“The very talented Muriel Jensen has a definite skill for penning heartwarming, humorous tales destined to remain favorites….”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Dear Reader,

Here we are in Dancer’s Beach again with Peg and Charlie, parents of the McKeon brothers from the original WHO’S THE DADDY? series.

Also at the beach are the new residents of Cliffside, a home on the bluff outside town. They are David Hartford, Trevyn McGinty and Bram Bishop—all recently retired from the CIA. They host a masked ball dressed as the Three Musketeers and cross paths with identical triplet sisters dressed as a Regency miss, a flapper and a Southern belle.

Seven months later one of the women is rescued from the Columbia River very pregnant and suffering from amnesia. But which of the three sisters is she? And the question everyone is asking is who’s the daddy?

I hope you enjoy finding the answer!

Best wishes,

Dear Reader,

Happy New Year! May this year bring you happiness, good health and all that you wish for. And at Harlequin American Romance, we’re hoping to provide you with a year full of heartwarming books that you won’t be able to resist.

Leading the month is The Secretary Gets Her Man by Mindy Neff, Harlequin American Romance’s spin-off to Harlequin Intrigue’s TEXAS CONFIDENTIAL continuity series. This exciting story focuses on the covert operation’s much-mentioned wallflower secretary, Penny Archer.

Muriel Jensen’s Father Formula continues her successful WHO’S THE DADDY? series about three identical sisters who cause three handsome bachelors no end of trouble when they discover one woman is about to become a mother. Next, after opening an heirloom hope chest, a bride-to-be suddenly cancels her wedding and starts having intimate dreams about a handsome stranger, in Have Gown, Need Groom. This is the first book of Rita Herron’s new miniseries THE HARTWELL HOPE CHESTS. And Debbi Rawlins tells the emotional story of a reclusive rancher who opens his home—and his heart—to a lovely single mother, in Loving a Lonesome Cowboy.

In February, look for another installment in the RETURN TO TYLER series with Prescription for Seduction by Darlene Scalera.

Wishing you happy reading,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Father Formula

Muriel Jensen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Muriel Jensen and her husband, Ron, live in Astoria, Oregon, in an old four-square Victorian at the mouth of the Columbia River. They share their home with a golden retriever/golden Labrador mix named Amber, and five cats who moved in with them without an invitation. (Muriel insists that a plate of Friskies and a bowl of water are not an invitation!)

They also have three children and their families in their lives—a veritable crowd of the most interesting people and children. In addition, they have irreplaceable friends, wonderful neighbors and “a life they know they don’t deserve but love desperately anyway.”

Books by Muriel Jensen

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

73—WINTER’S BOUNTY

119—LOVERS NEVER LOSE

176—THE MALLORY TOUCH

200—FANTASIES & MEMORIES

219—LOVE AND LAVENDER

244—THE DUCK SHACK AGREEMENT

267—STRINGS

283—SIDE BY SIDE

321—A CAROL CHRISTMAS

339—EVERYTHING

392—THE MIRACLE

414—RACING WITH THE MOON

425—VALENTINE HEARTS AND FLOWERS

464—MIDDLE OF THE RAINBOW

478—ONE AND ONE MAKES THREE

507—THE UNEXPECTED GROOM

522—NIGHT PRINCE

534—MAKE-BELIEVE MOM

549—THE WEDDING GAMBLE

569—THE COURTSHIP OF DUSTY’S DADDY

603—MOMMY ON BOARD*

606—MAKE WAY FOR MOMMY*

610—MERRY CHRISTMAS, MOMMY!*

654—THE COMEBACK MOM

669—THE PRINCE, THE LADY & THE TOWER

688—KIDS & CO.*

705—CHRISTMAS IN THE COUNTRY

737—DADDY BY DEFAULT**

742—DADDY BY DESIGN**

746—DADDY BY DESTINY**

756—GIFT-WRAPPED DAD

770—THE HUNK & THE VIRGIN

798—COUNTDOWN TO BABY

813—FOUR REASONS FOR FATHERHOOD

850—FATHER FEVER**

858—FATHER FORMULA**

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

Alexis Ames reclined on her side on her sister Athena’s bed, propped up on her elbow as she watched her fold clothing into a dark blue soft-sided bag. Athena, usually serious and sedate, placed a flowered bra and matching French-cut panties into the bag’s front pocket.

“Now, there’s something I never thought I’d see,” Alexis said, pointing to the scraps of silk and lace as they were tucked away. “How will you be able to keep a straight face while addressing the jury, knowing you’re wearing those?”

Athena blushed and laughed. “David bought them for me. And I won’t be in court this trip.”

Alexis was fascinated by her sister’s blush. Athena had changed in a score of subtle little ways since taking up with David Hartford.

Athena practiced law in Washington, D.C., a champion of the oppressed and the underdog. She’d always been the serious one of the Ames triplets, every detail of her life organized for the best and most efficient outcome.

Of course, their aunt’s sudden death in the crash of a light plane in Hawaii had changed all their lives. Athena had taken time off from her law practice, Alexis had left her art studio in Rome, and Augusta had arranged for a substitute teacher and had flown in from northern California for the reading of Aunt Sadie’s will at the Portland, Oregon, office of her attorney.

The news that Sadie had left Cliffside, her family’s home, to a mysterious beneficiary named David Hartford made all three sisters suspicious. Sadie had always promised the home to her nieces, and the will offered no explanation for the sudden change in plans.

When they’d learned that Hartford had already taken possession of Cliffside and had rented the guest house and the garage apartment to friends, Alexis and her sisters had rented a car and driven to Dancer’s Beach on the Oregon Coast. They invited themselves to a costume party the men were hosting in an attempt to discover, through clever subterfuge, what they didn’t seem to be able to uncover with straightforward questions.

Only things had backfired. The men had been dressed as the Three Musketeers, wigged and masked and of similar height and coloring. Each sister had attached herself to one of the men, the plan being that she could use whatever means she deemed fit to gather information.

When they’d met back at their car sometime later, Athena had been the only one who still questioned the men’s sincerity. Then Alexis and her sisters had resigned themselves to the situation and returned to their lives.

And then, just one brief week ago, Alexis had been visiting with friends at the American Club in Rome and seen a television broadcast about an unidentified young woman rescued from the Columbia River at Astoria, Oregon. The reporter said that a blow to the head had left her with amnesia.

Alexis gasped at the grainy image of the woman on a gurney being lifted into the back of an ambulance. It was one of her sisters. And she was very pregnant.

As she tried to assimilate that information she’d run closer to the television, hoping for a clue that would tell her which sister it was.

“When the victim’s sister, Athena Ames, came with a friend to Astoria to claim her,” the reporter went on, “the mystery woman had disappeared. She is five-seven, about 120 pounds, has long red hair, dark blue eyes, and may be looking for food or work since she had no purse and no identification on her when she was pulled from the river. She has now been missing eight days.”

Alexis had stared in disbelief, then tried to call Athena, only to learn that she was on leave from the office for an indefinite period of time. Then she remembered that the news story had said “by the time her sister arrived—” and realized that she must be in Oregon. She called Patrick Connelly, a private detective who often worked for Athena, who gave her an address in Dancer’s Beach.

Alexis had hung up the phone and stared at the note she’d taken. Her sister was staying at the former home of their aunt. But where was the man who now owned the home?

She recalled that the news story had said, “by the time her sister and a friend had arrived—” Could it be…? She couldn’t believe it.

But it was true.

When Athena and David Hartford met at the hospital, they’d decided to join forces in their search for Gusty, and had just decided to make the alliance permanent. Alexis and David’s friend, Trevyn McGinty, had been their witnesses just two days ago in a simple service at Faith Community Church. Athena appeared to be hopelessly in love with David.

“Writers are temperamental, you know,” Alexis said, referring to her new brother-in-law’s current profession. With one sister missing, the other changed, and with the discovery that Aunt Sadie had left David the house because she, too, had been a CIA agent code-named “Auntie,” Alexis was beginning to feel like a trespasser in someone else’s life. “You’re sure you’re doing the right thing, closing up your D.C. office to open a law office in Dancer’s Beach? I mean, you’re used to big-city doings and important cases. What’ll you find here to match that?”

