bob just brought in some pike he caught in the big lake over in Sabael. I cleaned a couple for you. Sit down. Bob’s in the shower.”

“Have you met my neighbor?” he asked Marge, getting around to the real reason for his agreeing to come to her house.

“Allison? We’ve met, but she stays to herself. The only reason I know her name is because I work for the telephone company. She’ll go up there to the office and pay her bill, but she’s yet to introduce anybody to her child. That little boy of hers must be suffering for somebody to play with. He ought to have playmates. I suggested to her that he’d meet some children in Sunday school, but I coulda been talking to the wind.”

“Is her husband with her?”

“If he is, nobody up here’s seen him. Be careful where you step, son. She’s a real looker and she’s got good manners, but she’s as tight as a drum.”

“Why do you think I’m interested?”

Marge threw back her head and released a guffaw. “’Cause you’re a young, healthy man with plenty of testosterone. That’s why. Here. Try these.” She put three hot biscuits on a plate along with butter and homemade jam.

He bit into a biscuit. “You’re still rockin’, Marge. I could make a meal of these. Why do you think my neighbor shies away from people?”

“You asking me? Why would a young, attractive woman move up here and hide away in the woods with a five-year-old? Every man in Indian Lake has asked me about her.”

“How long has she been up here?”

“Since late April. It was still snowing when she got here. Nobody moves here that time of year. People come in the summer.”

“I know. Thanks for the goodies and for my fish. Come over and pick some raspberries. They’re ready to fall off the bushes.”

“I’ll send Bob over. Thanks.” He bade her goodbye and headed home. Something told him he’d better stop thinking about that woman. He slowed his SUV as he passed her cabin, saw a light and shook his head. Maybe when he got to know her, and he would, he’d discover that she wasn’t an enigma at all.



On Sunday morning he jumped out of bed, startled by Jack’s barking, and ran to the back door. He looked out and saw a long-antlered deer at his back fence. He dressed, went outside, tossed a few pebbles at the deer and chased it away. Deciding to go for a walk, he put a leash on Jack and headed up a trail leading to a small lake about a mile from the highway. What on earth? He reached down and rubbed Jack’s back. What was this kid doing alone on a trail in the woods?

“Hi. Are you lost?” he asked as the boy got nearer.

“I don’t know. I was looking for your dog. I wanted to play with him.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “Did you ask your mother?”

“No, sir. She’d say no. But you said he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That’s right. I did. What’s your name?”

“Dudley.”

“Well, Dudley, I’d better introduce you to Jack properly. Give me your hands.” He let Jack smell the boy’s hands. “Now pat him gently on the head. You see. He’s wagging his tail and that means he’s friendly. Whenever a dog’s tail is sticking straight up and not moving, that means the dog is probably dangerous and you shouldn’t go near him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Jack isn’t dangerous ’cause he’s wagging his tail.”

“Dudley, what are you doing here? Where have you been?”

If he’d ever heard the sound of panic, that was it. The woman charged toward them, with tears streaming down her face, and grabbed her son. Jack’s growl startled her and she jumped back.

“Easy, boy.” He rubbed Jack’s back. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my dog just made friends with Dudley and he’s trying to protect the boy from you. The dog doesn’t know you. Would you mind holding out your hands?”

She stared at him. “It’s all right, Mommie. Jack wants to be friends. His tail isn’t sticking up, so he won’t hurt you.” She allowed the dog to sniff her hands and then patted him on the head as Brock suggested. Then Brock lifted Dudley and placed the boy in her arms. She hugged him, but put him down at once because of his weight.

“I thought I’d go crazy. I didn’t know where he was.”

“I was looking for Jack,” Dudley said. “I wanted to play with him.”

“Don’t do this again,” Brock said to the boy, now convinced that the woman was a single mother. “Jack just chased a big deer away from my back fence. All kinds of wild animals live in these woods, Dudley, and they’ll hurt you.” He looked at her, frightened and vulnerable, and it took a lot of willpower to resist taking her in his arms and comforting her. “You’ve never told me your name.” He sounded so cool that he almost laughed at himself.

“It’s Allison Sawyer,” Dudley said, “and we live in that red house up there.”



Allison didn’t have to be told that the expression on her face when she looked at Dudley was not what anyone would describe as motherly. “How are you, Mr. Lightner? Thank you for intercepting Dudley.” She wanted to kick herself. She had inadvertently let him know that she’d remembered his name.

“How did he get out of the house without your knowing it? And if I may say so, you ought to keep your fence locked. Some of the animals around here, bears included, will come right up to your door if they smell food.”

Dudley took a few steps closer to Brock and looked up at him. “I turned the lock and opened the door.”

Allison could see that Dudley had jettisoned her plan to avoid Brock Lightner and she didn’t know what she could do about it. The man gazed down at her intently, as if he were testing the water before diving into it.

“Don’t you think you should change the lock on that door? If he can get out so easily, someone may get in just as easily.”

The man’s eyes seemed to suck her in like quicksand. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t stop looking at him? “That’s…I’ll see if someone up at the general store can fix it for me,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like hers. “Thanks for your kindness. Come along, Dudley.”

“But, Mommie!”

“Did you hear me? I said come on.” She didn’t look at Brock Lightner because she knew he was judging her, and unfairly, too. But she had to protect her son and she didn’t know the man or his reason for being in Indian Lake. Dudley poked out his bottom lip and prepared to cry. But she ignored that, grabbed his hand with more force that she’d intended and turned to head up the road. She noticed that Brock tightened his hold on the dog’s leash and stopped.

“I thought you said he isn’t dangerous.”

“He isn’t right now, but he’s agitated because Dudley’s crying and you pulled him a little roughly. Jack has established a bond with Dudley.”

“Believe me, Dudley can test a saint when he puts himself to it. Goodbye.”

“Can we pick some raspberries, Mommie?”

“No, Dudley. We are going home. I have a lot of work to do.”

Later she put Dudley on a stool in her kitchen and looked him in the eye. “You did a very bad and very dangerous thing when you sneaked out and wandered into those woods. You heard what Mr. Lightner said about the wild animals. They can hurt you very badly. If you ever do that again, I am going to lock you in your room. Do you understand?”

The boy reached up and pinched her chin. “You ate some ginger snaps, Mommie. There’s a little piece right there.”

She stared at him for a second. He giggled, having learned how to charm his way out of trouble and, even though she knew he was trying to snow her, she laughed and hugged him. She couldn’t help it. He was the delight of her life. The ringing of the telephone saved her from further disciplining him.

“Hello.” She never identified herself when answering the telephone.

“Allison? This is Layla. How’s that rewrite coming?”

“Kicking and screaming. It’s like pulling hens’ teeth and they don’t have any teeth. There isn’t a whole lot you can say about white icing, Layla. But with so many people allergic to chocolate, cooks are going to have to learn how to make creamy white icing.”

“That’s why you’re doing this cookbook. The sales force is on my back, Allison,” Layla continued.

“It’s not due until next week.”

“I know, but you said you could have it in early. Oh, well. How’s Dudley?”

“Holding up my work, as usual. Otherwise, I’m happy to say he’s fine.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to receiving your precious manuscript in my hands next Wednesday.”

“Don’t worry. It will be there.” She hung up and hurried back to the kitchen where Dudley remained on the stool.

“Mommie, why can’t I play with Jack? If I can’t play with Jack, can I have a dog?”

“I don’t know anything about taking care of dogs. Now if you’ll let me work for a couple of hours, I promise to find you a guitar teacher. You did really well in your math and reading this morning. Why don’t you work on that map?”

“I’m going to start on a new map.” He jumped down and went to his room.

