What did a goddess’s kisses taste like?

“Let’s see,” Travis said, his eyes skimming along the contours of her face, “we’ve discussed kids and marriage, all before we’ve even kissed.” Was it his imagination, or did his throat tighten just a wee bit as he made his observation?

All the butterflies in Shana’s stomach lined up on the runway, bracing for take-off, then glided off into the horizon in unison as she drew her courage to her, draping it about herself like a blanket. Or a protective shield.

“There’s an easy solution for that,” she told him, then congratulated herself that her voice didn’t crack or tremble.

One arched eyebrow raised itself. “Oh?”

“Yes, ‘oh.’”

And then, before she lost her nerve, Shana leaned over into his space. Framing his face with her long, delicate fingers, she pressed her lips against his…

Marie Ferrarella has written more than one hundred and fifty novels, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

Travis’s Appeal

By

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Evelyn, and the Ghost of Christmas Past

Chapter 1

It was another typical day in paradise.

While the carefully made-up newscasters talked about “storm watches” and blizzards hitting every state both east and north of New Mexico, here, in Bedford, happily nestled in the middle of Southern California, the sun was seductively caressing its citizens with warm, loving fingers.

Travis Marlowe would have preferred rain. He wished for a gloomy, rainy day where the sun absented itself and illumination came from artificial sources rather than the incredibly bright orb in the sky.

Rain and gloom would have far better suited his current mood. Moreover, the lack of light would have soothed his present condition. He had no idea why his head hadn’t killed him yet.

It was true what they said. No good deed went unpunished.

All right, it wasn’t exactly a good deed. It was part of his job. Kind of. While the firm’s bylaws didn’t state that burning the midnight oil was part of the job, he still felt it was required—even if he was the only one doing the requiring.

Angry little devils with sledgehammers pounded along the perimeter of his temples.

That’s what he got for staying up most of the night, working out the kinks in Thomas Fielder’s revocable living trust and then deciding to sack out on the sofa in his office rather than driving home at almost five in the morning.

The firm, leather sofa, while perfectly fine for sitting, was definitely not the last word in comfort for sleeping. Not only his head, but his neck ached, thanks to the rather strange position he’d woken up in this morning. His neck felt not unlike a pipe cleaner permanently bent out of shape.

To add insult to injury, every time he turned his head, horrible pains shot out of nowhere, piercing the base of his neck and making Travis wish that he’d died sometime in the early morning.

But here it was, a brand new sunny day and he had to face it. And look relatively happy about it.

Taking the change of shirt and underwear he kept in the bottom drawer for just such an emergency, Travis hoped that a quick shower in the executive bathroom would help set him back on the right track.

“Go home,” his father, one of the senior partners for the family law firm where he worked, said by way of a greeting. A quick assessment had Bryan adding, “You really look like hell.”

Bryan Marlowe made no secret of the fact that he was quite happy that at least one of his four sons had followed him into law. Not a man to brag, it was still very obvious that he was proud of his son. Travis thought, if his father was telling him to go home, he must look like death warmed over—or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

“I’ll look better after a quick shower,” Travis promised. He was about to nod at the clothing in his arms, but stopped himself—and prevented another onslaught of pain—just in time.

Bryan snorted as his eyes traveled the length of his son. “That will be one hell of a rejuvenating shower.” Pausing, Bryan frowned. “Why didn’t you go home last night like everyone else?” he asked.

Travis shrugged, his broad shoulders moving beneath a light blue dress shirt in desperate need of an iron. “You know how it is. You keep telling yourself ‘Oh, just one more thing’…and then, suddenly, it’s morning. Or close to it.”

Somewhere on the floor honeycombed with suites, one of the attorneys slammed a door. The sound reverberated throughout the hall. Travis winced as the sound ground its heel into his head.

“Headache?” Bryan guessed.

There was no point in lying. “Yeah. A doozy.”

The answer just reinforced Bryan’s initial reaction. “Like I said, go home, Travis. Take a personal day and take that shower in your own bathroom.”