Athena smiled. It was a scary look. Her usually intense sister actually appeared serene. “I’ve already found it,” Athena replied. “And it far surpasses everything I’ve known so far.”

Alexis would have found that nauseating if Athena hadn’t been so sincere.

“What if this literary agent is wrong, and the publishers he wants David to meet don’t consider him publishable after all?”

Athena shrugged. “Then he’ll find another one. It’s a good book. A great book.”

Alexis leaned over the side of the bed to catch a folded pair of socks Athena had thrown at the suitcase and overshot. She tossed them back.

“So they really were CIA agents? Our Musketeers?”

Athena nodded as she closed the lid on the suitcase. “They really were. That’s why it’s such a great book. It’s fiction, but it’s based on everything David really knows.”

Alexis sat up as Athena carried her suitcase to the door. “I’m sorry, but it’s hard for me to imagine Trevyn McGinty as a CIA agent. Maybe as a cop in Car 54, Where Are You?…”

Athena gave her a scolding look over her shoulder as she pulled a lined raincoat out of the closet. “Lex, you’re going to be here with him for at least a week helping with the boys while David’s in New York and I close up my office. You have to buff up your attitude.”

“He keeps making smart remarks to me.”

“In response to your smart remarks.” Athena grinned. “You’re just upset because he got the better of you in that little altercation when you thought he’d broken in.”

“Sure he did.” Alexis avoided her sister’s glance as she picked up her tote bag off the bed. “He’s bigger and he didn’t mind using his muscle.”

“It was dark,” Athena defended him. “He thought you were attacking him!”

Alexis had a clear memory of McGinty sprawled over her body on the kitchen floor as the frying pan she’d wielded flew through the air and crashed into the dishes on the drying rack. She remembered gasping for breath, certain her back would break.

She sighed dispiritedly. “To think I went to self-defense classes two nights a week for three months.”

Athena laughed and opened the door. “I’m sure the training Uncle Sam gave him was more heavy-duty than your class at the Rome Y. You’re sure you want us to leave the boys and the dog with you? Dotty will be gone until next Monday. You’ll have to—” Athena grinned apologetically “—you know, remember to feed them, see that the boys get to school, walk the dog.”

In acquiring David as her husband, Athena had also acquired the care of his two half brothers, Brandon, twelve, and Brady, ten. Alexis had known them just a matter of days, but she thought they were wonderful.

Equally wonderful was Ferdie, the boys’ 110-pound Great Dane and Saint Bernard mix.

Alexis rolled her eyes at her. “I think I can handle that. I can’t believe that you’ve turned from a warrior into some kind of Donna Reed and you still think of me as incompetent.”

Athena turned to her, an aggressive tilt to her chin. “I do not think you’re incompetent. It’s just that, as an artist, you sometimes forget the normal, day-to-day things.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not much of an artist at the moment.” Alexis pushed her gently out the door. “And though I know your trip east isn’t exactly for pleasure, I’m sure the two of you can use a little space after all you’ve been through since Gusty was pulled out of the water. And we can’t even continue the search for her until Holden gets an answer on the passenger lists.”

Brandon and Brady had confused Athena with a redheaded woman they’d seen at the Portland Airport while running away from their mother’s home to stay with David. It had been the first time Gusty had been seen since she’d disappeared from the hospital.

Since then, Officer Holden of the Astoria Police, who’d been handling the investigation, had been checking the passenger lists for flights arriving at the baggage carousel where the boys had seen Gusty. It was a long and tedious process.

She’d been traveling with a man the boys had described as “scary looking,” and the police were checking the identity of every passenger, presuming that they were probably traveling under assumed names, since Gusty reportedly no longer remembered hers.

Alexis wrapped her free arm around Athena’s shoulders as they walked down the hallway to the stairs. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help you the past couple of weeks.”

Athena dismissed her apology with a shake of her head. “My only concern was that, when I couldn’t locate you either, I wasn’t sure which one of you they’d found.”

Alexis made a scornful sound. “Like I’d ever turn up seven months pregnant.”

Athena gave her a look Alexis found unsettling—as though she had knowledge Alexis didn’t share. “Someday,” she said with a curious little smile, “you’ll meet the right man and wonder why you ever thought that.” Then Athena squared her shoulders before going down the stairs. “The boys, the dog. Holden’s number on the fridge. Is there anything I haven’t covered?”

This efficiency was a glimpse of the old Athena and Alexis frankly considered it a relief.

“No, I’ll take it from here. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll look after everything and prod Holden every day for something to go on. You just enjoy the East Coast and your new husband. Maybe we’ll even have Gusty here to welcome you back.”

At the bottom of the stairs Athena wrapped her arms around her and for a moment they held each other fiercely, trying to make up for the gap Gusty’s absence created in their lives.

“Yes,” Athena said, composed again. “Try to make that happen. I’ll call you from D.C.” She picked up her bag and started out the door toward the car.

Alexis followed with her tote bag.

“And don’t start any fights with Trevyn.”

“He’s the one who starts everything,” Alexis argued.

“Yeah, right.” Athena countered.

TREVYN MCGINTY HELPED his friend and landlord, David Hartford, pile luggage into the trunk of David’s blue sedan. “Now, if you sell your book to these guys,” Trevyn said, moving the toolbox and blankets aside to make room for David’s brown leather bags, “what’s the first thing you’re supposed to demand in your contract?”

David handed him a fat briefcase. “That my portrait on the dust cover be taken by you.”

Everything in place, Trevyn dusted off his hands and patted David on the back. “Very good. I’m glad I saved your life that time in Bangkok after all.”

“As I recall, the idol I was hiding behind saved my life.”

“Only because I arrived in time to return fire.”

“You were three minutes late.”

“And you’re still here to continually remind me of that. Where’s Bram, anyway? He can’t still be in Mexico.”

“He is. That wayward husband he was following loaded his SUV with pretty girls at the Barkley Regis and Bram followed him—into Mexico. He called me before he crossed the border. Some kind of big meeting going on, or something.”

Bram Bishop had often been the third member of their CIA team, a security expert with more than twenty years experience. He’d retired with them almost ten months ago and had opened a detective agency in downtown Dancer’s Beach. He lived in the apartment above Cliffside’s four-car garage.

Trevyn frowned. “You think it’s drugs? White slavers?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him since. I tried to call him a couple of times when Gusty was first reported missing for some advice on where to start a search, but I couldn’t get through on his cell phone.”

“How long’s it been?”

“Three weeks.”

Trevyn considered that, then dismissed it. “If it was anybody else, I’d worry.”

“I know. He’s fine.” David grinned at him as Athena and Alexis walked out of the house toward them. The boys, shooting hoops on the edge of the driveway, stopped their game, shouldered their backpacks for school and fell in behind them, the dog loping along in step. “Are you going to be okay with Lex and the boys while Dotty’s at her son’s? Or should I arrange for a nanny and police protection?”

“Funny.” Trevyn shoved him, then eyed the bags the women carried and reached into the trunk to rearrange its cargo. “The boys are great. And Alexis has the house, I’ve got the guest house and if there’s a just God, never the twain shall meet.”

From what he’d learned so far, Trevyn guessed Alexis was the evil triplet. Though as beautiful as Athena with her long dark red hair and deep blue eyes, she had none of her courtesy. She was outspoken and outrageous—and she’d tried to bean him with a frying pan. It was hard to feel kindly toward a woman like that.

“What if Holden gets some news about Gusty?” David asked.

“I’ll find her,” Trevyn assured him, “without Lex’s help.”

“But she knows her better than you do,” David argued, “even though you…”

Trevyn sighed impatiently at David’s hesitation. “Even though I got Gusty pregnant. You can say it aloud. It isn’t as though we don’t all know she’s seven and a half months along.”

“You’re sure you were with her?” David asked. “Considering how identical the girls are. I mean, with costumes and masks and just a brief glimpse of her face…”

“I made love to her,” Trevyn said firmly, lowering his voice as the women approached. “She’s the only sister who’s pregnant. It was me.”