Maybe moving to such an isolated place had been a bad decision. Dudley needed playmates and he didn’t have access to libraries, museums or other activities. But what could she do? If Lawrence kidnapped Dudley and whisked him out of the country, as he’d threatened to do, she’d never see her child again. She made a pot of coffee and forced herself to focus on her work. Looking at the computer screen, her mind’s eye conjured up Brock Lightner’s sleepy, light brown eyes and the dimple in his left cheek that had seduced her into believing he was harmless.

Maybe the man wasn’t all that interesting and the problem wasn’t him but her loneliness. Maybe she should pack up and head west. She rubbed her hands as if in despair and closed her eyes. Snap out of it, Allison. You have to finish this book!



Brock decided to go back home and get to work. He couldn’t understand Allison Sawyer’s skittishness around him, although he could understand why an intelligent woman would not allow her child to go off with a stranger. As soon as he managed to find out where she’d lived before, he’d have all the information he needed to know. He hadn’t spent ten years as a successful private investigator for no reason. She was on the lam, either from the law or someone, and nothing would make him believe otherwise.

He remembered that he hadn’t talked with his mother for a couple of days and phoned her. “It’s great to be back up here,” he told her. “First chance I get, I’m going over to the big Indian Lake and try to catch some striped bass. At this small lake over here, people fish for pike and sunfish.”

“Don’t try talking around me, Brock. I want to know if you’ve definitely given up being a private investigator. I worry every minute. It’s so dangerous.”

“Good grief! Well, you can put that behind you. I’m writing an account of my experiences and that’s a good way to get it out of my system.”

“I don’t suppose there’re any nice girls up there.”

The chuckle that began deep in his throat exploded into a laugh. “Mom, the village probably doesn’t have more than two hundred and fifty people, if that many. The post office and the bank are three miles up the road. One supermarket nearby serves everyone in a ten-mile radius. How’s Dad?”

“Reginald’s playing golf. One day last week, he shot a seventy-two and there’s no living with him.”

It sounded like a complaint, but he heard the pride in her voice. “Good for him. I’ll be in touch.”

Now, if I can get one page written, I can say I’ve started. But do I write it as fiction or nonfiction? He’d thought about that question for weeks and hadn’t come to a conclusion. He called his brother, Justin.

“You want to sound clever or you want to make some money?” Justin said—always the practical one—when Brock put the question to him.

“I want to make some money and I want to get investigating out of my system.”

“Then you can figure out the answer,” Justin said. “I know what I’d do.”

“Write a fictionalized first-person account. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He opened his laptop and started typing, attacking the story as if it were an enemy. After two hours, he printed out eight double-spaced pages, got a cup of coffee, went out on his deck and sat down to read what he’d written and decide whether he liked it or not. Jack settled beside his chair. He’d read for only a few minutes when Jack jumped up and growled. He’d never seen a wild boar up there, but there was no mistaking the tusks protruding from its mouth. He didn’t like shooting animals, but if he saw it again, he’d have to eat a lot of roast pig. He didn’t want Jack near the animal because it posed a danger even for bears. He walked out to the gate, threw a few sticks and drove the boar away.



The following morning, shortly after seven, he put Jack on a leash and jogged down a trail toward the Adirondack Lake, exercising himself and his dog. He saw Dudley at about the same time as Jack barked and stopped.

“Dudley, where is your mother?”

“She’s asleep, I think.”

He hunkered beside the boy. “How many times have you wandered out of the house without letting your mother know about it?”

Dudley looked him straight in the face, then he patted Jack on the back. “Lots of times.”

“Why do you disobey your mother?”

Dudley looked down at his feet and then gazed up at him with the saddest eyes that he’d seen in a child’s face. “The house is so small and I like it outside. I already did my lessons this morning.”

“Where is your father, Dudley?”

“He doesn’t live with us.”

“Then you have to learn to obey your mother. Come on.” He took the boy’s hand and started for Allison Sawyer’s house. To his amazement, Dudley didn’t resist going home. Indeed he seemed happy to hold Brock’s hand. He knocked on Allison’s front door.

“She’s asleep, Mr. Lightner, and I think she’s going to send me to my room.”

After a few minutes, the door opened and Allison stared up at him with a questioning expression on her face. For an answer, he looked down at Dudley.

“Oh, my Lord. Don’t tell me he was out there again,” she said in a voice laced with fear.

“You didn’t repair that lock, did you?”

She seemed defeated. “I have a deadline to meet and when he promised not to sneak out again, I decided to wait to change the locks.”

Better to shock her now than to cry with her later. He didn’t spare her. “Yesterday afternoon, I chased a wild boar from my gate. Those animals will attack a bear. If Dudley encountered one, I doubt you’d see him alive again.”

Her almost-plaintive expression opened a hole inside of him and he grasped her shoulder. “You don’t have to replace the locks. I’ll do it for you. Now. Today. You can’t watch him every minute. If it’s the money…”

She shook her head. “No, it isn’t that and I thank you for bringing him home. I’d die if anything happened to my child.”

“I know you would. I’ll be glad to run up to the store and get the locks and a chain for that fence, but I suspect you’d feel safer knowing you were the only one with the keys. I take it your windows lock. Right?”

“Yes, they do. Thank you,” she said. “I’ll drive to the store and get the locks, and I should have them around noon. Thanks. I…I appreciate your help, Mr. Lightner.”

She had a way of looking at him that made him feel as if he could twist iron with his bare hands. His breath shortened and he forced himself to look away from her. “It seems as if Jack is taken with Dudley. I suppose even dogs need playmates. I’ll see you later.”



“Can I go stay with Jack and Mr. Lightner, Mommie?”

“No, darling. We shouldn’t impose on our neighbor.” She wanted to move, but Brock wouldn’t let her. His gaze was like fingers stroking and caressing her body, warm and seductively.

He took a small notepad from his pocket, made a step toward her and said, “Call me when you get home. This is my cell-phone number.” He wrote the number on the pad, tore it off and handed it to her. A smile played around his mouth, making his full, bottom lip even more inviting. “The sooner we do this, the better.”

He said it softly, but there was no mistaking his meaning. She knew he was talking about the locks, but his words sent jolts of excitement through her, upping the sexual tension between them as well.

When Dudley began to pout, Brock patted the boy’s shoulder. “Good boys always obey their mothers. See you soon.”

Dudley reached toward Allison and took her hand. “Come on, Mommie. Let’s go get the locks now so he can fix the door.” She stared at him. In all his five years, that was the first time he’d given in without creating a scene. She realized it was also the first time he had received a gentle reprimand from a man. When Allison had left his father, Dudley had only known abuse. Lawrence had responded to Dudley’s stubbornness by slapping him, which was particularly abusive punishment for a toddler less than three.

Maybe she was doing the wrong thing. But she knew she’d been fooling herself if she thought that Dudley wouldn’t sneak out again and she couldn’t risk that. She strapped him in the backseat of her car, got in and drove up Route 28. At the general store she bought locks and a length of heavy chain to secure the wire fence.

“Buy some hot dogs, Mommie, and let’s have a picnic.”

She didn’t have time for a picnic, but Dudley needed a diversion, so she went next door to the supermarket and bought what she needed for an outdoor picnic. She’d told Brock that she’d be back home in an hour, but when he neither called nor came, her temper began to rise.

“He gave you his cell-phone number, Mommie,” Dudley said when she grumbled about it.

She hadn’t intended to use that number, but what choice did she have now if she didn’t want to risk Dudley sneaking out the next morning before she got up. She dialed his number.

“Mr. Lightner, this is Allison Sawyer,” she said when he answered. “I’m back home with the locks and the chain.”

“Good. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

When his voice seemed to trail off, she realized that he didn’t know how to terminate the conversation, at least not to his satisfaction. This is terrible, she thought. I do not like where we seem to be headed and I am not going there.