Travis had no desire to go home, where time hung too heavily on his hands. “I’m fine, really. Besides, never know when I might need one of those personal days. Better to save them.”

Bryan frowned. He had a case he wanted to review before his early morning appointment arrived, but as his wife Kate had taught him, nothing was more important than family. And right now, that meant Travis.

“I wish to God you needed to take one of those personal days. You know, Travis, when you told me that you wanted to go into family law, I don’t think there was a prouder father under the sun. I mean, I love all of you boys—and Kelsey,” Bryan tossed in his daughter’s name. Because she was the last born, and a girl, he had a tendency to place her in a category all her own, something Kelsey bristled at when he did. “And I’m proud of each of you, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a little disappointed when Mike, Trevor and Trent didn’t follow me into the field. I always envisioned all five of us having our own company.”

The corners of Travis’s mouth curved. “Marlowe and Sons?”

“Something like that,” Bryan freely admitted. “Still, one is better than none and your brothers all have done very well in their chosen fields.”

Travis was vaguely aware that he had someone coming in this morning, although the exact time escaped him. He needed to get ready. “Where’s this going, Dad?”

Bryan stopped, amused rather than annoyed at the prodding. “We’re lawyers, Travis. Roundabout is our regular route.”

Travis smiled indulgently. “Sorry.”

“My point,” Bryan confided, “is that you turned out to be more like me than I ever thought possible.”

Travis studied his father’s face. It was a face that, if he so desired, gave nothing away. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Yes and no,” Bryan allowed. “Your dedication is admirable. The fact that you do nothing else but work is not.” Here, his son had turned out to be too much like him. The old him, Bryan amended silently. Because he was familiar with the signs, he wanted to help his son avoid the pitfalls. “Now, I know exactly how easy it is to get caught up in things because it’s easier to do that than face your own problems. Until Kate came along and pointed it out, I didn’t even realize I was doing that.”

He and his brothers were well aware of the significant changes his stepmother had brought into all their lives. She arrived and took over the duties that three other nannies had fled from in quick succession. Still, he didn’t want his father extrapolating that into his own life.

“I’m not working because I don’t want to face any problems, Dad,” Travis insisted. “I’m working because I like working.”

“It cost you Adrianne,” Bryan reminded his son quietly.

Travis paused and took a breath. Adrianne and he had been engaged for approximately two months—until she’d thrown the ring at him. “Adrianne and I weren’t a match. I’m lucky it ended the way it did. I actually dodged a bullet.” Better to break up before a wedding than after one.

Bryan thought of it from his son’s fiancée’s point of view. Living with Kate had taught him to see things from perspectives other than his own. “It would have been easy enough for a bullet to find you. You were always at your desk—or in court.”

Travis didn’t want to talk about the issue. It was in the past and just reinforced his initial feelings about relationships. Very few turned out and they weren’t worth the risk.

“Dad, things usually work out for the best. We weren’t right for each other. According to the grapevine, Adrianne’s with some guy now who can give her all the attention she wants.”

Travis was more his son than the boy realized, Bryan thought.

“You know, after your mother died,” Bryan said, referring to Jill, his first wife and the biological mother of his four sons, “I tried to bury myself in my work because I felt guilty. Guilty that I was alive when she wasn’t, guilty that there might have been something I could have done to save her, to keep her from going on that trip. And I was afraid to commit to anyone else—even you boys—for fear of feeling that awful, awful pain of being abandoned again. It took Kate to make me see that loving someone, leaving yourself open to love, was worth every risk you can take.”

Travis began to nod his head and stopped abruptly when the motion sent a dozen arrows flying to his temples. This was going to be one hell of a day, he thought. Still, he dug in stubbornly.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Travis promised. “Now, I really would like to take that shower.”

Bryan stepped to the side, out of his son’s way. “Turn the hot water all the way up. The steam might help your head.”

“Gotcha,” Travis said, heading toward the executive shower.