“You’re not going to go too nuts waiting around, are you?” David asked. “I know you’d like to try to find Gusty on your own, but I’ve got Wren still looking for her and I’ll feel so much better knowing you’re here with Lex and the boys.”

Wren was an old friend of theirs from their “company” days who’d also retired and now freelanced his spook skills.

Trevyn would have preferred action, but he owed David a lot. When they weren’t on “company” business, he and David had worked together at the Chicago Tribune, David as a journalist, Trevyn as a photojournalist. He nodded. “I’m fine with it, and I’ll keep my eye on the boys. If Alexis inadvertently disappears…”

“Trev—”

“Okay, okay. I’ll watch out for her, too.”

“Thanks for making it all fit, Trevyn.” Athena beamed at him as he tucked her two bags into a tight spot. “If we’d left this to David, he’d have made me leave most of my stuff.”

“Oh, he’s always been selfish,” Trevyn teased, then closed the trunk and David locked it. “You must see something in him that’s invisible to the rest of us. There. You’re all set.”

Athena hugged each of the boys, promising that they would call, and asking what they wanted in the way of souvenirs from Washington and New York.

“A New York Yankees hat,” Brandon said, reaching up as David hugged him. He was fair-haired and spindly and very, very smart.

Brady stood back, arms folded, an uncharacteristic pout on his dark-featured face. Trevyn had spent time with the boys when they’d visited David over the past few years, and he’d never seen Brady anything but hopelessly cheerful. Trevyn suspected he was upset about David’s trip.

“When are you coming back?” Brady asked, still keeping his distance.

Trevyn noticed that David didn’t move in. He admired that about his friend. In the field, he’d always waited for the right moment.

“About a week, maybe ten days,” David replied.

“You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“’Cause if it’s any longer, you’ll miss Parents’ Night. You get to see all my work and look at my classroom. And there’s cookies.”

“We won’t miss it. I promise. Athena put the flyer on the fridge.”

Brady eyed David.

Alexis and Athena suddenly made a production of getting Athena into the car, pretending not to notice it had become a tense guy moment.

Brandon elbowed Brady. “Don’t be a doofus,” he said under his breath.

Brady gave him a lethal look, then wrapped his arms around David’s middle. “Okay,” he said. “Have a good time.”

David held him, then drew him away and looked down into his face. “Tell me what’s on your mind,” he said.

Brady’s lips parted and there was an instant of silence, then he said quietly, “I was just worried about Parents’ Night at school. There’s goodies, you know. And you get to look in my classroom.”

“We’ll be back in time,” David assured him, then put an arm around him and led him toward the driver’s side of the car. At the door, he stopped and asked, frankly, “Brady, are you worried that your mom will send Darby after you guys again?”

David had told Trevyn that Darby was their mother’s new husband and the reason for their leaving home when he’d put Ferdie in the pound.

Brady folded his arms again. “I worry about that sometimes,” he admitted.

David leaned against the car door and put his hands on Brady’s shoulders. “Mom signed papers that make me your legal guardian, remember? They’re in our safety-deposit box. I showed them to you.”

Brady nodded. “I know.”

“Then, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah.” Brady forced a smile but it was unconvincing.

David looked up at Trevyn. “Your Uncle Trevisn’t going to let anyone take you away, or let anything happen to you while I’m gone. Right, Trev?”

Trevyn stepped forward with a shrug. “Well, unless it’s a tribe of beautiful babes, or something, and they want me, too, then of course…”

Brandon barked a laugh and Brady smiled despite himself.

David glared at Trevyn.

“No one takes them,” Trevyn said dutifully, pulling Brady into the crook of his arm, “and nothing hurts them. Got it.” He caught Brandon in his other arm and drew him back from the car. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Easier said than done by anyone who knows you,” David countered, opening the car door.

“I’m here to straighten out whatever he messes up,” Alexis said, coming around the car to give David a hug. “You take care of my sister, buddy, or you answer to me.”

She closed the car door as David climbed in behind the wheel.

FERDIE BARKED and tried to follow the car as it pulled away, but Brandon held him back by the collar.

Alexis stared until the car was out of sight, feeling more alone than she’d felt in a long time. Gusty was missing and Athena wasn’t really part of the triumvirate anymore. She had another life now.

And this was the story of her life, Alexis thought—never quite part of the group. Different. Lonely.

“Aren’t these guys going to be late for school?”

Trevyn’s voice interrupted her thoughts and reminded her that she wasn’t alone at all. Lonely, maybe, but hardly alone.

He was tall and broad, dark hair ruffling a little in the afternoon breeze, eyes inky black and taunting. If he was anyone else, she’d admit that he was gorgeous. But he wasn’t. He was the man who’d dropped her effortlessly to the kitchen floor and knelt astride her.

“I know the schedule, thank you,” she replied politely, then turned her attention to Brandon and Brady. “Do you want me to walk you to the bus stop?”

The boys looked at each other in horror.

She realized immediately that had been a faux pas.

Brandon looked hopefully at Trevyn. “Can you take us in the truck?”

“Sure.” Trevyn dug his keys out of his pocket as the boys raced into the open garage. Alexis caught Ferdie’s collar to prevent him from following.

Trevyn smiled at Alexis. “Don’t take it to heart. Being delivered in a truck looks better to your buddies than walking with a woman in tow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Alexis sighed as she watched them all climb into the truck. Ruled by testosterone at ten and twelve. What a world.

They waved to her as the truck disappeared down the drive. Ferdie whined mournfully.

She walked toward the bushes that surrounded the headland rather than going back to the house, slapping her thigh in an invitation for the dog to follow. She felt edgy and strange here without her sisters. She’d lived much of her adult life without them, but when they were here at Cliffside, they were usually together.

From behind the width of the hedge, she took in the breathtaking view of bright blue sky meeting even bluer water. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep whiff of the salty fresh air. She felt it fill her body and bring back memories of her, Athena and Augusta as children playing like wild things on this lawn.

She’d had dark and selfish thoughts then, she recalled. She used to think that her mother would love her if she could just get rid of the competition. Athena was so competent and Gusty was so charming and agreeable. Alexis, unfortunately, had a gift for candor and a talent for art, neither of which was appreciated by their mother.

In her hopeful, positive moments, the young Alexis was very grateful for her sisters, realizing how bleak her life would be without them. With their mother ignoring them and wanting to claim the limelight herself, and their father taking every opportunity he could to stay away, all they had was one another and the trips to Aunt Sadie’s in Dancer’s Beach.

But when she felt hurt and resentful, she imagined life without Athena and Gusty. She pretended they had never been, and that it was just her, hand in hand with her mother.

There would be no delighted stares of passersby fascinated by three red-haired little girls dressed alike, or in three shades of the same color. No one would stop and tell her mother how beautiful her children were, how much they looked like her.

It would just be the two of them. No one would notice. They would just go shopping together and with no one else to claim her mother’s attention, Alexis would have it all. Her mother would look at her and smile.

She’d seen other mothers do that to their children. They didn’t even have to say anything. Love filled their eyes, made their smiles glow, brought about a ruffle of the child’s hair or a sudden hug.

Alexis had always waited for such a moment, but it never came.

By the time she was a teenager, she’d resigned herself to her fate and allied herself with her sisters in their struggle to find personal value and self-esteem.

Athena found it in an ability to argue clearly with anyone about anything. It was soon obvious she was headed for law school.

Augusta loved knowledge and children, and glowed when she talked about becoming a teacher.

Alexis decided to parlay her art into a life. Art, she’d learned early on, could never be simply a career.

Her talent won her a year’s study abroad in college, and she decided to remain there afterward, loving the daily contact with paintings, sculptures and buildings that had been created by Michelangelo, da Vinci, and all the other names associated with the Renaissance.

And, truth be told, it allowed her to run away. She didn’t have to watch her sisters, so sure what they wanted to do, so secure in their abilities to do it, while she floundered with a skill that was unpredictable at best.

