Feelings of anger and betrayal flooded her all over again, but Prue suppressed them

She needed to remember things clearly.

The woman’s arm had been straight, as though she was pushing on Gideon’s chest. Pushing him down? Pushing him away? But what had he been doing? Had he simply tried to push her off him and his hand had connected with her breast?

Prue punched the pillow. She couldn’t believe that. She was obviously desperate to make it seem as though he had a defense. So, why was she doing it?

Because Gideon’s kindness now made her second-guess herself. She had to get some sleep. Tomorrow she had to play the role of loving wife. Curiously, that role had seemed easier to undertake when Gideon was her enemy.

Now that she wasn’t so sure she hated him, acting as though she loved him would be dangerous.

Dear Reader,

Old love rekindled is one of my favorite plotlines because conflict is built in. No relationship is as interesting as one between two people who know each other’s faults and foibles and are forced to reconnect. The old dynamite that once brought them together will certainly be present, and there’ll be new discoveries to be made because of the years spent apart.

That’s precisely the case with Gideon and Prudence Hale. You can be sure that the road to love between a politician and a designer will be anything but straight and narrow. Thank you for wanting to join them.

Sincerely,

Muriel Jensen

P.O. Box 1168

Astoria, Oregon 97103

The Man She Married
Muriel Jensen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Todd and Sarah Dielman, the world’s best neighbors.

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 FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

PRUDENCE HALE THOUGHT later that she should have known it was all too good to last. Her first line of clothes had been a tremendous success at the fashion show to benefit the Maple Hill Library. She’d made a small fortune for them and for herself.

And as she stood in the parking lot of the Breakfast Barn Restaurant, along with a crowd of other nosy onlookers, watching her sister Paris and Randy Sanford—the town’s favorite EMT—kiss and make up with embarrassing sincerity, she thought the morning could not be more perfect. After a difficult courtship, the two were reconciled at last.

Life was good and moving forward on most levels.

Then Prue heard a deep voice say, “Hello, Prue.”

Air seemed to leave her lungs and her pulse stalled.

No, she thought. Not when I’m finally on the right track. Not after this long, dark year when at last I’m living my life and not his. Please!

She turned slowly to discover that all her prayers had been denied. There he was. Gideon.

She didn’t know what shocked her most, the sight of his handsome face in the town that had been her comfort and haven since the Maine Incident, or the fact that he was in the company of Hank Whitcomb, one of Maple Hill’s foremost employers.

What was he doing here? Her pulse had picked up again, but old emotion was a hard lump in her chest. She didn’t want to talk about the breakup, she didn’t want to think about her loss, she didn’t want to hear it all hashed over again. She just wanted to sign divorce papers and get him out of her life.

Of course, she hadn’t filed them yet. And, apparently, neither had he.

She had a hopeful thought. Maybe that’s why he was here.

As everyone else streamed back into the restaurant, he came toward her.

She squared her shoulders and met his dark gaze as he closed the space between them.

She could admit that Gideon was exceptionally handsome. He had brown eyes, a straight nose and a mouth that used to laugh often but had lost that skill while he was in the state senate. He was tall and big with a personality to match.

Smaller than average herself, Prue had found his size intimidating at first, until she’d observed his kindness and compassion and his complete dedication to the people he served.

Curious, she thought, that the very things about him that had made her fall in love had become a sore spot between them when they’d continually kept him away from her.

She smiled just a little in an attempt to convince him that, even when surprised, she was a woman of style and composure. That hadn’t been true in the old days.

Well, it wasn’t really true now, but she could pretend.

“Hello, Gideon,” she said, hands in the pockets of a red wool jacket. She didn’t want him to think she was willing to shake hands or otherwise touch. “What are you doing at the Barn?”

He indicated Paris, who stood nearby, hand in hand with Randy.

“I called a cab from the airport,” he replied, “and Paris picked me up. I had no idea she operated a taxi service. I thought she was in law school.”

Prue shook her head, the small smile still in place. “A lot has changed for her and for me in the last year.”

He nodded once. “I see that. Anyway, we were happy to see each other, I asked her how things were going for her and she started to cry. So I suggested we go somewhere for coffee, she brought me here, and…well…” He swept a hand at the few stragglers in the parking lot making their way back inside. “Randy showed up, she ran off, he chased her, everyone came out to watch… Some town this is. Don’t you guys have television?”

“Why don’t you two sit in the cab if you need privacy,” Paris suggested, handing Prue her keys and giving her a quick hug. “You should talk. It did a lot for us.”

Randy clapped Gideon on the shoulder. “Good luck,” he said, then drew Paris toward the restaurant.

Prue didn’t want to talk, but Gideon was waiting expectantly. And she didn’t want to be confined inside the cab with him. So she asked, “What were you doing with Hank Whitcomb?”

“He and his friends were at a table nearby when the Randy and Paris row started,” he replied. “Paris took off on me, so Randy sort of put me in their care before he chased her out the door.”

Okay, that explained how he’d gotten to the restaurant. “But what are you doing in Maple Hill?”

She saw his expression change. He was going to give her an answer she wasn’t going to like. Not that he’d said or done anything she’d liked since she’d found him with another woman.

“A friend has invited me into a business partnership in Alaska,” he said, his manner growing serious. “He’s turning an old family home in the wilderness into a fishing lodge. It’s pretty spectacular. An ancestor built the place when he made a killing in the gold rush. Anyway, I thought I’d try to talk to you one more time before I went away.”

“What about the winery?” she stalled. “I thought you went back to running it when you left the senate.”

“Blake has it running like a well-oiled machine.” Blake was his younger brother who’d taken over the family winery when Gideon was elected. “Since my term ended, I opened a law office in White Plains, did a little work for the family, taught martial arts at the high school, but…I need something else.”

Alaska. That brought to mind ice and snow, days without sunshine, people bundled up in furs. But Gideon was someone who thought the sun was shining even when it wasn’t. He never remembered a hat or an umbrella. It didn’t seem like the right place for him.

Still. It was his life and she was no longer involved in it.

“Then you should go to Alaska,” she said, trying to sound amiable rather than snide. It didn’t quite come off. “Because I don’t want to hear whatever you have to say, Gideon. Oh, I know you could make it sound good. You have the politician’s gift of gab. You talked me into believing I was going to love the state of New York, that I was going to have no trouble being a senator’s wife. You talked me into waiting to have a baby.” A small tremor broke that last word, and she had to clear her throat to go on, the pretense of amiability slipping away. Instead, all the old grudges were demanding attention. “And as I was busying myself with charity work, living an almost nunlike existence while you claimed to be swamped with work, you were fooling around with Claudia Hackett.”

He hesitated a moment, drew a breath, and in a voice that sounded as though he had difficulty controlling it, he said, “I came specifically to say one more time—I was not fooling around with Claudia Hackett.”

“I saw you with my own two eyes!”

“Your two eyes,” he said quietly, “misinterpreted what they saw.”

“How do you misinterpret,” she demanded, “a woman in nothing but panties?”

A man and a woman who’d just climbed out of a van turned as Prue raised her voice, clearly prepared to listen to them instead of going into the restaurant.

“Will you please sit in the cab with me,” Gideon asked, “so that we don’t make any more of a scene than we already have?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she insisted. “It’s taken me a whole year to get over you and over the—” She stopped and drew a steadying breath. “Over everything.”

He shifted his weight and folded his arms. “Well, I’m not leaving until you listen to what happened.”

“Then I hope you’re happy in the parking lot,” she said, moving past him, “because you’re going to be here for a long time.”

He caught her arm and took the cab keys from her. “Look, Prue,” he said, pulling her with him toward the cab. “You listen to my explanation. That’s all I ask. Believe me. Don’t believe me. I really don’t care. Give me ten minutes, and then I’m out of here.”

“What’s the point, Gideon?” she asked, pulling against him. “We are so out of love, there’s no going back.”

“I’m not trying to get you back.” He sounded convincing. Well, that was a comfort. Sort of. “Why would I want to live with you if you won’t trust me? It’s just become a matter of personal necessity that I tell you what happened, even if you don’t believe it.”

She huffed a noisy breath and stopped struggling. If it meant he’d go away and she could forget, it was worth anything. “All right. Ten minutes. And I’m sitting behind the wheel.”

“Fine.” He unlocked the driver’s-side door of the old station wagon, reached in to hit the button that unlocked the passenger door, then returned the keys to her. He walked around the cab and climbed in.

She tossed the clipboard that held Paris’s daily log onto the dash, and her cell phone with it. She pushed the sun visor out of her way, leaned an elbow on the window and rested her left hand comfortably on the steering wheel.

He studied her posture. “You look comfortable,” he observed.

She straightened, dropping her hand to her lap. “Force of habit. I used to drive a shift for Paris off and on.”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really. Does she know you sometimes drive on the sidewalk and can fell a parking meter without looking back?”

She glowered at him. “That was an accident and you know it.”

“I would hope so.”

“My heels were too high.” They’d been driving home from a party and quarreling. She’d insisted on driving.

“A lead foot in high heels is not a good thing.”

She turned slightly to give him her most arctic stare. “I thought you wanted to talk about you and Claudia.”

That stare had never intimidated him in the old days, and it didn’t now. “Still the same old Prue. Ignore your own transgressions but remind everyone else of theirs.”

She reached for her door handle, but he caught her arm. “All right, all right. Let’s not waste ten minutes arguing.”

“We wasted a whole marriage arguing,” she countered. “When you were around enough to argue.”