Not about to get into another discussion, Travis was just humoring his father. He knew from experience that with these headaches, the only thing that could help immediately was if someone gave him a new head. Short of that, it was a storm he just needed to ride out. Preferably in a room where the blinds were drawn.

Reaching the executive bathroom, Travis locked the door behind him and quickly stripped off his clothes. It took him less than a minute to adjust the water temperature. In the stall, he sighed, allowing the water to hit his back full force.

He appreciated his father’s concern about the direction his life was taking, he really did, and in the privacy of his own mind, he might be willing to acknowledge a germ of truth in his father’s supposition that he had a phobia about commitments. He was even willing to concede that it might be remotely rooted in his mother’s demise.

But he really did like his work a great deal and Adrianne, it turned out, just liked the prestige of saying that her significant other, soon-to-be-husband, was a lawyer. Not that Adrianne wanted him doing any lawyering on her time, and her time was anytime she decided she needed to see him.

He was better off without her. When he saw his brothers, who had all paired up this last year, if he felt a little isolated, like the odd man out, he gave no indication. He was happy for his brothers, happy each had apparently found the one person who completed their world.

But for him, it wouldn’t be that easy. Not because he wasn’t looking but because he felt it was far too early to be thinking of being with someone on a permanent basis. Someone who, if the whim hit, could leave. Granted, Adrianne had turned out to be an unfortunate choice, but she just proved his theory. He was better off on his own. Better off working, doing what he was good at.

But analyzing deep-rooted feelings and subconscious ones, that was Trent’s domain, not his. Trent was a child psychologist, like Kate. Trent was accustomed to multilayered thinking and digging deep. Travis liked things to be in black and white.

Like the law.

Travis stood beneath the showerhead a bit longer, letting the hot water hit him and the steam build up within the black, onyx-tiled stall. Slowly, some of the tension began to leave his shoulders. It helped. A tiny bit.

He got out before he turned pruney.

“Your hair’s damp.”

Travis’s secretary, Bea Bennett, made the note. A small, thin, angular woman, she favored long skirts, sensible shoes and long, penetrating looks in lieu of arguing with her boss. She stepped into his office not ten minutes after he’d returned to it himself.

“The hair dryer died,” Travis told her.

The device had given up the ghost midway through drying his sandy blond hair, making it appear a little darker. With the hair dryer refusing to rise up from the dead, he’d run his fingers through his hair a couple of times, getting rid of any excess water. Travis figured the air would take care of the rest eventually.

Thin, carefully penciled-in eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “The one in the executive bathroom?”

About to nod, Travis refrained. The headache was still very much a part of him, the tiny respite in the shower a thing of the past the moment he stepped away from the hazy warmth of the stall.

“That’s the one.”

Bea frowned, shaking her head, a head mistress trying to decipher the mystery that was her student. “Don’t know what you people do with them. The one I’ve got at home’s lasted going on seven years now.”

Like everyone else at the firm, Travis was accustomed to the woman’s outspoken manner. Most of the time, he actually got a kick out of it. This was not one of those times. Migraine headaches made him less tolerant of eccentricities.

“Good for you, Bea.” He dug into his side drawer for the bottle of extra-strength aspirin. The aspirin that was powerless to relieve his headache. He took a couple of pills anyway. He had heard that if you believed something worked, it helped. He did his best to believe. Swallowing, he continued talking to her. “Now, did you come in here for a reason, Bea, or did you just want to bedevil me with your rapier wit and your arousing physical presence?”

Bea narrowed her eyes until the black marbles disappeared behind tiny slits. He didn’t know if she was doing it for effect, or if she was myopic.

“When I’m bedeviling you, Mr. Marlowe, you won’t have to ask if that’s what I’m doing. You’ll know it,” the woman informed him. Then, with a toss of her head, she switched persona, becoming the perennial secretary. “Your ten o’clock appointment is here.”

His ten o’clock. For a second, Travis drew a blank. He glanced at his calendar. He’d written a name beside the ten o’clock space, but it was now completely illegible to him.