“Mommie, I’m hungry. Can we have the picnic now?”

“Mr. Lightner is coming to change the locks, so we’ll have to wait.”

He agreed without protest and she thought nothing of it. However, when Brock arrived with Jack, Dudley ran to embrace the big German shepherd and said to the dog, “We’re going to have a picnic, Jack. Do you like hot dogs?” Jack wagged his tail.

Stunned by the child’s deviousness, she threw up her hands and looked at Brock. “He’s five years old. How am I going to manage when he’s fifteen?”

“It’ll probably be a lot easier then,” Brock said. She gave him the locks and chain and walked toward the kitchen, intent upon leaving Brock alone with the job.

“This’ll go much faster and smoother if you hold this lock in place while I get this screw started,” he said. “These Segal dead-bolt locks are almost tamper-proof. I’m glad you got one for the front door as well. Here, hold this for me.”

She stood inches from him, watching his biceps flex as he forced the screws into the door’s hard wood. She looked at his fingers, long, lean and tapered, capable of giving a woman pleasure after pleasure, and her attention strayed from the task at hand as her gaze traveled over his long, lean frame. She sucked in her breath and his head whipped around. With one hand on the screwdriver and the other on the screw, he stood motionless, gazing into her eyes. She swallowed hard and tried without success to shift her gaze, for he held her spellbound.

“Are you going to invite me to your picnic?” he asked in words so soft that she barely heard him. “Are you?”

She managed to break contact with his eyes, but her gaze caught the chest hairs exposed by the open placket of his T-shirt and traveled to his bare arms, so muscular and strong.

“Well?” he said.

“Uh. Yes, of course,” she replied, shaking herself out of the trance. “As soon as…Can you fix the back gate today, too?”

“I’ll do that and anything else you need done,” he said in a tone that told her to take it any way she wanted to.




Chapter 2


Brock tested the locks. Satisfied that to enter the house, an intruder either had to use a key or take the door off its hinges, he headed out to the seven-foot-high fence that protected the back deck. If Allison Sawyer was living in a state of denial, he definitely was not. It took him only a couple of minutes to loop the chain through the welded-wire fence and hook it with a heavy-duty padlock. He brushed something from his shorts and went back into the house without knocking.

Allison looked up at him. “Mind if I clean my hands somewhere?” he asked, barely able to control his urge to laugh. “Oh, yeah, and if we’re going to have a picnic, please fix a couple of extra hot dogs. I’m starving,” he said over his shoulder, aware that he’d unsettled her.

“Thanks for replacing the locks and fixing that fence,” she said, when he came out of the bathroom. “I feel a lot safer.”

“My pleasure. If I were you, I wouldn’t leave food scraps in that trash can back there. It’s a good idea to put it on the road around nine in the morning. The garbage collector passes here at ten. You’ll attract fewer wild animals, although that’s hardly avoidable in the cold months.”

“How long have you been coming up here?” she asked Brock.

“This will be my sixth summer, but it’s the first time I planned to spend the winter here as well.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why?”

Brock explained that he was trying to finish a book, but didn’t tell Allison what it was about.

“If you need peace and quiet while you write, this is definitely the place for it,” she said.

He hated small talk and he could see that she was comfortable with it. “Want me to help you prepare the food? I’m handy in the kitchen.”

“It’s about ready. I suspect you’re handy with a lot of things,” she said and winced, apparently realizing the embarrassing double entendre.

He rewarded her with a grin and a wicked wink. “Like I said. I’m real handy around the house.” He would stop meddling with her if she’d come down off her high horse, but he had a feeling she didn’t plan to do that, so he said, “Are you going to make me call you Mrs. Sawyer forever? I’d be a lot more comfortable eating your hot dogs if you’d call me Brock.” He looked around. “Where’s Dudley?”

“Out back on the deck with Jack. I’d better check. I don’t want Dudley near that fire.”

“If he went too close to it, Jack would bark. My dog knows the danger of fire.” And he could feel a different kind of fire circling around them, hemming them behind an emotional barrier from which they might never escape.

“Are you married?” he blurted out, even though he knew it wasn’t the time for that question.

“Not any longer.” She looked up at him, open and vulnerable. “Are you?”

“I’ve never been married.”

“But you must be—”

He interrupted her. “I’m thirty-four, and we’d better get to that picnic before things change here.”

“Yeah.” She handed him a plastic tablecloth and napkins. “There’s a table on the deck,” she said, and headed for the kitchen. At least she hadn’t denied the heat between them.

As he set the table, he marveled at Dudley’s affection for Jack and the gentleness with which the dog played with the child. “Don’t ever get rough with him, Dudley. Treat him the way you want him to treat you.”

“Oh, I won’t hurt him, Mr. Lightner. He’s my friend.”

Allison put strips of carrots, sliced tomatoes, warm hot dog rolls, potato salad and sliced hard-boiled eggs on the table, and removed the hot dogs and toasted marshmallows from the grill and put them on the table. She looked at him. “I don’t have any beer. Would you like some white wine?”

“Thanks, but I don’t drink anything alcoholic midday. Lemonade or something like that will do the trick.” He didn’t say that he rarely drank anything, other than wine at dinner; for the time being, she’d learned enough about him. She brought iced tea for them and ginger ale for Dudley.

“What can I give Jack?” Dudley asked them.

He didn’t allow anyone to feed his dog, because he didn’t want Jack to obey anyone but him. “He’s not hungry. I fed him a short while before we left home.” He beckoned to Jack. “Sit here.” Jack settled on the floor beside Brock and closed his eyes.

“We have raspberries for dessert,” she said and served them with a dollop of whipped cream. “I bought them yesterday morning, so they’re still fresh.”

As he ate the berries, he looked at her, hoping for a hint as to the direction she wanted their relationship to take, but she looked everywhere except at him. He wished she wouldn’t be so nervous, that she’d feel comfortable with him. He figured that because she’d been married, at least long enough to produce a child, she should know how to hold her own with a man. He’d get to the bottom of that, but he sensed that she was not a worldly woman and he’d better tread with care. He took his plate to the kitchen, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. As he turned to leave the kitchen, he saw that Dudley had followed him.

“Can I clean my plate, too, Mr. Lightner?”

“Absolutely. Little boys should do everything they can to help their mother, and that includes obeying her.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood on tiptoe to rinse the plate and then put it in the dishwasher. “Will you come to see us again, Mr. Lightner?”

“If it pleases your mother, I will.” At that moment, he saw from his peripheral vision that she stood just behind him and made a snap decision to go home. He didn’t crowd women, especially if they weren’t on equal footing with him. He was in her house and he wanted her to know that he knew he didn’t belong there.

“Thanks for your hospitality, Allison. If you need me for anything at all, you have my cell-phone number.” To Dudley, he said, “Be a good boy and obey your mother. Don’t go out of this house unless she’s with you. Got that?”

“Yes, sir. I got that.” The boy hugged Jack and then looked up at him. He hunkered in front of the child and put his arms around him. “Thanks for inviting me to your picnic. I enjoyed it. Bye for now.” He stood, looked down at Allison, winked at her and left.



Brock left Allison in a dilemma. If he’d moved to Indian Lake at the behest of her ex-husband, would he make it impossible for him to get into her house without her permission, and would he have to remain in that tiny hamlet for eight or ten months in order to accomplish his mission? It didn’t seem likely, but she had learned that Lawrence Sawyer would go to great lengths to get what he wanted. Brock Lightner had a worldly, almost jaded, demeanor that fascinated and excited her. Young, strong, muscular and sensitive, too. What was it like to have that kind of man make love to you?