GIDEON WONDERED why he’d come. It wasn’t that he wanted her back; he’d been honest when he told her he didn’t. He’d thought the absolute adoration he’d had for her in the beginning had completely disintegrated, but it hadn’t. One look at her made him forget the bad times, remember the fun.

She was not very tall, but nicely rounded where it counted, and still absolutely beautiful. She had long, golden-blond hair that was piled atop her head today, but if he concentrated, he could remember it running across his face in the throes of lovemaking, silky and cool.

Her blue eyes could be lively with laughter or stormy with petulance, her mouth soft and full in the raspberry shade of lipstick she’d always preferred.

She was also still capable of raising his blood pressure.

But he planned to move his life in a new direction, and it was important that she hear him out. He was probably wasting his breath—he’d be damned if he’d just be quiet and disappear as she wanted him to.

“A lobbyist for industry,” he began without preamble, “was offering bribes to push through his particular agenda, and the attorney general’s office invited me into this scheme to flush out Senator Crawford from Vermont who was suspected of having accepted a boat and a place in the Caymans.”

She rolled her eyes. “I believe good old Crawford was crooked, but you’re telling me Claudia was a lobbyist?”

“No,” he replied patiently. “I’m telling you that I was aware that Crawford had a mistress who was a stripper. Several members of the ethics committee ate together when we worked weekends, and I’d seen him meet her afterward.”

She thought she had him when she asked, “And you saw him with this mysterious woman and knew she was a stripper. How was that?”

“One of the others who frequented the club where she worked told me. And Crawford was such a posturing braggart, I was sure he had to have told her what he was doing.”

“So she got down to her panties and poured her heart out to you, is that what you’re telling me?”

He closed his eyes, hoping to summon patience. “No,” he said. “I’m telling you that she told me she’d tell us everything she knew if we could guarantee her safety. The attorney general suggested we take her someplace quiet and remote to record her story.”

“Ah.” She nodded as though in understanding. Then she asked, “And where were these members of the ethics committee when she was in her panties?”

She’d never believe this, but it was the truth, and all he could do was reel out what had happened.

“They hit a moose,” he said, maintaining his patience in the face of her open disbelief, “and never made it to the house. Took them two days to get back to Albany.”

“How thoughtful of them. And in sympathy for the moose, she decided to go au naturel for you.”

“She was a young woman accustomed to using her body as a commodity to get what she wanted,” he explained as Prue let her head fall back to the headrest with a groan. “I told her that, in exchange for her help, we’d see that she could go to New York University, something she told me she’s always wanted to do. She thought she had to pay me for that.”

“So if I call New York University,” she challenged, “they can assure me she’s enrolled.”

“No,” he had to admit. “She did a semester and fell in love with a pharmacy student who moved back home to take over his father’s pharmacy. She’s now at a college somewhere in Indiana.” Her disbelieving expression made him add with mild sarcasm, “I don’t know which one, but you’re welcome to call them all if you like.”

“Oh, Gideon.” Prue shook her head as though trying to clear her mind of what he’d told her. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“You left me without letting me explain,” he said, finally losing patience. “How smart is that?” She’d left their Maine house and raced back to Albany, and when he’d gotten home, she wasn’t there. A friend of hers called to tell him she was in the hospital with a nervous collapse and didn’t want to see him.

“I’d say pretty smart,” she retorted, pushing the door open, “if you expect me to fall for that line of fiction. If any of that was true, why wouldn’t you have told me what you were doing? Why haven’t I read about it in the paper?”

“I didn’t tell you,” he said, stepping out of the cab as she did and facing her across the roof, “because Mrs. Crawford was part of that women’s fund-raising group you worked with. I thought it would be awkward for you if you had to watch what you said around her or did anything to make her suspicious.”

“Thoughtful of you,” she said stiffly.

“And no one’s told the press,” he went on, ignoring her comment, “because it’s still an ongoing investigation.”

“You have an answer for everything.”

“Because it’s the truth.” He’d been sure his effort to explain would end this way, but there was just the smallest tug at his chest as he met her eyes. They were filled with anger, then he thought he caught a glimpse of the same regret he felt. Then it was gone. “Okay, I had to try,” he said evenly, satisfied that he’d done his best.

“Goodbye, Gideon,” she said. “I’ll file for divorce so you can get on with your new life in Alaska, and I can get on with my life.” Then she disappeared into the restaurant.

Gideon stood for a few minutes, examining his options. The suitcase he’d brought with him was still in the trunk of the cab. He’d stay the night in Maple Hill and go back to Boston tomorrow. Then it was off to Glacier Bay and the Kenton Cove Lodge.

Paris and Randy came out of the restaurant, Paris’s expression troubled, Randy’s sympathetic.

“She wouldn’t listen?” Paris asked.

“She listened,” Gideon replied. “She just refuses to believe me.”

Randy nodded and offered his hand. “We have a lot in common,” he said as they shook hands. “We’re both in love with difficult women.”

Gideon smiled grimly. “I can relate to the difficult part, but it’s all become too complicated to resolve. I’m just going to move on. Paris, you said there were a couple of inns in town?”

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud group of men pushing their way out of the restaurant, talking and laughing. It was Hank Whitcomb and his friends, at whose table Randy had left Gideon when he’d run after Paris.

Hank broke away from the crowd, waving them off, then came to join Paris, Randy and Gideon. He hugged Paris and clapped Randy on the back. “All right, you two. Glad to see you’ve patched it up. Makes me winner of the pool.”

Paris raised an eyebrow. “The pool?”

“They had bets on when we’d finally get together,” Randy explained, lifting both hands to deny responsibility when Paris looked dismayed. “I had nothing to do with it. Except in falling in love with you.”

Paris leaned into Randy and wrapped an arm around his waist, a beatific smile on her face. “Well, that’s all right, then. Hank, you’ve met my brother-in-law?”

Hank nodded. “We empathized about women while you and Randy were having it out.” He winced at Gideon. “I presume since Prue’s now inside with her mother and Jeffrey that you’re in the same situation Randy was in half an hour ago.”

Gideon grinned mirthlessly. “No happy ending for us, though. I understand your wife has an inn?”

“No, no,” Paris insisted. “If you’re staying the night, you can stay with us, or with Mom.”

Gideon shook his head. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but the two of you need private time, and frankly, so do I. I have some calls to make, some business to conduct that’d be best done without distractions.”

“Jackie covered the desk at the inn this morning and I promised to take her a cinnamon roll.” Hank held up the to-go box in his hand. “Why don’t you just ride to the inn with me?”

Paris looked worried. “So…you’re just going to take off for Alaska tomorrow?” she asked Gideon.

He wrapped her in his arms. “There’s little point in me staying. What about if the three of us meet here for breakfast in the morning before I go?”

“That’d be good.” She heaved a sigh. “She’s changed, you know. I’m sure if you two had some more time together, you might be surprised by how much more…real she’s become.”

He nodded grimly. “She’s always been very real to me. The trouble is, what we had no longer exists for her. So there isn’t even a thread of the old life to hold on to and find our way back.”

“Maybe the way isn’t back, but forward,” Randy suggested. “Approach it as two people without a past. Start over.”

“That sounds good,” Hank offered, then added with a grin, “And I fully appreciate that this is none of my business, but I’ve inherited an unfortunate buttinsky nature from my mother.” Then he sobered and went on. “But as someone in love with a woman with whom I’d had a past, I know you can’t pretend it isn’t there. It’s always there. It affected you, it changed you, and it has to be resolved or there is no future.” He frowned at Gideon. “The bad news, Gideon, is that if it’s important to you, you have to hit it head-on. There’s no way around it.”

Gideon spread both arms. “I understand that. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t really think we could repair the relationship, I just wanted to make sure she understood what had happened. But she’s not willing to listen and I’m tired of trying.”

Randy shook his hand. “Maybe she’ll miss you while you’re in Alaska.”

Gideon gave that suggestion the small, wry laugh it deserved. “I don’t think so. See you two here in the morning. Is eight too early?”

“Eight’s good.”

Gideon followed Hank to a dark green van, Whitcomb’s Wonders painted in white script on the side.

“The men who work for you are called Whitcomb’s Wonders?” Gideon asked, climbing into the van. “That’s quite a claim.”

“It is. And I can back it up. Like I told you over breakfast, clients love that they can call one number for almost any kind of service relating to a home or business.”

“Do you have a good shrink on staff? I feel as though I could use one right about now.”

Hank laughed. “No shrink, but my mother loves to dispense advice. I’ll spare you that.” He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. “I think I understand your frustration. My wife and I were high-school sweethearts. We were separated by a major breach in communication and finally got back together when I moved home a couple of years ago.”

“How did you heal that breach?”

“We fought a lot,” Hank said. “But at least we were talking.”

That, Gideon thought, was the difference right there. Prue had a lot to say but wasn’t interested in listening.

Well. That was fine. He was sure he’d like Alaska. Land of the Midnight Sun, of sled dogs and tales of the gold rush. Another adventure.

He just wished he felt more enthusiastic about it. He had to do something completely different, and a partnership with an old college friend in a fishing lodge in the wilderness had seemed like a good place to relax, enjoy the outdoors and try to get a little spirit back into his life.

He hated what had happened between him and Prue, but pleading with her to listen to the truth was as close as he intended to get to groveling.

Hank pulled up to the Yankee Inn, a three-story colonial with green shutters and a vine-covered pergola at the side.