She appreciated being able to launch her efforts thousands of miles from anyone who knew her.

She’d achieved a fair measure of success, was well accepted by the art community in Rome, and sold very well at the small but prestigious gallery that represented her in New York City.

That was far more than most artists enjoyed, Alexis reminded herself as she started back toward the house, determined to find something productive to do. She would have to prepare dinner tonight. With her limited culinary skills, that should take her most of the day to plan and prepare.

She’d just reached the driveway when Trevyn’s truck came rumbling and gasping up the hill. He drew up beside her, stopped and leaped out of the truck.

“Did you beat the bus?” she asked.

“Got there in the nick of time. Did Athena or Dave tell you how to call me from the house if you need anything?”

Alexis now enjoyed a fragile but determined sense of self that was sometimes manifested in the need to be more clever and more right than whomever she dealt with. Trevyn McGinty, however, didn’t seem to understand her need to be superior.

“Thank you,” she said politely with a quick glance at him. She wasn’t sure why, but it made her uncomfortable to look at him too long. His eyes said he knew she was a phoney. He couldn’t know, of course. She attributed that feeling to her worry about Gusty, and the weirdness of their situation. Everything seemed foreign and threatening. “But I’m not worried, and I doubt that I’ll need to call you.”

The cool reply was intended to put him off.

It failed. He grinned, hands in the pockets of a dark blue fleece jacket. “What if you get up in the early morning to make tea,” he asked with feigned innocence, “and surprise another intruder?”

She’d come out without a jacket and rubbed her arms in the thin green knit of a light sweater. Annoyance bubbled out of her politeness. “You find it impossible to be a gentleman about that, don’t you?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Only because you refuse to admit that I had every right to be there.”

“You were using a lock pick!” Her voice was rising. “Why didn’t you knock on the door like a normal person?”

“It was four-fifteen in the morning,” he replied. “Why weren’t you asleep like a normal person?”

“I was…” She’d begun to answer instinctively, then thought better of it. She’d been worried about her sister, worried about her art, worried about being twenty-nine and feeling no closer to an answer to what her life was all about. Art, certainly, but that left her pretty one-dimensional.

“I was thinking,” she finally said. “I know you’d just returned from Canada, but couldn’t you have sat in your car for a couple of hours and waited for a sign that someone was awake?”

The amusement left his eyes. “I’d just seen the news about Gusty. I needed information. I knew Dave wouldn’t mind if I let myself in.”

She could allow him that, she decided grudgingly, even if he had been foolish enough to make love to her sister on a few hours’ acquaintance. But she still wasn’t feeling friendly.

“What kind of person travels with a lock pick, anyway?”

“A former spook. I was always better at it than Dave or Bram, so I carried the pick.”

“Well, in the world of non-spooks, it’s a questionable talent.”

“Sorry. Force of habit. And I didn’t expect the house to be occupied by anyone but Dave, except maybe Dotty. How was I to know he’d picked up four other people?”

“I’d have thought the spy business would teach you to never assume anything.”

Something shifted in his eyes for an instant and she caught a glimpse of old pain.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to unlearn a lot of old habits from those days.” He looked away for a moment, as though he realized he’d betrayed something personal. When his eyes settled on her again, they were self-deprecating. “The work teaches you to trust nothing and no one, to believe only what you see, and only if you’ve seen it from the beginning. Like lock picking, those qualities don’t help the transition to normal life.”

He leaned down to ruffle the dog’s ears, then pointed in the direction of the guest house he occupied. It looked very much like the two-story brick Colonial Revival that was Cliffside. It also had two stories, but only two windows across instead of four, and no attic gables.

It was surrounded on the back and sides by fir trees interspersed with mountain ash that were now alive with bright red berries. Soon they would attract clouds of little birds.

“I’ve got work to do,” he said, seemingly anxious suddenly to escape her. “If you do need anything, press the com line, then 2.”

“Thank you.” She tried to sound brisk and not too sincere.

He climbed back into the truck and pulled into the garage.

Ferdie loped after the truck, barking, but Alexis called him back. He returned dutifully and she leaned down to kiss his big snout. “You don’t need him,” she assured the dog quietly, aware that the wind might carry her voice. “I’m going to feed you well and take you for walks, and we’re going to keep each other company.”

Ferdie followed her to the big house, but looked longingly in Trevyn’s direction.

Alexis took hold of the old front door handle, depressed the thumb plate and pulled—and nothing happened. She stared at the locked door in surprise for an instant, then smiled reassuringly at the dog as she remembered that Athena had given her a key.

She reached into the pocket of her green-and-brown-plaid slacks and met empty fabric. The key, she remembered, was on her dresser.

“Well, damn,” she told the dog with a sigh. “I’m going to need McGinty after all.”

Chapter Two

Fine, Trevyn thought as he carefully packed bulbs and reflectors into a padded cardboard box. He’d been a fool to offer to help her anyway. She was as different from what he remembered of Gusty as a negative was from a print. It had the same image but everything else about it was different.

The woman he’d danced with the night of the costume party had been warm and funny and had looked into his eyes with a sweetness that had been missing in his life since dark memories had taken over. His mother had had it, but she’d died when he was in high school. The women he’d met in college and since had been smart, ambitious, witty and equal to anything.

He’d appreciated them, but he hadn’t realized how appealing gentle laughter had been until he’d heard it, how completely mind-blowing it was to have a woman walk into his arms and lean her weight into him with a trust that was more instinctive than learned. Something in her had responded to something in him without any real knowledge of him.

They’d talked about nothing important. The eye appeal of Dancer’s Beach, chocolate-covered cherries, the White Sox, Cliffside.

He smiled with the new knowledge that her interest in the house had been part of the plan she and her sisters had concocted to find out why their aunt had left Cliffside to David. It amused him to think that when she’d met him, she’d considered him a criminal.

He should be offended, he supposed, but considering her complete capitulation before the night was over—and the fact that it had resulted in his becoming a father—it was hard to put a bad spin on it.

Anxiety and impatience tried to force themselves into the forefront of his mind when he thought of her helpless and alone—except for the scary guy with whom the boys had reported seeing her at the airport when they’d run away. No one knew whether he was a threat or a friend—and Trevyn couldn’t think about him as the former or he’d go insane.

He’d called Officer Holden this morning and learned only that the verification of passengers whose luggage had gone through that particular carousel was ongoing and, so far, everyone checked out.

Trevyn continued packing, something comforting in the handling of long-used equipment. There was nothing to do but wait.

In the meantime, he would see what he’d gotten on the rolls of film he’d shot in Canada, then he’d concentrate on getting his studio ready in town. Photography was a high-maintenance mistress.

He was just about to lock himself in the darkroom when he heard the lion’s head knocker pound twice against the door. He hurried through the kitchen and the living room, wondering if Dave and Athena had forgotten something.

It was Alexis, Ferdie sitting beside her. Her arms were folded and her chin was angled defensively.

She needed something—already. He tried not to betray his enjoyment in the fact.

He reached a hand out to the dog, who snuffled then licked it. “Yes?” Trevyn asked.

“I left my key on the dresser,” she said lightly, trying to convince him that she wasn’t at all uncomfortable in approaching him. “And the door locked behind me when I carried out Athena’s bag.”

“Oh.” He nodded sympathetically.

She waited for more.

This was just too good.

She drew a breath, her patience clearly strained. She asked courteously, “May I borrow yours?”

He spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t have one.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have one?” she demanded. Realizing her voice had risen, she lowered it and added reasonably, “When you picked the lock, I thought you said you’d only misplaced your key.”

“I had,” he replied, “and when I found it, I gave it to Athena. I imagine that’s the one she gave you. Have you tried the windows?”

She was beginning to realize he was playing her like a violin. Her gaze was condemning. “You and David put the storm windows in yesterday.”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s right! I forgot.”

She told him with her eyes what she wanted.

He gave her a look that told her she was going to have to ask for it aloud.

She shifted her weight, threatened him with a fulminating glare that bounced right off him, then closed her eyes and expelled a deep breath.