She’d married a man twenty-two years her senior. In her youthful innocence, their long and romantic walks in Washington, D.C’s Rock Creek Park had seemed idyllic. And his delight in reading to her beside her parents’ fireplace on cold evenings had seemed to her like domestic bliss. It had not occurred to her that his willingness to postpone sexual intimacy until after their marriage wasn’t necessarily a good thing; her married girlfriends didn’t discuss their sexual experiences with her. But once married, she learned that Lawrence considered sex his right no matter how she felt about it, and that in their bed, he took selfishness to the extreme. She bought some books on the subject and confirmed her belief that she wasn’t getting her due. He didn’t want children, and after she had Dudley, he showed no interest in her, other than to parade her at his social and business affairs. He had no patience with their son, and when Dudley should have been reprimanded or corrected, Lawrence abused him with physical punishment. Although she had long since stopped loving Lawrence and realized after little more than a year that their marriage could not last, it was for his treatment of Dudley that she divorced him.

“Mommie, can Mr. Lightner come to see us again?” Dudley asked her, interrupting her reverie of the past. “I like Mr. Lightner.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “Right now, I want you to take a nap. After you wake up, you must read for an hour and then we’ll go to the post office.”

“All right, Mommie. Can you get me a book about dogs and puppies?”

She told him she would and watched in awe as he pulled off his shoes and clothes and started to his room. “Can I have a kiss?” she asked him. He turned back, kissed her quickly and said, “I have to hurry and finish my nap, so I can read.”

Was this her Dudley? Normally, he had a fit when she told him to take a nap. “Is Providence playing a joke on me?” she asked aloud. “Brock told him to obey me and look at him.” She threw up her hands and went back to her computer. Revising that book had become a chore, one that she wanted to finish as quickly as possible. The telephone rang. She saw her editor’s phone number on the caller ID screen and lifted the receiver.

“Hi, Layla.”

“Hi. You’re not going to like what I have to say, but it will make your book a top seller.”

Allison blew out a long breath and pounded her right fist on her desk. “What is it?”

“Best Bet Publishers just released a dessert cookbook almost identical to yours. We won’t be able to sell yours unless you include pictures of the finished products.”

“What? You’re suggesting that I make all the desserts again just to photograph them? I’m not even using the same oven and that means—”

“I know. I know. And it isn’t in the contract, but if you want the book to sell, this is what you have to do. Go along with us on this and we’ll advertise it and support it to the hilt.”

What choice did she have? “All right, but you’ll have to push back the publication date.”

“We’ll give you three more months.”

She hung up and would have screamed in frustration if screaming would have helped. She put the manuscript aside. Who was going to eat the desserts she had to make? Previously she sent them to the church for their Sunday morning coffee hour, but she hadn’t been to church in Indian Lake. She made a list of her immediate needs and when Dudley awoke, she told him that their afternoon plans had changed and took him to the supermarket.

“This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” the deep masculine voice said. She turned around knowing she’d see Brock. “Say, why so glum?” he asked before she could greet him.

“That’s not the half of it. You’re a writer. How’d you like being asked to redo your book before your editor even saw it?”

“Don’t you have a contract?” She told him about her editor’s request and her reasoning. “I can see her point, but that’s rough.”

“I don’t have a photographer, my oven’s just so-so and who’s going to eat all the desserts I make?”

“I can get you a first-class photographer and I sure can eat whatever you cook that’s got chocolate in it.”

“I can, too, Mr. Lightner,” Dudley said and went to stand beside Brock, who smiled at the boy and patted his shoulder. “I don’t think Mommie is happy, but I love chocolate.”

She tried to keep her eyes away from his long, muscular legs. Her eyes disobeyed her and roamed up his body until her gaze settled on his face.

His knowing expression did not match his words. “Why don’t you make this easy on yourself and get a decent stove.”

“Where? The general store carries two woodstoves. I need a gas stove.”

“Why don’t I take my SUV and drive us down to Lake George. You’ll definitely find one there.” She asked him how far it was and when he questioned her, he realized that she hadn’t left Indian Lake since she arrived there in late April. When she hesitated to accept his suggestion, he said, “All right, you go without me, but how are you going to bring the stove back in that Audi of yours?”

If she let him drive her and Dudley to a big town where she didn’t know her way around and could easily become confused, how much of a risk would she be taking? At her hesitation, his shrug said she could do as she pleased. Sorry for what may have appeared to him as her discourtesy, she put a hand on his bare arm and jerked it back when she felt the electricity emanating from their contact. He grabbed her hand.

“You and I had better get used to this,” he said. She looked beyond him to a safe object.

“Let’s go get in the SUV. I can sit in the back with Jack,” Dudley said.

Brock gazed steadily at her until his expression changed from accusing to awareness and bored into her like a hot dart. Without thinking, her right hand rubbed her breast and he took a step closer to her. She realized what she did and, embarrassed, she swung around, putting her back to him. For the first time, then, she felt his hands on her, strong and possessive, kneading her shoulders.

“Brock. Please!”

He released her at once. “I’m not sorry, Allison. I had to touch you. Shall we go to Lake George or not?”

“All right,” she said, hating to give in but wanting to accept his offer. “I’ll leave the Audi at my place.”

Later, as he strapped Dudley in the backseat, Jack jumped into the front passenger seat. “Look here, buddy,” Brock said to the dog, “You can’t deprive a guy of an opportunity to sit with the object of his affection.”

“I’ll be comfortable back here with Dudley,” Allison said.

“At least you acknowledge one fact,” he said, grinning at her. “Move over, Jack.” He motioned for the dog to move and he did.

“Come on and get in,” he said to Allison, holding the front passenger door open. “No way are you sitting back there behind me.”

During the one-hour trip to the city of Lake George, he noticed that she didn’t object to the occasional pressure of his leg against hers—he didn’t do it intentionally—but seemed comfortable with him. So he was taken aback when she asked him, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

If he had been a man to show his hand at every opportunity for one-upmanship, he wouldn’t have been so successful as a private detective, so he opted not to give her a straight answer. “Dudley couldn’t possibly love chocolate as much as I do and he can’t eat as much of it either.”

“Well, you’re certainly going to have to eat a lot of it. Half the recipes in my book use chocolate.” She didn’t pursue the question and he’d known she wouldn’t.

He let a grin float over his face. “How good a cook are you? My dad and my brother are certified chocaholics, so not to worry.”

“How big is your brother, Mr. Lightner? Can he come to play with me?”

As he’d thought, the boy was lonely. “I’m sorry, Dudley, but my brother is older than I am.”

“What does he do? Is he also a writer?” she asked.

“No. Jason’s a lawyer and a good one. Here we are,” he said as he passed the Lake George sign. “If you don’t find a stove here, we can drive up to Rutland tomorrow morning. It’s a bigger town.”

“Don’t spend so much of your time helping me out when you should be working,” she said with a note of concern in her voice.

He was still driving when she made the statement, so he had to settle for a reassuring glance at her. “Every minute I spend in your company is time well spent.” When he reached the shopping mall, she still hadn’t responded to his efforts to draw her out. He parked and turned to her. “I do not play games with women, children or animals, Allison. Life’s too short for that kind of nonsense.”

She looked him in the eye and said, “I’m glad to know it. It’s comforting to know that you’re a man of your word.”

“I see you know how to play hardball. Good. It’s my style as well.”

“All right, Brock. Let’s stop it before it gets out of hand.”

He wished she hadn’t backed down, but perhaps she was right. If they continued, they would definitely get into a fight, and even though he wanted to get a rise out of her, he didn’t want to annoy her.

“Sorry. I’ll take my cue from you.” He’d put his hand on the door, but now he withdrew it, turned and looked at her. “I mean that in every way. Stay there.” He got out, walked around to the passenger door and opened it. Jack looked at him for instruction and he let him out. “Sit, Jack.” He reached across Allison, unbuckled her seat belt—surprising her when he did it—and held out his hand to her. His jaw almost dropped when she took his hand without a word and got out of the car.