Inside, as Hank leaned over the counter to embrace his wife and deliver the cinnamon roll, Gideon looked around. He saw worn wood floors, a cozy atmosphere provided by a fieldstone fireplace and a settee that was probably as old as the building.

Hank introduced Jackie, a pretty woman with strawberry blond hair and welcoming gray eyes. Hank wished him good luck, while Jackie checked Gideon in and then led him upstairs to his room. It was remarkably quiet. He could see some roofs, the tops of trees and birds in flight. He went to the window and looked down on the bucolic setting stretched out before him. Drying grass, the beautiful Berkshires and the occasional home dotting the road that led to town. He felt something reach out to him and take hold.

“One of my ancestors hid an injured redcoat in this room,” Jackie said, smoothing the quilt on the bed. “And nursed him back to health.”

He put his bag down and opened the window. Cool fragrant air filled the room. It smelled of wood smoke, and he could hear the musical burble of a stream. He turned back to his hostess to grin. “That was probably a dangerous and unpopular thing for her to do.”

Jackie nodded. “She was sixteen. Danger doesn’t always stop you at that age. Fortunately, he changed sides for her and survived the war. They raised eight children on this place.”

“Courage deserves a happy ending.”

“Yes, it does. And sometimes it takes time to get there.”

She smiled pleasantly as she opened the door, a silent message in her manner that she understood his situation and sympathized with it. Of course. She’d dealt with and survived that major “communications breach” with Hank. And everyone in Maple Hill seemed to know and even care about everyone else’s business.

“Drinks in the lounge five-thirty to seven this evening,” she said. “And continental breakfast from seven to ten in the morning. Is there anything I can get you?”

He looked around the cozy, comfortable room and shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Just press nine on the phone for the desk. Enjoy the day.”

She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

He didn’t think there was any way that was going to happen, but he could get himself organized for the trip to Alaska. He confirmed his reservations from Boston, verified his flight on the small plane scheduled to take him from Juneau to Gustavus, then tried to call Dean Kenton, his partner in the fishing lodge, but got no answer.

He took a shower, closed the window in the room as the day wore on to early afternoon, then lay down on the bed, enjoying the unusual luxury of having the time and place for a nap.

The bedding smelled fresh and vaguely herbal as he settled his head into the middle of a plump pillow and closed his eyes. His back and shoulders relaxed against the mattress.

Peace, he thought, enjoying the moment. He was finally going to have peace. Loving Prue had been exciting, tempestuous and undeniably delicious when she was being sane and adult. But she’d displayed those qualities less often in the last year of their marriage, and he wouldn’t miss the tears and shouting on her part, the exasperation and anger on his. Refusing to see him when he’d followed her home had been unreasonable, even for her.

Yes. Moving away was a good thing. Nothing like a clean break from the past, even though he couldn’t completely separate himself from it, as Hank had said. It was a part of him, had changed him. But he would take what he’d learned and move on.

Somewhere there had to be a woman who was willing to give a man the benefit of the doubt.

He was just drifting off, when his cell phone rang.

“Hello?” he asked, sitting up, happy to put thoughts of Prue out of his mind.

“Gideon? It’s Dean.”

“Hi. I tried to call you earlier.”

“Did you? Oh. Sorry.” Dean’s usually cheerful voice was grim and hesitant. “There’s been a lot going on here.”

Gideon could hear a commotion in the background, people shouting. Then he heard a wail—like a siren. He sat up a little straighter. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Dean replied. “But there’s been a fire at the lodge.”

“A fire,” Gideon repeated, a sense of foreboding bumping along his spine.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “The kitchen and the whole guest wing burned to the ground.”

CHAPTER TWO

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I named you Prudence,” Camille O’Hara said.

Prue stared at her mother, a woman in her late forties who was a model and an actress. She’d had her two daughters very young and was still gorgeous. She wore her expertly colored platinum hair in trendy spikes and had an artistic flair for line and color in her clothes. The fact that she was small and slender contributed to her youthful appearance. Prue knew that she got her creative talent from her.

Unfortunately, she’d inherited other things as well. Camille was charming and vivacious with a tendency toward theatrics—a quality probably well suited to her career. But those same qualities made Prue seem like the princess Gideon had often called her.

“Camille, don’t be so hard on her.” Jeffrey St. John, an actor, musician and old friend of her mother’s who was recently rediscovered, had been visiting for a week and showed no signs of going home to Florida. He’d been a calming influence in the household. “She’s had a shock, and strong feelings are involved. What would be right for you isn’t necessarily right for her.”

“How can a strong, dynamic man who loves her not be right for her?” Camille demanded.

“He said he didn’t want me back,” Prue reminded her. Now that the initial shock of seeing Gideon in Maple Hill had passed, Prue was dealing with a sort of posttraumatic depression. The need to be cool and disdainful in the face of his pathetic explanation had disintegrated and now all she felt was loss for the magic they’d known. “Neither one of us wants to be married again. And that ridiculous explanation of what happened was enough to make the most trusting woman laugh.”

“Sometimes,” her mother suggested more quietly after Jeffrey’s reprimand, “truth is stranger than fiction. Remember when you and Paris were little and the dog stole the cookie dough and I thought you’d done it?”

It was a terrible time to confess to a twenty-year-old crime, but it did make Prue’s point. “We did do it, Mom. That’s what I mean. If you lie well enough, you can get away with murder—or infidelity.”

“You did eat the cookie dough?” Camille asked in genuine surprise. She seemed to have missed the point.

“My point, Mom,” Prue said patiently, “is that I once loved him very much. He cheated on me while I spent night after lonely night alone believing he was working, giving up my life so he could fulfill his noble calling. Now I don’t give a rip about him. He’s moving to Alaska to be a partner in a fishing lodge, and I’m going to see a lawyer and file for divorce so I can look for a new partnership. Someday. Right now I have too much to do.”

“Okay,” Camille said. Prue was prepared for more argument. Her mother never gave up on anything. “But I think you’re making a big mistake. It isn’t easy for women like us to find the right man. They feel overwhelmed by us, even intimidated. We attract them all right, but holding them is harder because sometimes…we’re just too much.”

“The right kind of man,” Prue repeated her words with a roll of her eyes, “wouldn’t be found in a compromising position with a stripper.”

“I understand he had his clothes on,” Jeffrey said.

Both women turned to him in surprise.

“Well, Paris and Randy sat with us this morning while the two of you were in the cab, and she and your mother talked about it.” He shrugged. “I just think if a man’s as eager as all that to make love to a woman, he’s going to get naked, too.”

Feeling besieged, Prue needed to get away. She snatched her jacket and purse off the arm of the sofa and drew a steadying breath. “I’m going to the studio,” she said politely, though her emotions were hot and turbulent. Anger and pain and bitter disappointment gave her a heartburn that had nothing to do with digestion. “I have a lot of orders to fill and I have to make a plan, try to hire some help.”

Jeffrey stood. “Prue, I’m sorry if I…”

She came back to give him a quick hug. “You didn’t do anything, Jeffrey. I just need to get to work and think about other things.” She went to her mother, who sat curled up in an overstuffed chair, and hugged her, too. “I know you have my best interests at heart, Mom. Don’t worry if I’m late. I have a lot to do.”

Camille patted her cheek. “I’m so happy for you that the fashion show went well. Soon the whole world’s going to know you’re a brilliant designer.”

That was a nice thought.

Jeffrey tossed her his car keys. She tossed them back. “Thanks, but it’s a beautiful day and I’m going to walk.” She’d sold her Porsche when she’d moved back home to help contribute to the household. The fact that her sister owned a cab company had helped her get around, but after Paris and Randy were reconciled this morning, she imagined Paris would have better things to do than drive her to her studio.

She blew a kiss into the room and walked out the door, breathing in the sharp, clear air. She set a steady pace and headed off toward town, thinking that the two-mile jaunt would probably take her half an hour or better.

It was just after noon when she reached town. Colonial homes and small businesses stood in the sun-dappled early afternoon, Halloween decorations on the windows, a black cat–shaped windsock puffed out in front of the hardware store.

Traffic picked up as she reached the square, groups of women and men from City Hall or businesses downtown hurrying to lunch appointments. The trees on the common caught the sunlight that also glossed the curved lines on the statue of Caleb and Elizabeth Drake, a couple who’d fought off redcoats. Prettily painted two-hundred-year-old buildings framed the square.

She tried hard to concentrate on her surroundings rather than think about Gideon and his sudden appearance this morning. Though everyone else seemed to think his visit was noble to try to clarify what had happened and an indicator that he still cared, she thought of it as just another attempt to convince her of a fiction she just couldn’t swallow.

She didn’t think she was being difficult. She simply needed to hold on to her self-respect. What woman in her right mind would have believed him?

She’d just reached the far side of the square, when a horn honked behind her. She turned to see Paris’s cab pull up to the curb. The station wagon had magnetic signs on the front doors that read Berkshire Cab in tall yellow letters. Her sister reached across the front seat to open the passenger door.

“Where you going?” she asked.

“To the studio.” Prue ducked down to reply. “Why aren’t you and Randy making out somewhere? What’s wrong with you?”

“One of the other EMTs’ mother died and Randy was called in to cover for him.” Paris shrugged. “So, I thought I may as well drive. Get in.” She pulled a bottle of 7-Up and a package of saltines off the passenger seat.

Prue complied, fastened her seat belt, then took the bottle and crackers from her. “How’s the nausea?”