“Would you, please,” she asked, emphasizing the please, “pick the lock for me?”

Yes. That did feel as good as he’d imagined it would. But she was Gusty’s sister, after all, and he was, despite her contention, a gentleman.

“I’d be happy to,” he said amiably.

HE HAD THE DOOR OPEN in a matter of seconds.

Alexis forced a grateful smile. “Thank you very much. I appreciate your help.”

He inclined his head as he pocketed the pick. “I meant it when I offered it earlier. We’re probably going to be in-laws, after all.”

“Really.” She tried to imagine her sweet, gentle sister married to this smart-mouthed man and couldn’t quite see it. But she was carrying his baby.

It was on the tip of her tongue to invite him in for coffee, but it was too hard to make the concession.

“I’m going to town in the morning, if you need anything,” he said. “You can come along or just give me a list.”

“Thank you, but I thought walking to town would be a good way for both Ferdie and me to get our exercise. I promised that I’d see he got his walks.”

Trevyn nodded. “All right. Well, I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Thanks again.”

“Sure.”

Alexis closed the door behind him, then parted the drapes to watch him walk away. For all his personality problems, she thought, watching the easy movement of tight, lean hips, he had few physical ones.

Disgusted with herself for noticing, she closed the drapes, then spent the afternoon being domestic.

She put a load of laundry in the wash, checked the contents of the kitchen cupboards so that she could pick up what she needed on tomorrow’s walk. She discovered a decided lack of chocolate, pastry and peanuts.

Dotty was an excellent cook who provided good home-style healthy meals. While Alexis appreciated that, she knew that left to her own devices, she would eat mostly what didn’t have to be cooked and could be carried around in her hand. Of course, she had to find something for the boys to eat for dinner.

Then inspiration struck. She would take them for hamburgers or for pizza! She couldn’t do that every night, but a small adventure tonight would help them get acquainted.

She put her clothes in the dryer, then took Ferdie out into the yard for a game of fetch. He played eagerly.

The wind picked up and Alexis decided to add a jacket to her shopping list tomorrow. Sunny Italy didn’t require one, but fall in cool, rainy Oregon would.

The scent of pine and salt air brought back tumbled memories of her childhood, though, and she stopped a moment to inhale. She remembered picnics with Aunt Sadie on the beach, Alexis and her sisters playing with their dolls in the front yard, and when that grew tiresome, climbing trees and playing hide-and-seek in the woods behind the house.

She’d always tired first of the playing-house games, though Gusty could have fed and diapered her dolls forever. Alexis and Athena would eventually escape her scenarios of adult sisters in suburbia having babies and dinner parties and run to the woods for more physical exercise.

Gusty would eventually join them when she grew lonely, but she didn’t enjoy running and climbing like her sisters did.

Alexis experienced a paralyzing pang of desperation. Where was she? What had happened to her? And who was the “scary-looking man” Brandon and Brady had seen with her at the airport?

Unable to pursue that thought without going crazy, Alexis called Ferdie to her and went back into the house. She filled the dog’s bowl, gave him fresh water, then went to check on her laundry.

She folded it, then carried it upstairs and placed it on the dresser. She had the room Athena had occupied before she moved in with David. The bed and the dresser were different, but she enjoyed the familiar sight of the Mickey Mouse alarm clock on the bedside table.

She opened the sketchbook she’d brought with her from Rome and looked through all the studies of faces she’d done on the plane. Since she’d arrived, she’d done sketches of the boys, both reaching up to dunk the ball in the basket, and several of Ferdie running, sleeping, leaping in the air for a Frisbee.

The work was skillful, but she knew when it came to putting paint to canvas, she would be devoid of ideas, lacking in inspiration and, after three long months of that, without the will to try.

She would have wallowed in self-pity, but she’d taught herself to combat this mood over the past year. All she had to do was remember the artists she revered. Michelangelo, who painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel while lying on his back on scaffolding over a period of four years; Matisse, who painted by attaching his brush to a long stick when he was too old and ill to get out of bed; the contemporary Chuck Close, who was paralyzed and used a forklift to raise himself to work on his huge portraits and had a device attached to his hand to allow him to paint.

A slump was hardly the same as an infirmity. She would recover from this, if she could just figure out what had caused it in the first place.

In the meantime, she had to keep working.

She called one of her studio partners in Rome and asked him to mail the large wooden box in which she kept all her paints, the jar that held her brushes, her roll of canvas.

“Bella!” he exclaimed worriedly. “You are not coming home?”

“Not for a while, Claudio.” She wanted to tell him that this was home, but he was just twenty and he’d known her only in Rome. He wouldn’t understand. “I’m sending you money to cover the postage.”

“Money? What is money?” he demanded. “The studio is cold without you, Lexia.”

She smiled at his impassioned voice. She thought he had the potential to be a fine artist, but so far he had more emotion than skill. Still, skill could be learned and emotion couldn’t, so things were in his favor.

“Don’t try to charm me, Claudio,” she teased. Flirting was second nature to him. “We both know you’re in love with Giulia.”

“Giulia,” he said, his rich accent putting scorn into the name, “has gone to Palermo with Ponti. My heart is a stone. It beats no more.”

“Oh, Claudio.” She was sure he was heartbroken. He and the vintner’s beautiful daughter had been friends since they were children, and Claudio’s adopted father had worked for Giulia’s. Their romance had blossomed only a year ago, just before she went to spend six months with relatives in New York. When she returned, Ponti, the son of a famous Italian designer had pursued her relentlessly. He’d also been a childhood friend who’d noticed her beauty and maturity when she’d returned home. “I’m sorry. I thought she’d have more sense.”

“The whole world is mad,” he declared, then added with theatrical tragedy, “and I am alone.”

“Well, now’s your chance to make a date with that pretty little waitress at the trattoria. You’ve always admired her.”

He sighed. “I pine for you,” he said, “and you send me to other women.”

“I’m too old for you, Claudio,” she said practically. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“What is age, bella,” he asked, “when the heart yearns?”

She smiled to herself. She should be lucky enough to find a man closer to her own age who was this persistent. “Then consider the fact that I’m almost six thousand miles away, my friend. You may dismiss age, but distance must be dealt with. Now, go ask that pretty waitress for a date tonight and stop this foolishness. Let me know how it goes. And don’t forget to send my paints and brushes.”

“You wound me.” He was silent a moment. “Very well, I will send your things. But when the night is quiet, you will hear my heart beating for you, no matter how great the distance.”

“Unless Giulia comes back to you,” she taunted.

“You are a devil woman,” he accused, a smile in his voice.

“Goodbye, Claudio.”

“Goodbye, bella.”

Alexis hung up the phone, longing for her fourth-floor studio in the heart of the noisy, busy city. But only for a moment. She remembered quickly the frustration she’d felt there the past year, and though she’d been very upset about her missing sister, she’d also been grateful for an excuse to come home.

She turned in the direction of a soft whine just in time to see Ferdie burst from the room and race downstairs. She heard excited barking as the front door opened and closed and the boys’ voices returned his greetings.

Alexis went downstairs to welcome them home and found them already in the kitchen, rooting through the freezer. They emerged with softball-sized blueberry muffins.

She watched Brandon wrap his in a paper towel and place it in the microwave with obvious experience. Then he nuked Brady’s muffin while his brother retrieved two cans of pop and the butter from the refrigerator.

“How’d everything go today?” she asked.

Both boys looked up with smiles then returned to the serious task of “filleting” the muffins into thin slices that allowed more buttering surfaces.

“Good,” Brandon replied.

“Yeah,” Brady agreed.

“I thought we’d go for pizza tonight,” she said, wondering if they’d have room for it after that muffin. “Or burgers if you’d like that better.”

Brandon was already chewing the first slice as he buttered the last. He swallowed and said, “Cool.”

Brady picked up his stacked plate and pop can and asked hopefully, “Can we watch TV?”

She smiled. David had coached her on this. “Until five o’clock, then you have to do your homework. I thought we’d go to dinner about six.”