“And he would be?” he asked, leaving the rest up in the air, waiting for Bea to fill in the blank.

“They,” Bea corrected. “And they’re outside in the reception area.” She gestured behind her toward the common area where all but the most elite of the firm’s clients waited.

Travis looked at the calendar again. It made less sense to him than before. He was really going to have to do something about his handwriting. “I need a name, Bea.”

She eyed him, a small, thin face behind dark-rimmed glasses someone had once said she wore for effect rather than necessity. “Any particular one?” she asked glibly.

They were going to play the game her way, or not at all, Travis thought. Again, he might have enjoyed it if not for the civil war going on right behind his eyes. “The potential client’s would be nice.”

She crossed to his desk and made a show of examining his calendar. “What the hell is that?” she asked, pointing to the writing beside the number “10.” “It looks like you dipped a chicken in ink and had it walk across your page.” She looked at him again. “Didn’t your parents teach you how to write?”

“They had more important things to teach me,” he told her lightly. “Like how to fire an insubordinate secretary.”

With a haughty little noise, she informed him, “I can’t be fired.”

His sense of humor was valiantly trying to claw its way back among the living. He was game. “And why’s that?”

He fully expected her to say something about having tenure, since she had worked here longer than anyone could remember. But then, since this was Bea, he realized he should have known better. Conventional arguments were not for her.

“Slaves have to be sold,” she informed him with a smart toss of her head. “And their name’s O’Reilly.” Bea paused to tap the calendar, as if that could somehow transform his handwriting into legible letters. “Shawn and Shana,” she added.

“Married couple?” he guessed absently. The borders of family law were wide, taking in a myriad of subjects. There were twelve attorneys in the firm, each with a specialty although their work did encompass many fields within the heading.

A short laugh escaped like a burst of air. “Not hardly,” she cackled before becoming serious again. “Not unless the old man’s into cradle robbing.” She considered her own observation and commented on it. “‘Course, a man with money these days thinks he could buy himself anything he wants.”

“How about a secretary who doesn’t give her own narrative to everything?” Travis suggested with a touch of wistfulness.

“Too boring.” A wave of the hand accompanied her dismissive shake of the head. Her eyes swept over his desk just before she crossed to the doorway again. “By the way, those’ll burn a hole in your stomach,” she told him with a disapproving frown, referring to the bottle of extra-strength aspirin on his desk. “If you went home at a decent hour, like everyone else around here, maybe you wouldn’t get those damn headaches of yours.”

Bea knew everything that was going on in the office. She was better than a private investigator. He returned the bottle to the side drawer.

“I had no idea you cared, Bea.”

Bea paused in the doorway to smile at him over her shoulder. “Always said you were clueless,” she murmured before crossing the threshold. And then she stopped, turning around again. “By the way…”

The phrase hung in midair like one half of the old popular “shave and a haircut, two bits” refrain tapped out with knuckles hitting a hard surface. He gave in after less than a minute.

“What?” Travis prompted.

“Hang on to your socks.”

He blinked. “What?” he demanded.

Rather than elaborate, Bea merely smiled at him. Her eyes danced with delight over her enigma. “You’ll understand,” she promised.

With that, she left the room.

In her wake, half a beat later, Travis’s latest clients entered. His ten o’clock appointment, Shawn O’Reilly and Shana O’Reilly.

And Bea was right. Travis could feel his socks suddenly slipping down his ankles. Curling. Along with the hairs along his neck.

Shawn O’Reilly looked like a modern, slightly wornout and pale version of a department store Santa Claus. But it was the young woman beside him, Shana, that Travis instinctively knew Bea had issued her warning about. Shana O’Reilly looked like something Santa Claus might have left beneath the Christmas tree of a deserving male if the latter had been exceptionally good, not just for the year, but for the sum total of his entire life.

Chapter 2

Travis stopped breathing.

To his recollection—and he was blessed with a mind that forgot absolutely nothing—Travis had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. She was tall—about five-seven—slender, with the face of an angel and long, straight blond hair that brought to mind the phrase “spun gold.” Her eyes were crystal-blue, and she moved like whispered poetry as she crossed the room.