“Comes and goes,” Paris replied, watching her rearview mirror as she pulled out again. Taking her place in the busy traffic, she grinned at the windshield. “I’m feeling too obnoxiously happy to notice, really. Can you believe it? I’m in love! And I’m going to be a mother.”

Prue patted her sister’s arm, sincerely pleased for her, while her own heart reacted with a silent whimper. “A lot’s changed since you woke up at five this morning, sick as a dog and determined to leave Maple Hill and Randy to go back to law school.”

Paris nodded, still smiling. “I know. I can’t believe that only hours ago I was so sure that all the wonderful aspects of my life were over, except for the baby. And here I am.”

“Obnoxiously happy.”

“Yes. And you know why?”

“Why?”

They’d passed downtown now and the Breakfast Barn sign was visible in the distance on the left side of the highway.

“Because I was forced to listen to reason. Randy came after me and made me listen to him.” She spoke amiably, then added with pointed emphasis, “Just like Gideon tried to do with you this morning.”

If Prue wasn’t wearing her favorite red wool jacket, she’d have leaped from the moving car and taken her chances. But this fabric had been the devil to work on and she wasn’t going to endanger it to escape her sister’s advice.

“Do you want to hear what he told me this morning?” she asked Paris.

Paris sent her a quick and frankly interested glance. “Do you want to tell me?”

Prue recounted Gideon’s story complete with the members of the ethics committee hitting a moose and the stripper harboring a lifelong desire for higher education.

Paris considered a moment, waving at the driver of a police car that drove past. “I don’t think that’s so unbelievable. Parts of the story are a little outrageous, but then Mom always says that truth is—”

“Stranger than fiction,” Prue finished for her. “I know. Well, I don’t believe it. There’s been nothing about the incident in the paper.”

“He said it was an ongoing investigation.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Prudie…” Paris gasped, obviously frustrated with her. That came as no surprise. They’d learned to deal with each other since they’d each returned home a year ago, but they would always be two very different women.

Paris was levelheaded and practical, and if it hadn’t been for a shocking discovery about their mother’s history that redirected her entire life, Paris would probably be about to take the bar exam right now. Prue had always thought Paris took after Jasper O’Hara, their father, who’d been an accountant and the voice of reason in their lively family. But it turned out that Paris was the result of a traumatic event in her mother’s life, and whatever she’d inherited from Jasper had been by osmosis rather than genetics.

Prue, on the other hand, was artistic and mercurial like their mother, and tended to operate on emotion rather than reason, which oddly seemed more reliable to her. Reason was so black and white and allowed little scope for creativity. Emotion, however, could take one in a million different directions and always seemed to open doors rather than close one in.

“You know,” Paris started again. “You’re so creative about everything until it comes to love. It doesn’t exist just to serve you, you know. Gideon’s whole purpose in life wasn’t to see that you were adored and that nothing in your life went wrong. It’s entirely possible that things happened just the way he said they did, but you won’t trust him because you’d have to open up your concept of what love is. Maybe he needed you at the same time you were so desperate for reassurance.”

Prue tried to understand that and couldn’t.

“What are you talking about?” she asked crossly. “Love is about supporting and respecting one another. You might remember that I’ve been doing this longer than you have. I did it for four years while he claimed to be working too hard to do it for me, only to find out that he was fooling around.”

“He said he wasn’t.”

“I saw him!”

“You saw him fully dressed with a nearly naked woman in his lap. I think it’s entirely possible his explanation could be true.”

“Yeah, well, your future doesn’t hinge on the possibility that it could also be a lie.”

“Okay,” Paris sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you, especially now that I’m carrying a baby and you’re about to become the next Donna Karan.”

Prue drew a calming breath. They’d have never agreed to disagree in the old days; they’d have fought an issue until they weren’t speaking. Both of them had learned a lot and gained some maturity over the past year.

“Okay,” Prue said. “And I appreciate all you did to make the fashion show a success. The library made a lot of money, and so did I.”

Paris grinned wryly. “I think my fainting on the runway earned you some pity business, but we can’t take issue with that. So, how are you going to fill all those orders?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Now that I have a little cash to play with, I’m going to hire help. And Rosie DeMarco from Happily Ever After might be willing to help me if her sister’s around to watch the shop.”

“Sounds like you have it all worked out.”

“Planned out, anyway. Whether everything goes according to plan is another matter.”

They’d reached the old Chandler Mill Building on the river where Prue had her studio in an upstairs space. Paris pulled into the parking lot. “Call me when you’re done for the day,” she said, “and we’ll go for Chinese. Randy’ll be at the fire station tonight and I can visit but I can’t hang around too long.”

Prue nodded. “That’ll be fun. When you’re not home, I feel like a fifth wheel with Jeffrey at Mom’s. I mean, I love him dearly and I think it’d be wonderful if he and Mom got together, I just don’t want to be in their way.”

“I’m sure you’re not. You know Mom. She’d tell you if you were. She’d put it charmingly, but she’d tell you.”

They laughed together, not at their mother, but at their shared knowledge of her passive-aggressive honesty.

Paris gave her a quick hug as she reached for the car door. “I’ll butt out of your business, I promise. I just want you to be happy.”

Prue hugged her back. “Prudent Designs makes me very happy,” she assured her. “And usually, having you for a sister does, too. Unless you try to convince me that candy is poison like you did when we were children, or…”

“You know, the Heart and Health Association proved me right on that one.”

“Or—” Prue talked over her “—you interfere in my love life.”

Paris gave her a look. “Do you even have a love life?”

Prue angled her chin. “I might someday, and I wouldn’t want you to interfere.”

“I understand,” Paris said gravely.

“Incidentally…” Prue couldn’t help the wide smile. “Remember when I was five and you were seven and we stole the chocolate-chip cookie dough while Mom was talking to Dad on the phone?”

Paris nodded. “We told her Mopsy got it. We were so bad at fibbing. Your creative nature apparently didn’t kick in until later.”

“She believed us,” Prue told her. “I just found out this morning. When I told her we lied, she was shocked.”

Paris grinned with the old mischief of their childhood. “You’re kidding! That story was so transparent!”

Prue made a face. “Now I feel guilty. I suppose she loved us, so she trusted us.”

Prue thanked Paris for the ride and promised to call her when she was finished for the day. Then she got out of the car and let herself into the building as Paris drove away.

Trust. There was that word Prue didn’t want to hear again. At least not today, because it brought to mind the image of Gideon’s face telling her he didn’t want her back because he couldn’t live with anyone who didn’t trust him.

Well, she was embarking on her own future, and she didn’t want to have to trust anyone but herself.

GIDEON SAT on an antique settee in front of the fire in the parlor of the Yankee Inn. He’d had a long telephone conversation with Dean, who told him there was little point in his coming to Kenton Cove until the lodge was rebuilt and, now that cold weather was setting in there, work wouldn’t start until spring.

Disappointed but trying to put a positive face on the situation, Gideon had canceled his flights and was perusing the Maple Hill Mirror, trying to decide what to do with himself for the next seven or eight months.

The inn’s door burst open suddenly and he found himself surrounded by a group of wet-haired children smelling of chlorine and carrying damp towels. There were three girls and a boy, and not an adult in sight. Jackie had disappeared into an office at the back and hadn’t returned.

“Hi.” A pretty little blond girl about ten or eleven sat beside him. “You’re the senator, aren’t you?”

Gideon smiled politely, wondering where she’d gotten that information. “Well, I was. I’m not a senator anymore,” he said, folding down a corner of the paper. “You’re that kid that’s been to the swimming pool.”

She giggled. “How’d you know that?” Then remembering her wet hair and her obvious towel, she giggled again. “Oh, yeah. We have swimming lessons after school.”

Another little blonde, several years younger than the one next to him, stood with a scolding expression. “You’re not supposed to get naked with somebody unless you’re married to them.”

“Rachel!” A dark-haired child with large brown eyes whose age appeared to be somewhere between the other two came to sit on his other side. She looked mortified. “I’m sorry,” she said to Gideon. “My sister’s too little to understand about gossip and how you’re not supposed to believe it or pass it on.”

Oh, good. Even children knew he was the object of gossip and what it was all about. He folded the paper and put it on the low table in front of him.

“I’m not too little!” Rachel denied. “Mom said that Grandma said—”

“Grandma gossips!” the older sister interrupted her. “And Mom doesn’t want us to do that.” She turned to Gideon. “Our mom owns the inn.”

“Ah. You’re Mrs. Whitcomb’s children.”

“Her name’s Jackie,” Rachel informed him. “Our dad’s Hank. He’s our second one. The first one died.” She pointed her wet towel at the brunette. “That’s Erica, and that’s Ashley. She’s our friend.” She pointed to the young boy beside her. “This is Brian.”

“He’s my brother,” Ashley said.

“Only, he’s not really.” Rachel seemed to have a compulsion for detail. “His mom’s in jail, so Mariah and Cam adopted him. Everybody died in Ashley’s family.”

Erica rolled her eyes and groaned in dismay. “That’s private stuff!” she said to Rachel. “You don’t just blab it to everybody!”

Rachel frowned in hurt surprise. “We know him.” She pointed to Gideon. “Well, we know about him. He’s Prue’s husband, and Prue’s friends with Ashley’s mom and dad. And Dad said he liked him.”

Gideon met Brian’s eyes, wondering how he was taking the girls’ candor. He was pleased to see that it didn’t seem to be bothering him. Brian was obviously well adjusted to his new situation. Gideon had met Cam that morning over the eventful breakfast at the Barn. He’d seemed like a good guy. They all had.