“Okay.” Brady was already past her and on his way to the family room. Brandon put the butter back into the refrigerator, wiped the counter clean of crumbs, then turned to Alexis before closing the refrigerator door. “Did you want something to eat?”

She hadn’t spent much time with children the boys’ ages, but she didn’t think tidying up after themselves was usual behavior.

“No, thanks,” she replied. “And thank you for cleaning up.”

“You’re welcome.” Brandon followed in Brady’s wake.

Alexis watched him go and wondered how they’d achieved such confidence and competence. Athena had told her a little about their wealthy mother, who went from one husband to another, having children in an attempt to hold them to her then ultimately losing them anyway.

A careless mother had left Alexis feeling inadequate and adrift.

She tried to remember if she’d had confidence at that age. No, she’d been reckless and wild, but that had been intended to conceal the fear that she had no value.

Her art had helped give her a sense of self. Getting back to it again was the only solution. It would be painful to see inadequate work take shape, but it would consume her while the boys were at school and that would help her maintain her sanity, such as it was.

She would buy a disposable camera tomorrow and photograph parts of downtown Dancer’s Beach. There was beautiful scenery, buildings with interesting architectural detail, streets lined with park benches and old-fashioned streetlights.

Perhaps she could capture the heart of small-town life that was disappearing all across America. Schmaltzy idea as paintings went, but it was a place to start.

BRANDON AND BRADY SPRINKLED a jumbo three-meat pizza with red pepper flakes and Parmesan cheese and ate the entire thing, going back twice for refills at the salad bar.

She allowed them three turns each on a video game car chase, then drove home, stopping for a carton of ice cream along the way.

When they arrived home, there was a message from David and Athena saying that they’d arrived in New York and were staying at the Plaza. They had left the number.

“Let’s call them!” Brady suggested eagerly.

Alexis glanced at the clock. “Brady, it’s well after eleven in New York. They’re probably fast asleep.”

“Maybe not.”

“We’ll call tomorrow when you come home from school.”

“Maybe they’re not asleep,” Brady insisted. “Dave works late lots of times.”

“But he’s married now, doofus,” Brandon said, heading for the stairs.

“So?” Brady demanded.

“So, they’re probably…you know.” Brandon cast a knowing but embarrassed glance in Alexis’s direction and waved a hand to replace the words he couldn’t quite say.

“What?” Brady insisted.

Alexis opened her mouth to suggest a diplomatic explanation when Brady’s eyes suddenly widened and his expression made it clear that he understood. He looked horrified for a moment, then shoved Brandon aside and ran up the stairs.

Brandon heaved a long-suffering sigh and shook his head. “He’s still kind of young,” he said, and followed him, Ferdie trailing behind.

Alexis was stunned by that reaction. She knew that children Brady’s age discussed sex among themselves, but often hated the suggestion that their parents or guardians practiced it.

But she was fairly sure that hadn’t been disgust on Brady’s face, but fear. She didn’t understand what that meant. Judging by his behavior with Athena, he seemed to adore her.

“Let me know,” she called after Brandon, “before you turn the lights out.”

When Brandon called shortly after nine, Brady’s room was already dark. Alexis tucked Brandon in, then patted the dog lying on a blanket across the boy’s feet.

“French toast for breakfast?” Alexis asked before flipping off the light.

“Just cereal, please,” he said, snuggling into his pillow. “We’ve got Graham O’s.”

“And you don’t trust my cooking?”

He laughed. “Nope. Good night.”

“Good night, Brandon.”

She went across the hall to Brady’s room, braved the quiet darkness and looked down on him. She suspected he simply pretended to be asleep, but she tucked his blankets in anyway, then went to the door.

“I’d like French toast,” a voice said in the darkness.

Relieved to have some response from him, though still worried about his unusual behavior, Alexis replied briefly, “You got it. Should I get you up a little early so you’ll have more time?”

“More time?”

“To spread butter and drizzle syrup. You have to cover all the corners, you know, or it isn’t as good.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s true.”

“Brady?” she blurted, moving surreptitiously back toward the bed. “Are you worried about something?”

Silence.

“Because if you are,” she went on intrepidly, “you can tell me and I’ll do what I can to help. I know I’m not as good as having David and Athena here, but I’m sort of like your aunt now. So you can tell me if you’re worried. Or afraid.”

There was silence for another moment, then he said finally, “No. Nothing.”

“Okay.” Dispiritedly she reversed directions. “Two pieces or three?”

“Three.”

“Good night, Brady.”

“Night,” he replied.

All right, she told herself as she walked down the stairs to look through the kitchen and make sure they did indeed have syrup. She hadn’t exactly conquered Everest, but she’d given Brady something to look forward to in the morning. And that might help the curious fear he seemed to be dealing with.

She was relieved beyond words to find a bottle of syrup on a shelf in the refrigerator door.

Chapter Three

Trevyn had the nightmare again. Something told him Farah would try to come along on the raid on the campsite despite his insistence that she shouldn’t. The feeling had swelled inside him until fear began to permeate the calm, deadly edge that was so important to his work.

He’d expected to find her at the head of the trail that led to the campsite, but she wasn’t there. He wanted to take that as a good sign, but he couldn’t. His brain and his body refused to relax.

He discovered only moments later that she’d gone ahead of them in some misguided plan to clear the way for them, and that her traitorous brother had warned the camp.

He heard the gunfire, heard her scream.

Then he heard himself scream.

There was gunfire from three directions as he ran toward her. She was dead. He knew that before he reached her. And as he knelt there, staring at her stillness, he felt that he was dead, too.

But he and Bram and Dave were pinned down by loud, continuous bursts of gunfire, and he had an overpowering need to stop it, to stop all sound so that he could think.

Dave took hold of his arm and was pulling him backward.

He resisted. He couldn’t leave Farah. Maybe he’d been wrong. He wasn’t a doctor, after all. Maybe she was still alive.

He struggled against Dave, who finally helped him lift her body onto his shoulder, then knelt with Bram to cover his escape.

Trevyn awoke in a cold sweat, panic and grief at the very edge of his consciousness, the darkness he lived with all the time threatening to suffocate him.

Then he noticed the familiar beige wallpaper with little flecks of brown in it, and the chair in the corner over which he’d thrown his shirt and jeans. No camouflage, no flack jacket. He was back in Chicago.

No, he reminded himself, spotting the photo he’d taken of a lone freighter in the middle of the vast ocean just beyond the edge of Cliffside’s property. He was in Dancer’s Beach. He was starting over. He was opening a portrait studio.

He’d thought he’d seen the end of the nightmares, the occasional confusion about the past, but apparently he had more work to do on that. That was fine. Mostly, he had it together.

Everything began to settle down inside him. Until he remembered that he was going to be a father. Then he sat up, feeling excitement and trepidation all at once. How could a man in darkness raise a baby?

He liked babies, he told himself. He’d photographed a lot of them in his time at the Tribune—in good situations and in bad—and he’d been touched every time by both their fragility and their miraculous endurance.

He prayed that Gusty had endurance. He knew so little about her, except that on the night of the costume party, she’d walked into his arms like a beautiful bundle of everything he’d needed at that moment.

He had to take care of her.

He had to be with her when their baby was born, whatever bad memories he had. They were his responsibility.

But at the rate the search for her was going, their baby would be a toddler before he saw her again. For a man accustomed to taking action, having to wait was frustrating, exasperating, and downright infuriating.

Still, those were emotions he’d grown familiar with in his journey to reclaim his life since Afghanistan. He knew that the only way to fight it was to take action in whatever avenue was open to him.

He climbed out of bed and jumped into the shower. He’d rented his studio before he’d left for Canada, but there’d been little time to work on it. It had been cleaned but needed paint, furniture, signs, and he had to move in his equipment.

He wondered idly as he dressed if he should ask Alexis if there was anything she needed. She’d insisted yesterday morning that she didn’t think she’d ever need help from him—then she’d come over, pride in hand, when she’d found herself locked out.

He let himself enjoy that memory for a moment, then grabbed his jacket and checked his watch. The boys would be waiting for the bus already. He headed out to the truck.