“Which store do you recommend?”

He told her, opened the back door, lifted Dudley from his car seat and walked along with her, holding Dudley’s hand and Jack’s leash.

“We’ll sit out here while you shop.”

“I…uh…I’d hoped you would go in with me.”

He was waiting to be asked. “Wait here.” He tied Jack to a canine hitching post, told the dog to sit and went back to Allison.

“I hope somebody at the general store will be able to hook up this stove,” she said as they headed back to Indian Lake. “If I touch it, I’ll probably blow up the house.”

He took that as a cue that she didn’t want to ask him to do it and he decided not to offer. He was getting fed up with their cat-and-mouse foolishness. But he wished she’d lighten up and accept that he would gladly do whatever he could to make her life easier.

He saw a fast-food restaurant off the highway and drove into its parking lot. “Will a scoop of ice cream ruin Dudley’s dinner?”

“Probably, but he seldom gets out…Why not? He’ll love it.”

He put the car in Park and turned toward the backseat. “Say, buddy, I’ll buy you some ice cream, but you have to promise your mother that you’ll eat all of your dinner.”

Dudley clapped his hands with glee. “I will, won’t I, Mommie? I’ll eat everything.”

“If your mother tells me that you broke your promise, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Dudley said. “I’ll eat all of my dinner. Can I have chocolate?”

“You may, indeed.” He tried to imagine the expression on Allison’s face as she gazed at him. If he were egotistical, he’d swear that she admired him. He shook it off. “You want to stretch your legs?” They got out of the car and Dudley surprised him when he grabbed his hand and said, “Can you go with me to the bathroom before we get the ice cream?”

He glanced at Allison, realized that Dudley’s request had surprised her as well, and said, “Sure,” as casually as he could. The boy had already become attached to him, which could become difficult the longer he was around Dudley.

As they walked away from the car, he said to the child, “I’m glad to go with you, but why didn’t you ask your mother?”

“’Cause she has to take me to the ladies’ room and I don’t like going there. I want to go to the men’s room.”

“You’ll soon be old enough to go to the men’s room by yourself.” What else could he say? He remembered how much he’d hated it when his mother took him to the ladies’ room. They found Allison leaning against a bubble gum machine in the front of the restaurant.

“It’s different, Mommie,” Dudley said as they approached her. “You oughta go see it.”

“He wants chocolate ice cream,” Brock said, changing the subject to one certain to engage the child’s attention.

Allison wasn’t talkative by any means, but as they ate their ice cream, he noted her unusually quiet manner. Distant. He’d almost call it standoffish. “What’s the matter, Allison? I’m not trying to undermine your authority or to make a place in his life. But I love children, and when they turn to me, I’m not ever going to push them aside.”

“I don’t think that. It’s…This is moving so fast, as if it’s going to have a life of its own and as if I have no control over it. I had a life that I didn’t control, and I don’t want that again.”

He could see that something ate at her constantly and if she said otherwise, he wouldn’t believe her. He’d thought that she could be hiding out in Indian Lake. What other reason would she have for secreting herself and her son away from civilization?

“I don’t want to control you or anyone else, Allison. I assume you’re familiar with the words no, don’t, stop and leave. You can use any of those words with me and I’ll understand.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. You can control a person in many ways, including by being nice, all the while using subtle means to keep that person in line. Some people are skilled at it.” She stopped eating and leaned back in the chair. “Did you see Alfred Hitchcock’s Gaslight?”

He nodded. “I saw it. Did you experience something similar?”

“Not similar, but just as vicious.”

“Mr. Lightner, shouldn’t we go check on Jack? Suppose somebody steals him?” the worried little boy said.

“I pity the person who’s stupid enough to try that. Jack can definitely hold his own. All the same, we’d better go.” He reached over and stroked the back of Allison’s hand. “I’d like you and me to have an understanding. As far as I’m concerned, a casual friendship between us is unlikely. Are you ready to go?”

She nodded. “I hope someone at the store can install my stove this evening. Otherwise, what will Dudley and I eat?”

“Use the one you have tonight, and tomorrow we’ll get a guy who installs appliances. I’ll get a dolly from the hardware store and put the stove in the corner of your kitchen.”

Later that evening Brock defrosted a Swanson TV dinner for his supper. Alone, he thought about Allison’s reluctance to accept his friendship, even when he offered help that she sorely needed. It wasn’t as if she had the option of calling a handyman. There was no one for maybe miles around who could help her if the man in the hardware store didn’t come to work. He’d install the stove, but only if she asked him.

Early the next morning, the birds chirped and a soft cool breeze energized him. He sat on his back deck with Jack at his feet thinking of Dudley and of how easily he developed affection for the child. He didn’t need further proof that he would enjoy fatherhood. The raspberry bushes rustled in the breeze and he remembered a white wicker basket that he’d put in his pantry the previous summer. He went inside and got it. He was looking at what seemed like a bushel of raspberries and because Allison liked raspberries, he figured he’d pick some for her that were really fresh. In less than half an hour, he had filled the basket with large, plump, sweet berries. After forcing himself to wait until ten o’clock, he put the leash on Jack and patted the dog’s rump. “Come on, boy.”

A seemingly harassed and frazzled Allison answered his knock at the door. When she saw him, she put her finger to her lips for quiet.

“Hi,” she said. “Dudley’s in his room doing his math assignment and if he hears your voice, that will be the end of it. Come on in.”

“You didn’t call someone to install your stove,” he said, sensing the reason for her frustration. She shook her head. He handed her the basket piled high with raspberries. Her eyes sparkled.

“I picked these for you a few minutes ago and my fingers are all scratched up. Don’t I deserve a kiss?” She clutched the basket as if it held diamonds. He took it from her and put it on the table beside them.

“Look at my fingers,” he said, pretending to beg for sympathy. “Don’t I deserve a kiss?”

A smile crawled over her face. “You do, but I think it’s best that you and I avoid playful kissing.”

He sobered at once. “Let me tell you, Allison, when I kiss you, there will be nothing playful about it.” A gasp escaped her lips as she sucked in her breath. “That’s right, and it’s what I want to do to you right here and right now.”

She stared at him and moved her lips, but not a word escaped her mouth. “Come here to me, Allison.”

Her trembling lips parted. “Brock. Brock, I…”



Her arms seemed to rise of their own volition as he stood gazing down at her with desire ablaze in his eyes. She couldn’t stand it. She needed him and had from the first time she saw him.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said, the soft words barely audible.

Her only thought was that he was tantalizing, all man, and she wanted him. Somehow, he had her in his arms, his fingers pressed into her flesh, and he continued to stare down at her. Why didn’t he do something?

“Open your mouth and let me in,” he said and plunged his tongue into her eager lips. She felt his hand at the back of her head as he possessed her and then his other hand fastened her hips to his aroused body. Heat spiraled through her. Tremors shook her and he tightened his grip on her buttocks. She wanted…She needed…Moans spilled from her throat as he let the wall take his weight and gripped her to him, possessing her as if he owned her, and in that minute she knew he did. Her hips moved against his, seeking, practically begging for friction, for anything that would soothe the burning inside her. He didn’t spare her when she pulled his tongue deeper into her mouth, but let his hand stroke her left breast until, besotted and weakened by desire, she slumped against him.

He looked at her for a long minute, kissed her forehead and her eyelids and said, “Don’t be upset, Allison. Some people live a lifetime without experiencing what just happened between you and me.”

“I know.”

He gazed steadily at her, almost as if he tried to read her thoughts. “If you need me for anything, even if you only want to say hello, you have my cell number. Be seeing you.” He patted Jack, picked up the dog’s leash and headed toward the road.