He held his hand out to the boy. “Hi, Brian. I’m Gideon.”

Brian shook his hand and smiled. “You know judo,” he announced with enthusiasm. “Uncle Hank said! Can you throw me?”

“Sure.” Gideon stood, and without giving the boy a moment, he tossed him spectacularly over his right hip, protecting the boy’s landing with a firm grip on him. Then he pulled him up.

“Wow!” Brian was flushed with excitement.

The girls were all on their feet. “Do me!” Rachel demanded. Gideon complied. Squeals of hilarity reigned as he swung the other two girls to the floor.

Hank pushed his way into the lobby just in time to catch Brian pleading to be thrown a second time.

“Daddy!” Rachel ran to him, caught his hand and pulled him toward the laughing group of children, talking all the time. “He can do judo!” she exclaimed. “And he made Brian fly through the air, then he did it to me, then he did everybody!”

“And he’s gonna do me again!” Brian shouted. “Go ahead, Gideon.”

Gideon looked at Hank in question. He nodded his approval. Brian went over with a giggling cry.

“Whoa.” Hank came closer, smiling. “You’re going to have to teach me to do that.” He frowned teasingly at the kids. “And when I take the trouble to pick you up, it would be nice if you didn’t race off and leave me behind the minute the car stops.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Erica said, then without drawing a breath asked Gideon, “Can you throw Daddy?”

Gideon shook his head. “Space is too small. And I’m sure your dad’s had a busy day and the last thing he wants to do right now is go flying through the air.”

Hank studied him with new interest. “Do you think you could?” he asked.

“Could what?” He couldn’t mean what Gideon thought he was asking. “Take you down?”

“Yeah. If you had the room.”

“Sure.”

Hank raised an eyebrow in challenge. “We’re about the same size.”

Gideon nodded. “It’s not about size.”

“Okay. Follow me.”

The children jumped along beside them like little pistons, squealing as Hank led the way to a big empty room in the back.

“Jackie uses this room for banquets,” he explained, “but it’s empty at the moment because housekeeping just shampooed the carpet. This do?”

“Very well.” Gideon pulled off his shoes and advised Hank to do the same. They pushed the eager children toward the wall.

“You stay back there,” Hank told them firmly. “You don’t want to get hit when Gideon comes flying at you.” He grinned at Gideon. The children cheered.

It took just a few seconds. Gideon grabbed Hank, and when Hank tipped his weight, thinking Gideon intended to push in that direction, Gideon reversed and dropped him by hooking his foot with his own.

Hank went down with a thud and a shout and lay there for a moment, the breath knocked out of him. Gideon offered him his hand.

Hank took it, surprise in his eyes. He grinned again and flexed his shoulders. “Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Gideon brushed off the shoulder of Hank’s chambray shirt. “Assailants don’t usually count to three,” he said.

“True.” Hank conceded. “Okay, let’s go again.”

“Come on, Daddy!” Erica shouted.

Brian called, “Go, Gideon!”

Hank, busy assuming a prepared stance, stopped to frown with teasing ferocity at the boy. “Whose side are you on, Brian?”

Brian smiled winningly. “Well, Gideon doesn’t have anybody to cheer for him.”

That was certainly true on more than one level.

Prepared, Hank was a stronger opponent, but knowledge won out over strength. Gideon grabbed him and, using the man’s own strength, tossed him over his hip. Hank landed hard.

The children gasped.

Gideon would have worried about embarrassing Hank in front of the children if Hank had seemed worried about it, but he didn’t. Hank propped himself up on his elbows and asked, “Can you do two men at a time?”

Gideon nodded, then looked around. “But you’re the only man here. You’re seeing double. That’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Funny man.” Hank sat up. “Erica, can I have your cell phone?”

The girl dug in her backpack and handed it to him. He dialed. “Good,” he said after a moment. “You’re still there. Can you come down to the banquet room for a few minutes? Doesn’t matter what for, you’ll have a good time.”

He winked at the children, who laughed. He tossed the phone back at Erica and got to his feet, flexing his left arm and groaning.

“What’re you doing for dinner?” he asked. “Jackie told me your trip to Alaska fell through, at least for the moment, and you’ve booked an extra day.”

Gideon nodded. “I thought a drive through the Berkshires would be good for my disposition.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Hank said. “Jackie makes a mean enchilada casserole. Want to join us?”

Gideon was a little surprised by the offer. It wasn’t as though he knew him that well, and it was a curious suggestion in light of the fact that he’d just taken him down twice.

“Ah…that’d be nice,” he said. “Thank you.”

A man in paint-smeared coveralls walked into the room. Brian ran to him.

“Uncle Evan!” he said. “Gideon’s going to throw you around!”

Gideon remembered the man from the breakfast table at the Barn.

“Gideon, you remember Evan Braga? Evan, Gideon Hale.”

“Right.” Gideon shook hands and said with a note of apology, “I just want to make it clear up-front that this is Hank’s idea and not mine.”

Evan looked doubtful. “Okay.”

“He’s a martial arts expert,” Hank told Evan. “He’s going to throw us.”

“Throw us,” Evan repeated blankly.

“Yeah.”

“Is this in my job description?”

“No, but job description is what this is all about.”

“Ohhh,” Evan said as though that clarified things. Gideon was confused.

But not about what he knew. Hank and Evan backed away from him, each at an angle, then came toward him. Hank was easily dispensed with, but Evan had had some training. Gideon struggled with him for a moment, then finally overbalanced him, hooked his left leg and used the weight of his own body to drive Evan’s shoulders to the floor. Gideon leaped up again, ready for a counterattack.

Hank and Evan, both supine, looked at one another.

“What do you think?” Hank asked him.

Evan, breathless from their brief but fierce struggle, nodded. “Yes. But if you tell anybody he took both of us, I’ll hurt you!” He frowned at the children. “And that goes for you guys, too.”

The children giggled, obviously not taking him seriously.

Gideon offered his hand to Evan and hauled him to his feet. Then both reached for Hank.

“Am I still invited for dinner?” Gideon teased.

“Absolutely,” Hank replied. “I want to talk to you about a job.”

CHAPTER THREE

“THE FISHING LODGE caught fire, or something, yesterday,” Camille said, handing Prue a bag of oranges. She put two bags of lettuce into the vegetable crisper in the fridge, then closed the door and looked into Prue’s dismayed face. “I met him at the market. He was supposed to leave for Boston this morning, then fly out to Alaska, but his partner asked him to wait until the lodge is rebuilt. Hank offered him a job, so he’s staying here until the lodge is ready.”

Prue was stopped in her tracks by that news. No. That couldn’t be. She had fifty-one special orders for her designs. She couldn’t operate under that kind of pressure with the possibility hanging over her of running into Gideon at the market or the Barn.

“Tell me you’re kidding,” Prue pleaded.

Camille pushed a ten-pound bag of potatoes into her arms. “Can’t do that. It’s the truth. Put that stuff away before you get a hernia.”

Prue carried the oranges and potatoes to the far corner of the room where an old-fashioned cooler-cupboard opened to the outside and kept produce cool. She placed the food on the slatted shelf, then closed the door and came back to her mother.

“But why would he want to stay here? I’m here. We’re getting a divorce.”

“Divorced couples often live in the same city.”

“This isn’t a city, this is a small town! We’ll keep bumping into each other.”

Camille smiled as she walked past her with a dozen eggs destined for the refrigerator. “Then you’ll have to behave with grace and dignity when that happens, won’t you?”

Prue sank dispiritedly onto a stool pulled up to the work island in the bright cream-colored kitchen. “I don’t think I’m capable of that,” she grumbled.

Camille, on her way back to the grocery bags, stopped to stare at her. “What?”

“Come on, Mom,” she said, playing with the bag of green onions sitting on the countertop, waiting to be washed. “You know how it is. Paris has the smarts, and I have the…the reputation for reacting. She keeps her cool, and I just try to look pretty while I’m preparing to blow up or laugh nervously.”

Her mother changed directions and came to sit on the stool beside her. “What are you talking about? You’ve always been the…the…”

“Princess…” Prue provided for her. “Yes, I know. The one who likes things her way, who forces the issue until it comes out her way. To some people, it looks like charming determination, but to those who know me well, it just means I don’t know what to do when things don’t turn out the way I planned. Because Paris is the brains and I’m like you.”

Camille blinked, obviously uncertain whether or not to be insulted. “Thank you, Prudence,” she said drily.

Prue touched her arm. “Mom, you know what I mean. Paris is a woman of today, all intelligence and quick wit. Who else could come home with nothing and make a taxi service a going concern?”

“You’ve opened what appears to be a very successful design studio,” Camille pointed out.

Prue shrugged. “I can see designs in my head and I can sew. But my talents are the kind that would have gotten me through if this was nineteenth-century France. But this is twenty-first-century America where women run countries and corporations, fly in space, preside over colleges and hospitals. I’m out of date.”

Camille blinked again. “Then, if you’re just like I am…”

“No.” Prue anticipated her conclusion and denied it. “You’re not out of date. You’re an actress and a model. You’re supposed to look beautiful and be fabulous and charm everyone.” She met her mother’s eyes. “And we know how brave you’ve been. I’ve proved nothing, except that I can sew.”

Camille put a hand to Prue’s cheek. “Prudie, when did this insecurity begin? I don’t remember you ever questioning yourself this way.”