The issue of whether or not to approach her was settled for him when she walked right by him, Ferdie prancing excitedly on the end of a long leash.

“Good morning,” she called, her arm stretched way out, thanks to the dog’s eagerness. “We’re off for our constitutional.” Then she did an almost theatrical double take, and dragged the dog to a stop, frowning as she focused on Trevyn. “Is everything all right?”

The dream always lingered in his eyes for a while. He hated that, considered it a vulnerability, a weakness. After their mild confrontation yesterday, he was surprised by her concern, and annoyed by it.

“Sure,” he replied. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you look a little…” She paused, apparently searching for the right word. There couldn’t be one, as far as he was concerned.

She must have read that in his eyes. She shook her head as the dog tugged on her, extending her arm as though she were on the rack. “My mistake,” she said, giving him the feeling she knew she was letting him get away with something.

That annoyed him further.

“Need anything from town?” he shouted as she picked up speed in the wake of the dog. He did it to prove to himself that she might annoy him but she couldn’t upset him.

“No, thanks!” she replied over her shoulder as Ferdie kept going. They raced toward the tree-lined driveway.

Trevyn opened the four-car garage. David’s spot was empty, but Bram’s Jeep was in place, looking none the worse for the fact that Athena had dumped it on its side on her way to town when she’d first arrived in Dancer’s Beach.

David had had it towed and repaired.

Trevyn climbed into his battered red truck. He should get something else someday, he thought. A neat van or SUV onto which he could fasten magnetic signs with the name of his studio. Once he decided on a name.

Hot Shots? Picture Perfect? Or the more formal McGinty Photos, or Trevyn McGinty Photography?

Nothing struck a chord.

He drove off toward town, honking at Alexis and Ferdie at the bottom of the driveway, offering a brief wave.

She waved back, smiling.

That was how he remembered Gusty looking the last time he saw her.

ALEXIS AND FERDIE RAN through the park in downtown Dancer’s Beach. After the dog had worked off steam—though how he could still have any after the mile and a half walk to town was beyond her—they walked up and down the main street and several side streets. She took photographs of scenes she might paint—children on swings in the park, three older men on a bench under a streetlight, kibitzing as the world went by, two little old ladies looking in the window of a flower shop, the old hotel.

The Buckley Arms was a turn-of-the-century gray-and-white building, five stories high, with an old-fashioned awning to shelter those waiting for cabs in the rain. She smiled, wondering how often people who rode cabs visited Dancer’s Beach.

She took several shots, then noticed that the coffee bar on the bottom floor of the hotel was still there. She tied Ferdie to a newspaper stand in the front, then went inside to order a hazelnut latte.

She was considering a hazelnut biscotti to go with it when a voice called from behind her, “Athena!”

Alexis had been accustomed to being mistaken for one or the other of her sisters when they were children, but they’d been apart so much as adults that it hadn’t happened in years.

She turned around in surprise, to find an older couple at a round table, half-finished cups of coffee and the newspaper between them.

The woman clearly waited for recognition. “Peg McKeon?” She smiled expectantly, putting a hand on the man’s arm. “Charlie? We were in the antique shop when you were looking for an egg whip for your sister.”

Alexis went to their table, smiling apologetically. “I’m Alexis,” she explained. “We’re identical.”

Peg continued to smile. “So, you’re the one she was shopping for!”

Alexis shook her head. “That’s Augusta. We’re triplets.”

Peg put a hand to her lips in amazement. “My goodness! I’d have sworn…!”

The man stood and pulled a third chair back. “I’ve always thought there should be a system for making copies of pretty girls. If you’re not meeting someone, would you like to join us?”

The name McKeon was ringing a bell in Alexis’s memory. “Well, sure, if I’m not imposing.”

“Of course not. I’ll get your drink.”

Before Alexis could tell him she hadn’t paid for it yet, he had and was delivering it, along with the cookie. “I saw you eyeing the biscotti,” he said as he put it down in front of her. “Impulses should always be indulged. Where’s Athena these days?”

“Thank you, Charlie. She’s in New York.” She broke her cookie in half and dunked the end in the latte. “Her new husband is meeting with an agent about a book deal, and then she’s closing up her law office in D.C. to move here.”

Peg nodded knowingly. “So, she did find love.”

When Alexis looked surprised that her sister would have spoken to strangers on such a subject, Peg added, “I’d been telling her that our sons have all found wonderful wives, but we were worried about our daughter, who doesn’t seem to be able to hold a relationship together. Athena told me not to worry, that Dori would find love. That everybody did. When I asked her if she had, she said, ‘Everybody but me.’” Peg looked pleased. “I’m so glad that’s changed.”

“She married David Hartford,” Alexis said. “He owns Cliffside.”

Charlie nodded. “Dori went to a costume party there. She said it’s quite a place.”

“It’s beautiful. Our aunt used to own it and my sisters and I spent a lot of time there as children. Were you shopping for antiques again this morning?” Alexis asked.

Peg made a face. “We wanted to get the kids something for the house that they could all enjoy. It’s been three years since they’ve shared the beach house. We thought we’d leave something special for when we all come back at Thanksgiving.”

Something caught Alexis’s attention through the coffee bar window and she looked out just in time to see Ferdie leap up, forepaws on Trevyn’s chest as the man spoke to him and ruffled his ears.

“Now, there’s someone you should meet,” Alexis said, waving at him through the window and beckoning him inside. “He’s opening a portrait studio in Dancer’s Beach. I think a portrait of the two of you for the house would be the perfect thing for your children and their families. Or maybe one of all of you together.”

She wasn’t deliberately setting out to help him, she told herself by way of excusing her behavior. She just recognized and related to that lost look he’d worn when he’d walked out of the house this morning—as though he recognized his surroundings but didn’t feel at home in them. She’d felt that way often enough herself.

He walked into the coffee bar looking fresh and handsome, whatever had been bothering him earlier somehow resolved, at least for now. He brought the perfumed coastal air in with him and Alexis got a whiff of pine, salt and a trace of apples.

Alexis made introductions and related the conversation they’d just shared.

“I told them about you,” she said, pushing him into the fourth chair. “But I don’t remember all your credentials. Tell them about yourself and I’ll get your coffee and refills for the rest of us.”

He was clearly startled by her helpfulness and looked just a little off-balance for a moment.

She went to the counter with a smile, delighted to be able to give him a dose of his own medicine.

“I think a portrait of all of us is a great idea,” Charlie said as Peg nodded her agreement. “One of our daughters-in-law is a photographer, but she always ends up taking pictures at our get-togethers. It’d be nice if she could be in one without having to set a timer and run back to her spot. What do you think, Peg? Why don’t we invite these kids to dinner and talk about it?”

Peg nodded eagerly. “That would be fun.”

“We’d like that,” Trevyn said, “but there are actually four of us. Her sister is married to my friend and we’re watching his two young brothers while they’re in the East.”

“That’s no problem,” Peg assured him. “Our family is big on boys so we’re used to having them around. I’ll fix something they’ll like. Was your other sister happy with the egg whip?” Peg wanted to know when Alexis reappeared with a cappuccino for him and the coffeepot to refill Peg’s and Charlie’s simple cups of coffee.

He remembered that she hadn’t asked him what he’d wanted to drink. He must still look as though he needed a double shot of caffeine.

She explained about the accident in the Columbia River and Gusty’s subsequent disappearance.

“How awful,” Peg sympathized. “I can’t imagine anything worse than not knowing what happened to someone in your family. That would make me crazy. We spend most of our time keeping tabs on our children and grandchildren.”

“The police are working on it.” Alexis swirled the contents of her glass, then downed the last mouthful. “She was spotted at an airport baggage carousel with a man, and it’s taken the police weeks to go through passenger manifests and check out everyone.”

Peg patted her hand. “That must be so worrisome for you.”

“You have to have faith that it’ll come out alright,” Charlie advised. “Peg gets her nose and her hands into everything, but I mostly just stand back and try to believe the situation into coming out for the best.”

Peg took offense. “You’re suggesting that I meddle?”

Charlie looked surprised. “Are you denying it?”