Belatedly, Travis remembered that he was endowed with a rather pleasant, articulate voice and that remaining silently frozen in place like a plaster statue in an abandoned corner of a museum did not go a long way in inspiring confidence in clients.

Mentally shaking off his trance, Travis rose to his feet. Rounding his desk, he paid for the quick action with another breath-snatching salvo of sharp pain firing across his temples.

Travis silently congratulated himself for not wincing. It would have made for a terrible first impression. People didn’t expect their potential lawyer to wince when he first met them. At the very least, it would have conjured up a myriad of questions over his abilities.

“Hello.” Putting on his widest smile, Travis extended his hand to the heavyset man. “I’m Travis Marlowe.”

“Shawn O’Reilly,” the man responded genially, then nodded his head toward the ray of sunshine on his right. “And this is Shana. O’Reilly,” he added the surname as if it was an afterthought, then followed it up with, “My daughter.” He actually beamed as he made the announcement.

Not that the man probably hadn’t been a decent-looking sort in his youth, a hundred pounds and several chins ago, but this was definitely a case of the apple falling miles away from the tree. He and his brothers looked like a composite of their late mother and their father, while his sister, Kelsey, looked like a miniature version of Kate. Travis was fairly certain that Shana O’Reilly had to take after her mother because, other than the bright, cheerful, electric blue eyes, not a thing about her even remotely brought Shawn O’Reilly to mind.

“Hello,” Shana said, extending her hand to him.

She had a voice like a low blues melody, sinfully seductive.

No surprise there. It took Travis a second to take her hand and shake it. Holding her hand, he experienced an almost overwhelming reluctance to release it again.

What the hell was going on with him, he silently upbraided himself. He was too young to be going through a second adolescence and too old to be going through his first one.

They were right, he concluded, those people who said that you weren’t at your best without a full night’s sleep. He was obviously not operating with all four engines burning.

Out of the corner of his eye, Travis saw Shana’s father glancing toward one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk. Shawn O’Reilly looked like a man trying to decide whether the chair would accommodate his girth without mishap or groaning, or the sofa would be a wiser course to follow.

Travis nodded toward the sofa. “You might find the sofa a bit more comfortable, Mr. O’Reilly,” he suggested. “I know I do.”

His words brought out an even wider smile from Shana. His breath went missing for a full thirty seconds. It was like standing beside an early morning sunrise.

Travis glanced down at her left hand. No ring.

Sunshine permeated his inner core.

Pleased at the suggestion, Shawn turned around and sat down on the sofa. Soft tan leather sighed all around the man’s considerable form. Shana took a seat beside him, shifted slightly and crossed her legs, her white skirt hugging her thighs. Travis forced himself to look away. He wouldn’t be able to form a coherent thought for several minutes if he didn’t.

Grabbing one of the two chairs that stood facing his desk, he swung it around and sat down opposite his potential clients. A small, glass-topped coffee table took up the space between them.

“Can I get you anything?” Travis asked amiably, looking from the man to his daughter. “Coffee? Tea? Soda? Water?”

“We’re fine,” Shawn assured him.

“All right, then tell me,” Travis settled back in his chair. “How can I help you?”

Shawn moved forward a touch, creating an aura of privacy as he did so. “They tell me you’re the go-to guy around here when it comes to putting together a living trust.”

Each at the firm had an area of expertise, although areas did overlap. Several attorneys specialized in living trusts. Somewhere, he had a guardian angel who had brought these people to him. “I’ve written a number of them, yes.”

His answer seemed to irritate Shawn rather than please him. Shaggy gray eyebrows came together like teddy bear hamsters huddling for warmth. “I don’t want false modesty, boy. I want the best.”

All right, you want confidence, you’ll get confidence. “Then you came to the right place,” Travis told him.

A pleased smile folded itself into the ample cheeks. “Better,” Shawn nodded. “A man should always know what he’s capable of and what his shortcomings are.”