“I’ve had a lot to think about since I’ve come home.” She took her mother’s hand and held it. “I’ve watched Paris take hard news and still get on with it. I’ve learned about all you went through that we never suspected. And you both found men to love who loved you in return.”

Camille squeezed her hand and said significantly, “So did you.”

“But I apparently wasn’t enough.”

“Depends on what you choose to believe.”

Prue covered her eyes with one hand. “Let’s not have that argument again.” She dropped her hand to the table and said with a touch of regret, “My plan was to finish my orders, then maybe take my designs to New York where I can really compete. But if Gideon’s staying here, maybe I’ll go to New York now.”

“Well, that’s foolish,” Camille said. “You have fifty-one orders. Doesn’t that involve fittings—probably more than one—for each garment?”

Prue had to concede that it did. She knew she couldn’t leave, it just felt good to pretend that she could.

“Yes, it does. It’s going to take me months.”

“You told me last night that Rosie DeMarco said she could help you in her spare time.”

Prue nodded. “It’s going to take months even with help.”

“Then, you’ll just have to decide that when you run into Gideon, you’ll be civil and not make a scene.”

“I think you should make a scene.” Paris walked into the kitchen holding a large bowl covered with plastic wrap. “I think the next time you see him, you should run into his arms, tell him you want to listen to his explanation one more time with an open mind, and try your marriage again.”

Prue rolled her eyes at her sister. “You’re delusional. What’s in the bowl?”

“Chilly’s chili,” Paris replied, handing the bowl to Camille. “I had lunch with Randy at the station and—you know his partner on the ambulance, Chilly Childress—sent me home with leftovers. You have to try this stuff. It’s hellfire ambrosia.” She took Camille’s stool as her mother put the bowl in the refrigerator. “Did you know,” she asked Prue, “that Gideon’s rented that old A-frame on the far side of the lake? He’s staying for a while. Something happened with the partnership deal. Addy told me. I guess Hank found him the house.”

“A fire happened,” Prue informed her. “Mom met Gideon at the market this morning.”

“So, what do you think?” Paris asked, looking pleased. “I think it’s fate. I think the cosmos is conspiring to force the two of you together so you have to work it out.”

Prue caught her mother’s eye across the work is land as she prepared a pot of coffee. “And to think I said Paris was the smart one.”

Paris broke into a wide smile. “She did?” she asked Camille. “Prue said I was smart?” She turned to her sister in suspicion. “You want something. What is it? A kidney?”

Prue swatted her arm and slipped off the stool. “I have to get to the studio. You just keep dreaming.”

“Actually,” Paris said, catching her arm. “I need something.”

Prue stopped. “Yes?” she asked warily.

“You know the wedding dress I modeled?”

“The one you fainted in and got all dusty? Yes, I do.”

“Can I get married in it?” Paris asked with a gleeful expression.

Camille squealed and started crying as she wrapped Paris in her arms. Prue forced herself into their circle until it was a three-way hug.

“Of course you can,” she said. “Congratulations!”

Paris drew slightly away, her green eyes bright with happiness. “Randy and I talked about it when I was at the station for lunch. He wants to get married as soon as possible. We’re thinking within the next couple of weeks.”

Camille frowned. “But that’s barely time to plan showers and invitations and—”

Paris interrupted with a shake of her head. “We don’t want all that. We’ll call everyone. The guys at the firehouse want to fix the food, and I’ve got a dress.”

“But…” Camille didn’t seem able to focus her complaints.

Paris hugged her again. “It’s what we want, Mom. No fuss, just everyone we love around us. Okay?”

Even her mother found that hard to dispute. “Okay.”

“I want you to give me away, Mom.”

“Really? Is that…proper?”

“Yes. It’s done all the time. And Prue, of course, will be my maid of honor. Chilly’s going to stand up for Randy. What’s the matter?”

Camille had a worried expression. “You’re not moving away, are you?”

“No. Randy wants to stay and so do I. In fact, we’re going to start house-hunting pretty soon.”

Camille put a hand to her heart in relief. “Thank goodness. I thought the hurry meant he was going back to medical school or you really did want to go back to Boston. I know I lived without you and Prue for quite a while, but I’ve really enjoyed having you back.”

Prue saw in Paris the excitement, the promise she herself had known when she’d burst into the house one rainy afternoon four-and-a-half years ago to announce her engagement to Gideon. She remembered the deep-down satisfaction she’d felt that life was progressing according to plan, that she’d found a hand some, smart and well-respected man.

She hadn’t known then that her princess life was about to be dethroned. That it wasn’t all as perfect as it appeared.

Paris’s cell phone rang. “Berkshire Cab,” she answered. “Oh, hi, Letitia.” She listened a moment, then slipped off the stool. “Sure I can. I’ll be right there. Ten minutes.”

She turned off the phone, tucked it into the pocket of the baseball jacket Randy had lent her at a picnic about a month ago, and that had hardly been off her back since. “I’m picking up the Lightfoot sisters,” she said, hugging Camille one more time. The Lightfoot sisters were a spinster pair who ran the Maple Hill Manor School outside of town. It had been in their family for generations. “Want a ride to the studio, Prue?”

“Yes, please.” Prue ran for her purse and jacket and met Paris at the door. “Bye, Mom!”

“Bye, girls. Drive carefully. When Randy gets off, we’ll all have to celebrate!” She shouted the last part as Paris closed the door.

Prue climbed into the passenger seat as Paris slipped in behind the wheel.

“I’m really happy for you,” Prue said, buckling her seat belt. “I’ll make you something special. I don’t know what yet, but I’ll think of something.”

Paris backed out of the driveway, turned onto Lake Road and headed for the highway. “You won’t have time to think about anything but all those orders you have to fill. Letting me use the wedding dress is enough, Prue. I suppose I should talk to Rosie about buying that headpiece I modeled with it. It was perfect.”

“It was. Any thoughts on what color you want me to wear?”

“I don’t know.” Paris made a face as she thought. “Something fallish, I suppose. Like gold or pumpkin.”

“I have a soft orange brocade I’ve been saving for something special. You think that’d be too weird for a wedding?”

“Not at all. You’re not capable of weird when it comes to wearing the right thing. I swear, you’d look good in golf pants.”

Prue laughed. “You’re the one who wowed them at the fashion show.”

“Of course. I was wearing your clothes.”

“And you did such a good job of it, even the Lightfoot sisters ordered two of the cloaks. One midnight, one emerald. They told me they intend to wear them when they go to the opera in Boston.”

Paris smiled. “That’s great. The sisters are so cute.” She pulled into the parking lot of the Chandler Mill Building and stopped near the door. “Will you have time to make yourself a dress for the wedding?” Paris asked as Prue stepped out of the cab. “I mean, with all those orders to fill?”

“Oh, sure,” Prue replied. “I’ll do something simple but special. How do you feel today?”

Paris waggled her right hand. “Early morning’s the worst, then I’m usually okay. Have a good afternoon.” She grinned mischievously. “Any messages for Gideon?”

“No.” Prue was afraid to ask why, but she wanted to know. “Why?”

“I’m picking him up later so he can buy a car.” She smiled innocently at Prue. “You should come along. You keep talking about buying a car, too.”

Prue grabbed the leather wallet that always sat on the console beside Paris, and reached into it for the candy bar her chocoholic sister usually stashed there. And there it was. Hershey with almonds. Basic but delicious.

“Hey!” Paris complained.

“If you can be mean to me—” Prue pocketed the bar, zipped up the wallet again and returned it to its spot “—I can be mean to you. Just leave me alone about Gideon.”

“Prudie! Give me back my chocolate! I need serotonin for two!”

Prue thanked her sister for the ride, stuck her tongue out at her and let herself into the building. Once inside, she stood for a moment with her back to the closed door, absorbing the sense of safety and security the building provided her. No one here ever asked her about Gideon. No one here ever made her think about the loss she’d kept from him. She wondered with a little wince why the grief was suddenly so fresh. Because Gideon was back, probably.

She’d have to consider moving into her studio.

GIDEON LIKED the house Hank had found for him. Hank had done work in it several months ago when the owner was moving and preparing to rent it out rather than sell it on the chance he returned one day.

“It’s probably a little big for one person,” Hank had said, “but then again it’s nice to have space.”

The A-frame had a large living room with the vaulted ceiling typical of the architecture, a long kitchen and dining area off to the right, and a bedroom and a bath behind the living room.

The loft bedroom was huge with a finely carved railing that looked down on the living room.

Hank had led him out onto the deck that ran the length of the structure and pointed across the lake. “See that dock on the other side?”

Gideon had squinted, but the sun was bright and the lake was a considerable distance across. He could barely make it out.

“That’s Cam and Mariah’s place. Used to be mine, but Jackie had the old family place in town and that’s worked out more conveniently for us with the kids.”

“I love this house,” Gideon said. “And I appreciate your finding it for me considering how little you know about me. And considering the story circulating of the incident that led to my separation from Prue.”

Hank nodded. “I’ve heard it. But I’ve been misjudged a time or two myself, and I think it’s a good thing to make your decisions about people on what you witness firsthand. And so far all I really know is that you make good breakfast-table conversation, you were decorated for bravery in the Gulf War and you’re a judo master. Hard to think badly of you on that information.”

Gideon had appreciated that vote of confidence. It was going to make staying here more doable than it might have been. And Hank asked him to set up the new security program that would become a part of Whitcomb’s Wonders’ services. Gideon was certain Hank wouldn’t have asked that of someone he had any doubts about.