She thought that over a moment, then smiled from Alexis to Trevyn. “No, I guess not. But there’s meddling, and there’s creative interference. There’s a bit of an art to what I do.”

Charlie grinned at their companions. “That’s how she excuses being tricky.”

“I suppose your mother minds her own business?” Peg asked Trevyn.

“Pretty much,” he agreed with a rueful smile. “She passed away when I was in high school. My father retired a year ago, and he’s been touring the country on a Harley ever since. I get postcards from everywhere, but I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Charlie sighed over his coffee. “I’ve always wanted a Harley.”

Peg backhanded him in the arm. “Please. Can you imagine how your arthritis would react to being out in the weather as you travel?”

He gave her a frown. “You don’t do it in your Skivvies, you know. You wear leather to protect you and keep you warm.”

“Charlie.” Peg held her arms out, as though to display her ample form in its navy-blue sweats. “How would this body look on the back of your Harley? Think about it.”

Charlie leaned toward her, laughter in his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t bring you, Peggy, my love. I’d find myself a group of road outlaws, then cozy up to some shapely biker babe in leather shorts who can rumble as well as the guys.”

Peg stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then burst into laughter. He joined her and they locked fingers on the table as they enjoyed his outrageous scenario.

Alexis turned to Trevyn, who was also laughing. His glance at her invited her to share the moment and she couldn’t resist.

The McKeons finally left the coffee bar, setting a date for dinner on Sunday evening.

Charlie gave his wife a gentle shove through the door, then waved at Alexis and Trevyn. “See you Sunday.”

Alexis watched them greedily, chin on her hand. “Aren’t they every kid’s dream of the perfect parents? I mean, I wouldn’t want the type that stays thin and looks like an ad for a retirement village, or something. I love that they look so real and comfortable. Like you could take them any problem and even if they couldn’t solve it for you, they’d listen and commiserate and hug you until you felt better.”

Trevyn pushed away from the table. “Yeah. They’re great. I hope their kids appreciate them.” He pointed through the window to Ferdie, who now sat at attention, somehow sensing he would soon be freed from his newspaper-stand shackle. “He looks like he could use a cookie.”

Athena held up the second half of her biscotti. “Saved this for him.” She stood to leave, forgetting the small disposable camera on the table.

Trevyn snatched it up and handed it to her. “Yours?”

“Oh, thanks. Yes. I’ve been taking photos to paint from. I suppose these are offensive to a professional photographer.”

He pushed in his chair. “Not at all. They do a good job for what they are. If you don’t want to make adjustments to light or shutter speed or anything, they’re good enough. Where are you off to now?”

Alexis felt a hopeful little stir inside her. The time spent with the McKeons had been warm and cozy, and her enjoyment of them with Trevyn made her feel less alone. He might be part of her family soon. She had to learn to get along with him.

“Nowhere in particular,” she replied casually. “I’ve just been taking pictures.”

“My studio’s in an interesting old building.” He pushed the door open for her. “Want to see it? I rented it before I left for Canada, but now I have to decide how to make it appealing to customers. I’ve got to be open in a couple of weeks if I’m going to get any of the Christmas trade. Thank you for dropping the McKeons in my lap, by the way.”

“Sure.” She stepped outside into the cool, overcast day. “You know, Gusty’s the one who should see your studio,” she said. “She has a gift for decorating. Her home and her classroom are always very inviting.”

He gave her a thin smile as she unfastened the dog, who snatched the bite of cookie out of her hand while she worked. “Decorating’s not one of your strengths?”

She shook her head as they started down the street, the dog taking the point, tail wagging happily. “I live in a small apartment with a gorgeous view, but spend most of my time at a studio that I share with several other artists. Consequently, except for the occasional milk bottle of fresh flowers, I don’t do too much to decorate.”

“Isn’t it hard to be that far from home? Or is it home now?”

“I’m comfortable there,” she replied, “and feel as though I belong, but home will always be where my sisters are. I get most lonely when I catch cold or get the flu. It makes me revert to childish whining and carrying on. Our mother was never much of a nurse, but Aunt Sadie was.”

“I remember getting some tropical bug on a CIA job in Malaysia. I was sure I was going to die, though all the natives assured me it was nothing. I’ve never missed home as much as I did then.”

“Does Dancer’s Beach feel like home now?” she asked.

“I love the place. But I can’t live on Dave’s property forever, especially now that he’s married. I’ve spotted this house in the cove, a sort of bungalow-style with lots of angles and windows. It’s on a little knoll surrounded by trees. If it ever comes up for sale, it’s mine. Then this will really be home.”

“Any siblings?”

“Just me.” He stopped in front of an Italianate building on the corner fronted by a series of arches. Within each arch was a storefront. The second one was Trevyn’s.

He pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and reached an arm in to flip on the lights. Then he stepped back to let her in first.

TREVYN LIKED THE SMELL of the place, clean but old, disinfectant mingled with the musty smell of the building that had been here at the turn of the century. A theater in the middle was flanked by three shops on each side.

It was a large, open space with plank-wide strips of fir making up the wooden floors. The white walls had grown dingy, but two ornate light fixtures, each with half a dozen crenellated tulip shades, hung from the ceiling, obviously left over from the building’s earlier employment.

Alexis seemed to like it. She walked into the middle of the room, looked up at the chandeliers and smiled, doing a tight turn under one of them as though imagining herself in a performance.

“The chandeliers lend a lot of charm,” she said, then glanced at him with a smile before going to the wall that connected the shop to the next one. “And people who are charmed undoubtedly show it in their faces when they pose.”

Now that was an angle that hadn’t occurred to him.

She rubbed her fingertips gently over the wall.

“It’s ten feet high and thirty feet long. It’s going to be a decorating problem, I know. I guess my only recourse will be to hang portraits all over it.”

She considered that, then turned and wandered along the other two walls. The front had a large display window, but the other had light switches, a fuse box, a wall telephone and built-in shelves. “Wouldn’t they be better in the window? And your counter will have to go here where the phone is. You still have quite a bit of wall space to display portraits and customers can admire your work while they’re asking for information.”

She looked avid, he thought. As though she were really interested in what he planned to do. But her eyes kept going back to the long blank wall.

“You told me you weren’t much of a decorator,” he teased, “yet you’re thinking like one.”

She put the flat of her hand to the wall as though feeling for something. “No, I’m not,” she said, giving him a glance over her shoulder. “I’m thinking like a muralist.”

A mural. Another angle he hadn’t considered.

He went to where she stood and tried to imagine the wall painted with…what?

“You mean like one of those trompe l’oeil things you see in Architectural Digest?”

“No.” She took a step back and ran her eyes the length of the wall. He guessed she was seeing images. “I’m not sure. Something appropriate to a photo studio. Maybe old scenes of Dancer’s Beach. Certainly someone must have some. Or a sort of montage of portraits interspersed with landmarks. Or maybe just the stretch of beach.” She took a few steps along the wall and stopped. “The dancers just walking on the beach in white lace and parasols.” She smiled, apparently warming to her own idea. “You know, to represent a time when they knew they were safe, maybe already falling in love.”

He couldn’t quite picture it, but he liked the idea. “And you can do this?” he asked.

She came out of the trance the wall had inspired suddenly and looked at him in surprise. “Me?”

He shifted his weight and folded his arms. “I don’t imagine there are too many muralists in Dancer’s Beach.”

“But we’d be confined in the same space,” she argued, “and you hate me.” Then she frowned as though she hadn’t intended to say that aloud.

He laughed softly. “Not all the time,” he said, knowing an outright denial would not have rung true. They’d had some fairly combative moments since their unfortunate meeting in the dark kitchen. “Or are you afraid you can’t coexist with me long enough to get it done?”

“I am,” she admitted candidly. “Half the time I want to kill you, and the other half…”

She stopped, apparently thinking better of whatever she’d been about to say. For an instant, he wanted to know what that was more than he wanted anything.

“And the other half?” he asked.

She met his gaze and held it. She made no sound, but he swore he could almost hear the words forming in her mind.

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