Allison watched him go, all the while wishing she had the courage to tell him to stay there with her. She carried the basket of fresh raspberries to the kitchen, placed them on the table and sat down. She had to get a hold on herself; falling for Brock Lightner could be dangerous. Who was he? He had the manners of a gentleman, the charm of a rascal and the bearing of a stud. And she had a feeling that when he wanted to, he could be honey sweet. He was trouble, all right.

In the darkest days of her marriage, she had fantasized about having a man like Brock in her life. But as she mulled over the past few days, she admitted that her daydreams fell far short of Brock the man. She’d never imagined what she had felt while he had her in his arms. Now that she had tasted him, felt his masculine strength and experienced his heat, she knew he’d give her what she had wanted and longed for all these years. But if she opened herself to him, would she risk her life and that of her child?

Her sister, Ellen, said that her willpower, for which Allison was famous, was about to be tested. Ellen didn’t know the half of it. When Brock Lightner held her in his arms, she’d had no willpower. She took a shower, not realizing that in doing so, she tried to wash away all that had happened to her that morning.

“He’s still in me,” she said to herself, as she sat down to work. But work held no interest, so she phoned the hardware store hoping to speak to the man who installed stoves.

“He doesn’t work here on a regular basis, miss,” the young male voice said. “He just comes when we tell him there’s an order. Did you call before?” She told him that she had and asked for the repairman’s telephone number. “I don’t have it,” he said. “We don’t have that many calls to install stoves. I’ll put a note on the board telling him to get in touch with you. You ought to hear from him sometime this week.”

She did not want to call Brock and ask him to install her stove. But what choice did she have? She had three months in which to test two hundred recipes, and every minute that passed was a loss of precious time. She remembered Brock’s offer to find a photographer for her, and used that as an excuse and called him.

“Lightner.”

“Brock, this is Allison.”

“Hi.”

He said nothing and the silence made her more annoyed. He could at least make it easy for her. “You said you knew a good photographer. Would you please give me his name and phone number?”

He immediately gave it to her. She realized that he’d memorized the number and reasoned that the man was probably a friend. The thought comforted her. She jotted down the number and weighed the idea of asking him to install the stove.

“Did you get someone to install your stove?”

“Not yet. They don’t know when he’ll be in town and no one knows his telephone number. It seems that installing a stove is a rarity here.”

“I don’t see the point in contacting the photographer until you know when you’ll have something for him to photograph. I was going to suggest that he come twice a week and shoot what you’ve prepared between visits. That would be cheaper than having him fly up here every time you bake a cake.”

“Are you trying to push my buttons?” she hissed.

“No. But I see I did just that. If you weren’t so damned stubborn, your stove would already be installed.”

“If I were near you, I’d poke you,” she said and kicked the garbage can.

“I imagine you would. Any kind of contact would be better than none. Right?”

“Listen, you! Oh, all right. Would you mind installing my gas stove? And you’d better live up to your promises, too.” She didn’t know why she was so angry, but she was, and he’d done nothing to cause it.

“I’ll be up there around four o’clock. I have to finish this chapter. And don’t worry, I’m not in the habit of letting people down, and I certainly have never disappointed a woman. Bye.”

“What did you say?”

He’d hung up.




Chapter 3


Asmart man would leave that woman alone, Brock cautioned himself, puzzled as he was by her behavior. But he pushed the notion aside, thinking that he’d deal with it later. He’d known a lot of women, but none had affected him as she did. He sensed that she was fragile, even wounded, and he had an unusual desire to protect her. That worried him, although not enough to make him stay away from her. He put on a CD and got down to work.

A few minutes before four o’clock, satisfied with what he had written, he picked up his toolbox, called Jack, got in his SUV and drove to Allison’s cabin. To his amazement, Jack jumped out of the car and headed for Allison’s front door wagging his tail. When Allison opened the door, the dog dashed past her to Dudley, greeting the child as if they had been separated for years.

“Hi,” he said to Allison. “My dog seems to be taken with Dudley.”

“Dudley has a way about him,” Allison replied. “He can really get next to you. Come in.”

“Yeah. I suspect it’s in his genes.”

She didn’t comment, but her embarrassment was apparent. As he walked into the house, he left plenty of space between them. After removing the old stove and moving it out to the deck, he brought the other one into the kitchen.

“That thing is heavy,” she said. “Why don’t you rest for a few minutes? I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

He wasn’t tired and didn’t want coffee, but she wanted to do something for him, so he accepted. “Thank you, Allison. Why don’t you keep Dudley and Jack company while I do this? The last thing I need right now is a distraction.” He shot a quick glance at her.

“Do you always say everything that comes to your mind?”

He couldn’t help grinning. “Absolutely not! If I did, you’d send me out of here faster than a Thoroughbred running down the stretch. Nah. I wouldn’t do that.”

She didn’t move and lowered her voice so that it was barely audible. “Why are you trying me, Brock?”

He peeled the label off the stove and set the appliance down within an inch of her foot. “I’m accustomed to working alone, Allison,” he said, ignoring her attitude. “This won’t take too long. We can talk after I finish.”

She folded her arms at her waist, gazed at him for a minute and walked out of the kitchen. If he seemed an enigma to her, he was not in a mood to explain himself. Hearing her footsteps as she walked around the house, he dropped the wrench on the floor, got up and went to the door leading from the kitchen to the living/dining room just as she threw up her hands in the manner of one either exasperated or defeated. He took three steps toward her and stopped himself.

My purpose here is to install the stove and that’s all I’m doing, he told himself. Damned if I’m going to skip to her tune. No way!

He finished the installation, turned on the oven to test it and strolled into the living room, where he found Allison staring at the dark screen of the TV set.

“Anything wrong with your TV?” he asked her.

“Not that I know of. I haven’t turned it on.”

For the moment he didn’t think a comment was warranted. “Do you have a couple of pieces of bread?” he asked her.

He wondered why she didn’t ask why he needed it. He toasted the bread. “The oven is working,” he said, holding up the bread. He handed her the oven thermometer that he’d purchased in Lake George the previous day. “I’d keep the oven on and calibrate it. If it matches this gauge, it should be all right.” He walked out on the deck and called Jack. “Come on, boy.”

“Can’t you stay a little longer, Mr. Lightner?” Dudley asked.

“I’m sorry, Dudley. I’d like to, but I have some work to do at home.”

“Thanks so much, Brock. I, uh…I know you’d be insulted if I tried to pay you, but maybe if I cook a real nice dinner one evening…I mean…would you come?”

It didn’t occur to him to smile as he looked at her. “If I hadn’t installed your stove, you wouldn’t invite me to dinner?”

“I didn’t imply that. Please don’t make things difficult.”

He told himself to be patient, that she had every right to take her time with him as any smart woman would do. “That’s the way you made it sound. Look!” He slapped his right fist into his left palm several times. “The problem with us would be easily solved if we were alone. I don’t want to push you, but I think you know what I mean. I’ll be glad to have dinner here with you any time you ask me.” He lowered his voice. “And if Dudley wasn’t staring at me, you know what I’d do right now.” He hunkered in front of the boy, hugged him, picked up Jack’s leash and headed out the door.

“Mommie, if I can’t play with Jack, what about the guitar? You said you’d get me a guitar teacher. I finished my lessons and I don’t have anything to do.”

“I haven’t had time, honey, because I have to finish this book,” she said.

Brock turned around. “Does he have a guitar?”

She nodded. “My sister gave him a guitar that she’d used during her fling with folk singing. He sees people playing the guitar on TV and he wants to learn, but I haven’t had time to find a teacher for him and I don’t want him to strum. I want him to learn music.”

Did he want to do it? Brock thought. Before he could decide, Dudley said, “Can you help Mommie find a teacher for me, Mr. Lightner?”