This morning Gideon had gone to the furniture store and bought a sofa, a dining table and chairs, a bed and a television. A small apartment-size washer and dryer had been left in the downstairs bathroom. He figured that would see him through his stay in Maple Hill.

A cursory look around the living room reminded him of Prue’s flair for decorating.

It was weird, he thought as he went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Now that he’d seen Prue again, he missed her. When she’d first taken off on him after refusing to see him and discuss what had happened, he’d been so angry at her unreasonable attitude that he hadn’t cared if he ever saw her again.

Then, after almost a year without her, he’d begun to accept that it was over. Anger had evaporated and all that was left was a desperate need to set the record straight.

When Dean had offered him the partnership in the fishing lodge, he’d known he had to make one last effort to talk to her on his way out of her life. He’d wanted nothing more than to hear her say that she believed him.

The frustration had returned when he’d gotten here and found that her attitude hadn’t changed an iota. But he thought he’d seen pain in her eyes. She wouldn’t change her mind because she was still hurt.

And the obvious conclusion was that she still cared about him.

He certainly still cared about her. As much as he could have cheerfully murdered her yesterday for trouncing all his explanations about what had happened in Maine, he had to admit that seeing her had affected him in a major way. All the old feeling was back. Everything he’d felt for her, and thought had been destroyed, had apparently only been suppressed.

He wanted her back. He’d told her he didn’t, but if she wouldn’t listen to the truth from him, it seemed pointless to be honest about his feelings.

The loud ring of his newly installed telephone jarred him out of his thoughts. He put the filled coffee basket into the machine and poured water into the well as he picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Gideon?” The voice was low and female with a touch of Marlene Dietrich’s dramatic alto. He recognized it immediately.

“Aunt George!” he exclaimed. Georgette Irene Hale Milton Didier Finch-Morgan was his favorite aunt, his father’s older sister who’d worked for Vogue, been widowed three times and was now CEO of her third husband’s considerable holdings. She lived in London. “How are you?”

“I’m enmerdée at the moment,” she said, the French word translating to a situation that involved considerable manure. “But I’m coming to see you.”

“But…I’m not home,” he said stupidly.

“Well, I know you’re not home, Gideon. I called you there first and got this number from your mother. She told me about a plan you had to go into partnership in Alaska. I understand it just fell through.”

“Actually, it’s only been delayed,” he corrected. “But why did you track me down? I hope it’s because you decided I’m your favorite nephew and you’re leaving me everything.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “You are my favorite nephew, but I’m having too much fun to leave anybody anything just yet. I’ve tracked you down because I want to talk to Prudence.”

“Ah…Aunt George. You know Prue and I are separated.”

“I do. But I also know that she’s in Maple Hill, wherever that is, and so are you.”

“I just came to try to straighten things out with her before I went to Alaska. But she still doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“But you’re still staying there?”

“I’ve been offered a challenging job. And it’s a beautiful place to be until I go to Alaska. Why do you want to talk to Prue?”

“Because I heard about her line of clothes. Your mother faxed me the photos that appeared in the Boston Globe.”

“The Globe?” he repeated in surprise.

“Apparently their fashion reporter was there for Leaf-Peeper weekend and decided to stay for the fashion show. She was very impressed. So, I remembered that I never gave you kids a wedding present.”

Gideon laughed. “That was probably wise, or it’d be in storage in New York with a lot of our other things.”

“Well, I insist on making it up to you. Or rather, to her. I always did like that girl. In the communications division of one of my companies, there’s a very prestigious little fashion magazine that would love to have photos and a story about a young American launching a sophisticated new line.”

He knew Prue would be thrilled at that opportunity. And in spite of all her animosity toward him, he wanted her to have it.

“I can be there in three days with a photographer,” Georgette said. “And I’ll do the story myself. I often contribute to the magazine because of my fashion experience. Can we stay with you?”

Gideon hesitated, only because he knew his aunt’s presence would put paid to all his hopes of peace and quiet.

“Ah…sure. But Prue doesn’t want anything to do with me. If you want to deal with her…” And suddenly, like a shaft of sunlight through a storm cloud, he saw a way to turn this to his advantage.

Georgette waited a moment, then demanded, “What?”

“I…ah…” He stalled for time as his brain churned with an idea.

“Gideon?”

“Can you do some dramatic work for me, Auntie?” he asked as he mulled over the idea again, looking for flaws. There were many, but he was an optimist.

“You know me, dahling,” she said in a theatrical tone. “I live for center stage.”

“I’m thinking,” he said, unreeling the plan, “that if you tell her that I told you we were reconciled and that she’s living here with me, she’ll come over demanding to know what I’m up to and I can explain that I didn’t want her to miss this opportunity to make a big splash in the press. She’ll think I’m noble. Maybe.”

“That sounds plausible.”

“So, she’ll have to stay with me for the time that you’re here so that it really does appear that we’re reconciled.”

“But would my opinion of your marital status be that important to her?”

“I think it’ll be all entangled in her wish to have this opportunity. And in my noble and self-sacrificing insistence that she get it.”

“Ah. Insidious. I like it. Give me her number.”

As fate would have it, he’d run into Camille when he’d been in the supermarket buying coffee, and she’d given it to him—both her cell and the studio. He gave both numbers to his aunt.

“All right, Gideon,” she said briskly. “I’m going to bring the fashion world a bright new star and possibly save a marriage in the bargain. Is there an aunt anywhere more wonderful than I?”

“I doubt it,” he replied. “Go to it, Auntie.”

She hung up, obviously pumped to come through for him.

All he had to do was wait.

And he might invest in a little body armor, just in case.

CHAPTER FOUR

PRUE SORTED THROUGH her orders, listed them according to garment and size to place her fabric order, then listed names and phone numbers in preparation for setting up a fitting schedule. She sipped at a cup of coffee, stared at her long list and fought a sense of panic. She’d have to work flat-out—with help—in order to get everything done so that her first customers could wear their fall and winter fashions before spring came!

She fell back against her chair, momentarily daunted by the task, and looked around at the studio she’d finally acquired after years of dreaming about it. It was far more functional than glamorous—a lot like her life. The room had a collection of tables, one for cutting fabric, one that held two sewing machines, one for simply working out patterns. There was a rolling rack of finished and half-finished projects, two overstuffed chairs for collapsing into, shelves with bolts of fabric, drawers with trim, buttons, notions.

On the wall above her desk, a bulletin board was covered with fabric swatches, design ideas, fast-food coupons and the occasional business card.

It occurred to her that she finally had this place because Gideon had sent her half the proceeds of the sale of their condo.

But she didn’t want to think about him right now, and was happy to be distracted by the ringing telephone.

She picked it up, hoping it wasn’t a client already wondering when her order would be filled.

“Hello,” she said with false cheer.

“Hi, darling! I never sent your wedding present and I’m coming to make it up to you!”

Prue was surprised by the vaguely familiar female voice and the odd, completely out-of-sync remark.

“Ah…” she began hesitantly.

“It’s Aunt Georgette, darling!” the theatrical voice clarified. “Remember me? We only met once, but I’m generally considered to be pretty unforgettable.”

Prue had to laugh, remembering the tall, attractive woman in head-to-toe Gucci she’d met in New York at the engagement party Gideon’s parents had given them.

“What a lovely surprise.” Prue remembered finding her funny and sincere. But she couldn’t imagine why the woman was calling her. Last she’d heard, Georgette lived in Europe with a new husband, who’d since passed away.

“I’ll tell you why I’m calling,” Georgette said, launching into a story about receiving a fax of the Globe story about Prue’s fashion show, and how she wanted to prepare an advertising campaign for her through the firm she’d inherited from her husband. “I’m so sorry I missed your wedding, but I’d like to make up for it now. What do you say?”

Prue was flattered, astonished, and very aware of just what such exposure could do for the future of Prudent Designs.

“Well, I’d love that, of course,” she said, then felt honesty required that she tell her just what had happened since the wedding she’d missed. “But I think you should know, Aunt Georgette, that Gideon and I—”

“Were getting a divorce,” Georgette interrupted. “Gideon told me. But since you’ve patched things up, you’re still deserving of a wedding present.”

Prue repeated dumbly, “Patched things up?”

“Gideon explained about the misunderstanding, but I’m so happy you had the good sense to hear him out and trust that he’d never do such a thing to you.”

Prue was trying hard to grasp what Georgette was telling her, but her brain just wouldn’t make sense of it.

“When I decided to offer this little gift, I called Maggie.” Maggie Hale was Gideon’s mother. “She told me Gideon had followed you to Maple Hill. He must really love you to leave New York for a tiny town on the edge of the Berkshires to put your marriage back together.”

Prue opened her mouth but could think of nothing coherent to say with it. A male voice in the background shouted Georgette’s name.

“Got to go,” she said quickly. “I have a few things to clear up before I leave. Oh, incidentally, when I first got this idea, I thought we’d have to hire a male model to be in the shots with you, but now that you and Gideon are reconciled, I can’t imagine a more photogenic couple. What do you think?”

“I…I…”

“Good. And it’d simplify things for me if I could just bunk with the two of you while I’m there. I’ll book a hotel, motel, whatever you’ve got there for the photographer.”

“Ah…”

“I’ll be there in three days.”

Prue’s mind tumbled over and over itself trying to make sense of what was happening. Then necessity made her grasp the important issue. A very influential woman in fashion was going to create an advertising program for Prudent Designs. At the moment, that was all she needed to know.