Shawn’s voice was big and booming, with a slight Texas flavor. The man was obviously not a native Californian.

Travis found himself wishing that his new client’s tone was a little softer. Each word the man uttered seemed to vibrate inside his head which had turned into a living echo chamber.

Leaning forward, his elbows digging into his wide lap, Shawn asked without preamble, “Do these things really do what they say they do?”

He had no idea what the man referred to. It was a completely ambiguous question and Travis felt his way around slowly, not wanting to give offense or make Shawn think he was stupid. “And what is it that ‘they’ say, Mr. O’Reilly?”

“That if my money and my property are secured within the specifications of a living trust, then my girls won’t have to go through probate or pay Estate taxes.” When Shawn frowned, his chins became more prominent. “Already paid taxes on all the money once. Doesn’t seem fair to have to pay taxes on it again just because my girls get to hang on to it instead of me when I die.”

He heard that sentiment expressed a lot. Travis smiled. The effort cost him. It seemed that every movement, partial or otherwise, had pain associated with it. The aspirin he’d swallowed was taking its sweet time.

“That’s why most people look into getting a living trust,” he told Shawn.

The man nodded, pleased. “Now, we’re not going to be talking fortunes, boy. I’m not a Rockefeller,” Shawn warned.

“Most people aren’t,” Travis acknowledged. “You mentioned your ‘girls.’ Spouses enjoy the greatest elimination or postponement of Estate Taxes. Other generations, less. But I’ll need to know more about your particular assets and beneficiaries, after applying the Estate Tax Credit.” His eyes shifted toward Shana. It didn’t appear as if they were waiting for someone else to join them. That meant that Shana was the one the man relied on, Travis surmised. Beautiful and reliable. A hell of a combination. “I take it you’re referring to your daughters.”

“Well, yeah,” Shawn laughed heartily. “I don’t own no night club with dancing girls in it. Just a restaurant.” The way he said it, Travis could tell that there was no “just” about it. “Been running it for longer than Shana’s been on this earth,” the man said proudly. “Want that to go into the living trust, too.” Shawn pinned him with a look. “You can do that, right?”

“With the right wording, Mr. O’Reilly, I can include just about anything in that trust,” Travis assured him. “Provided I have the proper documentation.” He couldn’t help wondering how open the man was to having a stranger go through his things. He sounded friendly enough, but privacy was an issue for some, despite the lawyer-client privilege so frequently cited.

Shawn cocked his head. Travis was reminded of an old painting he saw where Santa Claus was studying a list, deciding who was naughty or nice. “You mean like ownership papers?”

Travis nodded and instantly regretted it. “Those—” he said with a vain effort to will back the pain “—and the deed to your house as well as all your banking information. I’m going to need to review all of that if you want it to be covered in the trust.”

“Hell, yes I want it covered,” Shawn informed him with feeling. “Otherwise, there’s no reason to be going through this, is there?” He cleared his throat. “No offense, but lawyers aren’t exactly my favorite kind of people.”

“None taken,” Travis murmured. He heard that a lot, too. His headache was at the point where it could become blinding at any second. He needed more aspirin. “If you’ll excuse me for a second.”

Getting up, he saw Shawn and Shana exchange glances but couldn’t guess at what they might be thinking. He needed a clear head for that, or at least one that didn’t feel as if it were splintering into a million pieces.

Travis crossed back to his desk, took out the bottle of aspirin and shook out another two tablets. He downed them with the now cold cup of coffee that was standing, neglected, on his desk.

When he turned around again, he noticed Shawn eyeing him curiously.

“Too much partying last night?” the man guessed genially.

The expression on Shana’s face belonged to that of a mother whose child had suddenly misbehaved.

“Dad, that is none of our business,” she reprimanded softly.

“If he’s gonna be my lawyer, it is,” Shawn insisted, but his tone wasn’t judgmental. He turned inquisitive blue eyes on Travis.