“We’ll see.” He couldn’t offer unless he first discussed it with Allison. “I’ll call you,” he said, looking at her, “and let you know whether I can help.” He winked at her and left. Now if he’d only remembered her phone number correctly!



She hated wishy-washy people and Brock Lightner probably thought of her as precisely that. If anybody had asked whether she’d kiss him the way she had earlier that day, she would have denied it. She’d never kissed a man that way, had never wanted to. But she had wanted a lot more from Brock than a kiss and she’d foolishly let him know it.

Aware that the telephone was ringing, she went to look at the caller ID screen, saw that the caller was Brock and lifted the receiver.

“Hello, Brock.”

“Hi. I didn’t want to say this in Dudley’s presence, because I wanted you to have the option of saying no. I play the piano and the guitar, both of which I began studying when I was about Dudley’s age. I can teach him to play the guitar, provided he wants to learn, but if you’d rather I didn’t, I won’t hold it against you. So feel free to turn me down and find someone else to teach him. Before you answer, I want you to know that I won’t accept one penny for it.”

“You don’t leave me an option, Brock. If you aren’t his teacher and if Dudley knows you play the guitar, he’d want to know why you didn’t teach him. He’d learn well with you, because he trusts you and cares for you. But I couldn’t let you do it free of charge.”

“Are you talking to Mr. Lightner, Mommie? Did he say he’d find me a teacher? Mommie, can I please speak with Mr. Lightner?”

“No, darling. I’m speaking with him now.”

“I’d teach him at home,” Brock said, “so you needn’t worry about him. Think about it before you say no.”

“All right. I will. And thank you for offering to help.”

She hung up feeling uneasy. She’d seen nothing of Brock that would make her suspicious of him. She’d become paranoid about Lawrence and his threats of revenge, but she’d die if he stole Dudley from her and took him outside the United States to a country where women had little legal status. The man had the cunningness of a fox and nothing was beyond him. But somehow she couldn’t accept that Brock would be working with a man like Lawrence Sawyer.

“If he agrees to teach Dudley here while I’m at home, what can go wrong?” she asked herself. What indeed, other than that Dudley would develop an even stronger attachment to him. She had to risk it. Any teacher would have an influence on her child, and Brock’s influence had already eased some of her problems with the boy. Still…

She dialed her sister’s number. “I’m in a dreadful dilemma,” she told Ellen after they greeted each other.

“Oh. Mr. Wonderful getting to you already?”

“Mr. Wonderful, as you call him, got to me the minute I saw him. The problem is that he plays the guitar and offered to give Dudley lessons. But I’m not sure I want Dudley to become even more attached to Brock Lightner. He’s already nuts about the man and his dog. But I’m not convinced that this perfect Adonis isn’t up here at my ex’s behest, although he hasn’t given me a single reason to believe that. In fact, it’s just the opposite. But I know how devious my ex-husband can be and I don’t know what to do.”

“I gather he hasn’t made a move on you.”

Allison rested her left elbow on the table. “He made a move, but he didn’t have much choice. I was there and I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m going up there and having a look at that specimen. I didn’t know you could even feel that kind of attraction. You’d better find out something about that man, ’cause from where I sit, you can forget about not going to bed with him.”

“Don’t joke, Ellen. I admit he’s stirred feelings in me, but when push comes to shove, Dudley is first with me. I’m not going to do anything that will make me lose him.”

“Hmm. Apart from sex, what do you think of the guy?” Ellen asked her.

“So far, all he’s done has made me think he’s a wonderful man. You know how Dudley can be. Well, Brock disciplined him about disobeying me a couple of times, but he did it in a gentle manner. Dudley has stopped misbehaving. He’s also become more considerate and helpful because Brock told him that boys are supposed to help their mothers.”

“Wait a minute. You said you weren’t going to have anything to do with that man. When did that change?”

“Long story, but you can imagine with some of Dudley’s antics.”

“My advice is go with your gut, sis. You can’t afford to be so paranoid that you ruin Dudley’s life and yours, too. The boy needs to be with people and if there aren’t any his age, being with a good role model will do a lot for him. Nobody can make me believe that you’d fall for another man like Lawrence.”

“No, I don’t think he’s a bad guy and I haven’t fallen for him.”

“I’m not the one who needs convincing. If the man helps Dudley learn to play the guitar at your place, what are you worried about?”

“You’re right. Thanks. I should call him. Bye.” She hung up, dialed Brock’s number and got a busy signal.



Brock knew that he could easily spare a couple of hours a week teaching Dudley to play the guitar. But Allison wouldn’t let the boy out of her sight and that meant being closer to her than he needed to be. He could still smell her scent two hours after he left her. She was starved for love and affection and she wanted him. But he couldn’t understand her reluctance and he definitely did not welcome it. Something was wrong and until he knew what it was, he’d tread carefully. As he thought about his relationship with Allison, the phone rang. He hoped he’d hear her voice.

“Lightner here.”

“Lightner here. How’s it going, man?” his older brother, Jason, said.

“Hey! What’s up, brother?”

“Plenty. I need a favor. I know you’ve retired from private investigating, but I need you as I never did before. I have a client who’s innocent and unless you help me, she’s going to have to pay a hefty price.”

“You’re so sure she’s innocent?”

“Absolutely. After practicing law for twelve years, I know when a client is lying and when she’s telling the truth.”

“I told Mom that I’d quit and I was going back to practicing law. What’s the problem?”

“My client’s married and she spurned the attention of a man on her staff, told him that he was harassing her and threatened to tell his wife if he didn’t stop it. Afraid that she might tell his wife, the man charged her—his boss—with sexual harassment. I need some background info on the man.”

He loved his brother, his closest friend and confidant, but he didn’t like going back on his word to his mother. “Tell you what. You explain it to Mom, call me back and tell me what she says. I’m not in the habit of lying to her.”

Seconds after he hung up, the phone rang and he saw Allison’s number on the caller ID screen. “Hi, Brock. I asked Dudley if he’d like you to be his guitar teacher and he’s so excited that he’s practically orbiting the earth. I’d appreciate it if you could give him lessons here.”

He thought for a minute. “We can try that, Allison. But if your presence creates a problem…” He let the thought hang and added, “When I go to your place to teach Dudley, I’ll leave Jack at home. Does that guitar have all six strings?”

“I’m sure because we’ve never taken it out of the case since my sister, Ellen, gave it to him.”

“Good. If from four to five on Thursday afternoons is good for you, we’ll start.” He’d forgotten about his promise to Jason. “I’ll let you know when I can start.” She thanked him but seemed reluctant to end the conversation.

Brock prided himself in being cautious, but he hadn’t had much experience with what he was feeling and he doubted that just being cautious would solve his problem. And another thing, he had to tell Allison that he’d probably be away from Indian Lake for a week or two, but he didn’t want his announcement to appear more important than it was. In any case, he had to wait until he heard from Jason.

The phone rang but it wasn’t Jason who called him. He should have known he’d hear from Darlene Lightner. “Hi, Mom,” he said when he answered, having seen her name on his caller ID screen. “Don’t tell me. I know you’ve just spoken to Jason. I think I might help him, provided I can.”

“Of course you should help your brother. But I told him that the next time he needs a private investigator, he should find someone else. How’s your book coming along?”

“It’s coming along. I’m only now getting into it. The problem is what to exclude.”

“If I were writing it, I’d start with the first case you took and why you took it. It isn’t often that a lawyer decides to work as a P.I. The rest I’d treat like an autobiography. But I’m not writing it.”

He sat down and got comfortable. His mother—a university professor—had taught English composition and writing for years and he could have discussed with her his plans for the book. But he didn’t want his mother to help him with his work.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll keep that in mind and thanks for understanding that I want to help Jason if I can. I don’t plan to resume work as a private detective, so not to worry.”