“We’ll see you then.”

“Good. I’ll call Gideon with details of my arrival.”

The moment she hung up the phone, Prue realized what she’d done.

She’d gotten herself an ad campaign! And into a tangled mess.

She called Berkshire Cab. “Paris, you’ve got to take me to Gideon’s!”

Paris’s voice exuded hope. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to kill him. You know where this A-frame is?”

Paris sighed. “Yes, I do. He bought a new truck this afternoon. I dropped him at the car lot, then tooled by later to see what he’d decided on. It’s beautiful!”

“Can you pick me up?”

“Do I have to search you for weapons?”

“Paris…”

“I’ll be right there.”

THE A-FRAME WAS on the wilder, less populated side of the lake. It had a full front porch and big double-glass doors. On either side of the doors was a large pot of flowering cabbage, and the boxes under large square windows were filled with yellow mums.

Parked near the porch steps was a red pickup. Prue remembered that Paris had told her he’d bought a truck, but it hadn’t registered at the time. As long as she’d known him, he’d driven a sports car.

Then the doors opened and he appeared with a Berkshire Cab coffee mug in his hand. Paris had had the blue-and-white mugs printed when she’d first started the company, offering them to anyone who took a trip of twenty miles or more. It was easy, Prue thought, to see whose side she was on.

He wore jeans and a gray Whitcomb’s Wonders sweatshirt with red lettering. The jeans were as out of character for him as the truck, though he looked wonderful in them—long-legged, lean-hipped and dangerously informal. She didn’t like the fact that her pulse accelerated ever so slightly.

Prue paid Paris for the ride.

Paris tried to push the money away. “What are you doing?” she asked with a frown. “I never charge you…”

“Well, that’s going to stop,” Prue insisted. “He told his aunt we were back together!”

“What aunt?”

“Georgette. The one who lives in London.”

Paris nodded slowly, as though trying to figure out how one thing related to the other. “Why does that mean you have to pay me for the ride?”

Prue knew it had nothing to do with that. It was because the cup and the sweatshirt were examples of how he’d been accepted by everyone, and it made her want to do something mean.

“It isn’t the mug, is it?” Paris asked suddenly. “Because it was just a friendly gesture—not a slight against you, just something for him. And if you’re offended, you should know that there’s a small set of Fiestaware Mom sent over for him when I picked him up at the dealer’s. So you can hate all of us.”

“I don’t hate you,” Prue said, chin raised in affronted dignity as she unlocked her door. “I just think it’s interesting that you’re all helping him, when he’s making my life so difficult.”

“I don’t understand about his aunt.”

“She’s coming to visit,” Prue explained, “and she says he told her we’ve patched things up. So she’s expecting us to be together when she arrives.”

“Well, why didn’t you just correct her?”

Prue opened her mouth to explain about the advertising campaign, but she didn’t know where to start. It was all so convoluted.

“Never mind,” she said, climbing out of the car. “Thank you for the ride.” Her tone didn’t sound very grateful.

“Sure,” Paris replied stiffly, then put the cab into gear and turned around to head out onto Lake Road.

“You two still fight all the time?” Gideon asked as Prue approached the steps.

“Yes,” she replied. Then realizing that wasn’t entirely true, Prue amended, “No, not as much. Sometimes.” Remembering that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about, she met his dark gaze as she climbed the steps. “Georgette called.”

GIDEON SMILED in a friendly way, keeping any sexual suggestion out of the gesture and adding a look of understanding. “Ah,” he said, pulling the door open. “Come on inside. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”

She used to like his coffee, he remembered. She’d usually made breakfast when they were married, but he’d made the coffee. She’d claimed to be unable to strike the perfect point between strong and too strong the way he did.

He’d always loved her “Mmm!” of approval when she took her first sip.

It had been a simple but comfortable routine, the memory of which could bring him to the edge of despair when he made coffee in New York in his quiet and lonely kitchen.

But despite his warm memories, he felt fairly sure she didn’t have any so he half expected her to refuse his offer of coffee and choose to have this discussion on the porch. He was pleasantly surprised when she preceded him inside.

He pointed her to the new leather sofa and went to the rustic bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. He poured coffee into a bright yellow cup, her favorite color, and carried it out to her.

“You told Georgette we’ve patched things up,” she said, sitting on a corner of the sofa, looking like a duchess displeased with one of her serfs. She reached up to accept the cup. “Thank you.”

“She seemed to have that impression when she called me,” he lied easily. This could work if he was convincing. “I think she probably got it from Mom, who was sure when I told her I was coming here before going to Alaska that you’d either want to come with me or plead with me to stay here.”

“Why didn’t you set her straight?” she asked coolly. Then she took a sip of his coffee. There was no “Mmm!” this time, but she did close her eyes for an instant, her appreciation there but silent.

“Because she started raving about Prudent Designs,” he replied, looking her in the eye because that part was true. “Then she started reeling out this whole ad campaign idea launched from the article using the two of us as models, and before I could explain to her that she was mistaken, she was giving me names of publications where the ads would appear, numbers of consumers who’d be reached, big names who’d be clamoring for your clothes.” He shrugged with what he hoped appeared to be sincere nobility. “So I let her think what she wanted to think. I figured if you thought it was all just too distasteful, you’d correct her yourself.” He took a sip of his coffee and asked innocently, “Did you?”

He knew very well she hadn’t. If she had, she’d have simply called him and chewed him out. Only a strategy meeting would require her physical presence.

She sighed and glanced away, obviously feeling guilty about maintaining the deception. “No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “Selfishly, I thought the opportunity too good to pass up.” She angled her chin in that infuriatingly disdainful way he’d grown so used to in the last few months of their marriage. “Now, I suppose, you’re going to tell me you’ve done this just to set me up so you can refuse to go along with this after all?”

She made him wish they’d bring back thumbscrews and the rack. “Now, that’s a nice thing to say to someone who’s gone out of his way to help you. After all you’ve put me through this past year, how much fun do you think this is going to be for me?”

She studied him, apparently searching for a chink in his believability. He guessed that because he was sincerely dedicated to the project—even though for entirely different reasons than she thought—she couldn’t find one. She finally sighed and said grudgingly, “I’m sorry.”

He accepted that with a shrug and sat in the opposite corner of the sofa with his own cup. “No matter what’s gone between us, I couldn’t blow this for you. But I think it’d be a good idea,” he said reasonably, “to try to put away all the old stuff between us, at least until Aunt Georgette’s gone again. I’m sure if we put some effort into it, we can be civil to one another in the interest of your career.”

She took a sip of her coffee and studied him with uncertainty. “I’m sure we can,” she finally conceded. “I guess I just don’t understand why you’re willing to do it.”

“I thought I explained that,” he replied. “Even though our marriage is over, I’d never be vengeful enough to step on your dreams. If Georgette can help you to realize them, I’ll do what I can to help.”

He thought he sounded sincere, but she still appeared unconvinced. Because he was sincere, he snapped at her. “Okay. I’ll do it because if you make a bundle, you won’t need alimony. Is that easier for you to believe?”

He expected her to find relief in that fib so she could go on believing he was the rat she thought him to be. But she didn’t seem to. There was a brooding quality about her, and she looked just a little lost—an unusual state of affairs for the usually confident and capable Prudence O’Hara Hale.

She tossed her hair, a sign that meant she wanted to change the subject. “She said she’d be here in three days.” She looked around the room as though noticing her surroundings for the first time. Then she patted the sofa. “This must have cost you a fortune.”

He shrugged. “I liked it. And I think it’ll fit into a fishing-lodge atmosphere when I go to Alaska.”

She nodded and got to her feet, walking around the large, mostly empty room. “You were lucky to find such a great place to rent month to month,” she observed.

“I know. It’s good to have friends in the right places. Hank knew about the house and put in a good word for me with the owner.”

She turned away from a perusal of the bare walls to focus suddenly on his shirt. And with a gesture that completely surprised him, she pinched a small amount of fabric at his chest and said drily, “And he provided you with a change of shirt, I see.”

He nodded, leading the way around the bar to the kitchen. “It’s all part of the employment package.”

She looked around, nodding, then walked to the door that led onto a back porch. A fairly large pet door had been cut into the bottom.

“Must have had a Saint Bernard,” she guessed, turning around and walking out again, following a small corridor to the bedroom.

He indicated the empty room with its wide window looking out onto the woods behind the house. “I think Aunt George could be comfortable in here.”

“Employment package?” she asked, his previous reply apparently just catching up with her.

“Yes,” he said, leaning a shoulder in the doorway. “Hank was looking for a way to provide security services as part of his offerings. While I was having breakfast with him and some of the other guys the morning Paris abandoned me in the booth at the Barn, we happened to talk about my experiences in Iraq. Then I was playing with his kids in the lobby of the Yankee Inn and…”

She looked confused and he felt called upon to explain that he’d just gotten the call from his business partner telling him to delay his trip, when the kids walked in from their swimming lessons. “They knew who I was,” he said with a grin. “And Rachel, I think it is, told me you shouldn’t get naked with people you aren’t married to.”

Prue shifted her weight. “Yes, I’ve always thought so, too.”

“Yeah. So have I.” Before she could offer doubts about that, he raised a hand to stop her. “I know. Never mind. Anyway, the kids also knew I was a judo master, so they asked if I could throw them. Hank showed up while we were doing it, and we got into a little hand-to-hand.”

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