“Thank the Lord. That’s dangerous work. When are you coming back this way, son?”

“I should be in Washington day after tomorrow to start work on Jason’s case. I’ll be staying with Jason, so I’ll drop by from time to time.” He knew that pleased her. “How’s Dad?”

“Your father’s fine and he’s been on cloud nine ever since you told him you planned to practice law again. I have to get to class. Bye for now.”

He said goodbye and hung up. Neither of his parents had approved of his work as a private investigator, but neither had interfered. He was glad that a single opportunity evolved into a career that in eight years had made him a wealthy man. And thanks to the experience, he’d be a better lawyer. He remained seated, thinking how best to tell Allison he’d be away for a short while. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, but he’d just agreed to teach Dudley the guitar and he had to postpone the first lesson. He lifted his right shoulder in a quick shrug. The way she reacted would tell him a lot about her.



Allison grabbed Dudley, sat him down and told him, “Mr. Lightner offered to teach you how to play the guitar. You are not going to strum like those kids you see on television. The guitar is a musical instrument, and—”

“It’s okay, Mommie. I’ll learn whatever Mr. Lightner teaches me. How often is he going to give me lessons? Every day?”

She felt a little ashamed about her attitude. Even if he only learned to strum, he’d be able to entertain himself. “He has to work, Dudley, so he can only teach you once a week. Besides, that’s the way most music teachers teach their students, once a week.”

“Okay. If that’s what Mr. Lightner says. When is he coming?”

The phone rang, saving her an answer, at least for the moment. “Hello, Brock.”

“It’s a nice day, Allison, too nice to stay inside. Would you like to walk along Adirondack Lake for a while before twilight? Dudley might like to get out of the house, and Jack needs some exercise.”

“These cinnamon rolls need to bake for another half hour. After that I’m free.”

Half an hour later, he knocked on her front door. When she opened it, Jack—behaving as if he were home—dashed inside to find Dudley.

“Here,” he said. “I brought you this walking stick. They’re useful for climbing that little hill and for discouraging small animals. Ready?”

She wished she could accept what she saw in his eyes. The warmth, sweetness and tender caring—expressions she’d never once seen in her ex-husband’s face—were for her. How had she made such a gargantuan mistake with Lawrence Sawyer?

Dudley ran into the living room, followed by Jack. “You’re going to teach me the guitar, Mr. Lightner? You want to see my guitar?”

He didn’t shift his gaze from her face. “I’ll have a look at it when we get back.”

Dudley stepped close and looked up at Brock. “Where’re we going?”

“We’re going to walk around the lake before twilight sets in.”

Brock reached for her hand and without thinking, she clasped his tightly. His slightly narrowed eyes told her that she’d surprised him. She let it roll off her. Hadn’t he surprised her a few times?

To her relief, they didn’t encounter any wild animals as they strolled around the lake at the edge of the woods, but the wildlife began their eerie conversations and fish could be heard jumping in the lake. She felt a lot safer when they reached her house.

“Would you stop in for a while?” she asked Brock.

“Yes. I promised Dudley I’d check out his guitar and I’m eager to sample your cinnamon rolls. I love those things.”

“Dudley, get the guitar for Mr. Lightner while I make some coffee.”

In the kitchen, she whispered, “Lord, please don’t let me make a mistake with this man. I need him, but I don’t know whether he’s for good or evil.” She made fresh coffee and put a plate of cinnamon rolls on a tray along with coffee cups, sugar, cream and a glass of lemonade for Dudley.

“This is a fine guitar,” Brock said when she returned to the living room. “It has a great tone.” He played a few bars of “The Girl from Ipanema.”

“Am I going to learn to play like that, Mr. Lightner?”

He patted Dudley’s shoulder. “If you practice and study, you’ll play better than that.” She regarded her son’s eyes, his expressions of awe and happiness and thought about how much she owed Brock. She looked steadily then at the man who was digging a place for himself inside her heart and knew with certainty that he was a part of her destiny. She reached toward him, but he must have read her mind and pointed to the tray.

“Are you planning to give me some of those rolls before they get cold?”

Embarrassed that she’d forgotten her son’s presence, she pushed the tray toward Brock. “Help yourself.”

He bit into the roll and closed his eyes. “I could eat every one you cooked if you didn’t have to photograph them. By the way, when do you want the photographer?”

“Monday will be fine. For the first run, I’m baking things that can be photographed after they’re days old.”

He seemed in deep thought for a minute before he said, “Will you and Dudley go out to dinner with me tomorrow evening? For the boy’s sake, we can eat around seven, if you like. If we go down to North Creek, we should be back by nine-thirty.”

“I’d love to,” she said.

“I’m going, too?” Dudley asked when Brock told him. “I always had to stay with a sitter when Mommie went somewhere.”

“Not this time,” Brock said.

She wanted to hug him, but she didn’t dare. His eyes told her that he wanted the same and more. Holding Jack’s leash, he walked to the door. She stepped outside before him, closed the door behind him and, sheltered by the darkness, he pulled her into his arms and she parted her lips for his kiss. With his tongue deep in her mouth, he leaned against the house, gripped her buttocks with both hands and sent frissons of heat plowing through her. She’d never wanted anything or anyone as she wanted the feel of him deep inside of her at the minute. As if he knew how she longed for him, he loosened his grip on her, caressed and hugged her with such gentleness that she blinked back tears.

Maybe she shouldn’t ask questions but should just “take the money and run.” Her common sense told her she’d be a fool to pass up her first chance at genuine lovemaking. Because if Brock Lightner wasn’t a tender and considerate lover, surely no man could be.



She fussed for an hour the next afternoon about what to wear and when Dudley asked if he could wear his white pants, she readily agreed because that gave her an excuse to wear a pale green, sleeveless sheath of cotton voile. And when she opened the door to Brock and saw that he wore a beige linen suit and a tie, she gave silent thanks for Dudley’s vanity. The boy loved clothes and, for once, he’d steered her correctly.

“Mommie, can I wear my jacket? Mr. Lightner’s wearing one.”

She said nothing, but went into the boy’s room, got the jacket that matched his pants and handed it to him.

“You look lovely,” Brock said and handed her two day lilies that he’d picked from his garden. She thanked him and put the lilies in a vase with water. This Brock Lightner was far and away a different man from the one who walked around in T-shirt, sneakers and Bermuda shorts. She’d thought him handsome and the personification of sexiness, but the man before her had a commanding presence with which she was unfamiliar. He was a man who knew who he was.

“Where’s Jack?” Dudley wanted to know.

“He’s taking care of the house. Jack doesn’t go to restaurants.”

She stared up at him. “There are certainly no flies on you, Brock. You look…” She thought it best to leave it unsaid. “Let’s go.”

He drove them to a restaurant just past North Creek that she knew hosted weddings and other important celebrations. Their reservation was for a small, intimate dining room in which four other tables were occupied. As they ate, she noticed that Dudley copied Brock’s every move and it occurred to her that she may not be able to reverse the relationship even if she wanted to. Dudley had accepted Brock as a part of his life and she realized that her son needed the man.

“I’d better tell you now that I’ll be away for a week or two and I’ll start Dudley’s guitar lessons when I get back.”

“Where are you going?” she blurted out and immediately wished she hadn’t.

“My brother lives and works in Washington, D.C., and he asked me to come down and help him with a problem he’s having. Jason’s my closest friend as well as my brother and it didn’t occur to me to turn him down. Ross Hopkins, the photographer, will call you tomorrow and make an appointment to start photographing your recipes. I can assure you that he is completely trustworthy in every respect. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t recommend him to you. I’ll call you from Washington. What’s the matter?”




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