“Too many writs,” Travis corrected, turning his words back around on him, and returning to his seat.

Shawn’s eyes narrowed beneath his deep gray eyebrows. “Too many what?”

“I worked late,” Travis explained. “I wound up catching a catnap on the sofa. It really wasn’t made for sleeping.”

The older man studied him. “You do that often? Work late?”

Travis couldn’t gauge if that worked in his favor or not. The man’s expression was unreadable.

“If something needs to be finished,” Travis told him without fanfare. “I don’t like falling behind.” The latter sentence dribbled from his lips as he tried to follow Shana’s movements. She’d risen from the sofa and was now circling behind him. “Can I help you?” he asked. Twisting around to look at her sent another set of arrows through his temples.

“No,” she answered simply. “But I think I might be able to help you.”

“I don’t—”

He was about to say that he didn’t understand what she meant, but the final words never materialized. They stopped, mid-flow, drying up on his lips as he felt her fingertips delicately touch the corners of his temples. Ever so gently, she slowly began to make small, concentric circles along his skin, pressing just enough to make contact, not enough to aggravate the tension and pain that were harbored there.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, the words coming out of his mouth in slow motion. When he received no answer, his eyes shifted to Shawn who seemed content just to sit and wait. “What is she doing?”

“Making you better,” Shana’s father answered matter-of-factly. “Don’t fight it, boy, the girl’s got magic hands. You should see what she can do to a man’s spine. Make him feel like a kid again. ‘Course, in your case, that’s not much of a trip, but for someone like me…” He chuckled. “Well, it covers a lot more territory than I like to think about. But she can make you feel brand new.” There was unabashed affection in the man’s eyes as he looked at Shana. “Don’t know where I would be without her.”

“You’d be fine, Dad,” she assured him. Travis could hear the smile in her voice.

“Not by a long shot.” The tone of his voice changed as he added. “Susan would have never looked after me the way you do.”

“Susan?” Travis asked, looking at Shawn. “Is that another daughter? Or your wife?”

“My wife passed two years ago,” Shawn informed him stiffly. Travis had a feeling the shift in tone was to keep the emotion from gaining control of him. But he could see the pain in the man’s eyes. Two years and he still missed her. It was nice to know that love actually did enter some people’s lives for more than a weekend. “Susan’s my daughter.”

“How many do you have?” Travis asked, desperately struggling to focus on the conversation and not the woman whose fingertips still moved seductively along his temples.

“There’s just Susan and Shana,” Shawn said, “now that Grace’s gone.”

“Grace?”

“My wife,” Shawn clarified. He nodded toward Shana behind him. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” Travis admitted.

But he knew nothing could be done for the pain he was experiencing. The headache had to run its course. He still fed it aspirins because a part of him was ever hopeful that, this one time, he could beat it back with pills. It was mostly a useless endeavor.

“But I don’t want to waste your time,” he added, intending the remark for Shana. He tried to turn his head, but paid dearly for that. The resulting pain shot through the top of his head, his nose and his jaw.

To his surprise, Shana didn’t withdraw her hands but continued massaging, making her small circles against his temples, sliding her fingertips in progressively larger and larger areas.

“Shh,” she soothed. “You have to give it a little time,” she advised. “The pain will go away soon, I promise.”

Not soon enough for him, he thought sarcastically. Hopefully before he liquefied right in front of her. It became increasingly more difficult to concentrate on what the woman’s father was saying when she stood behind him like that, wrecking havoc on his temples as well as his system. Her perfume, something light, heady and seductive as hell, seemed to seep into all his senses.

Ordinarily, in his present condition, the scent—any scent—would just contribute to his headache. But for some reason, hers didn’t. Instead, it soothed him even as it aroused him.

How was that possible?

“Dad, you and Mr. Marlowe go on talking,” Shana was saying. She’d bent forward ever so slightly as she spoke, just enough for him to feel her leaning lightly against his back.

Every nerve ending in his body felt as if it as hot-wired.

“You familiar with my restaurant?” Shawn was asking him.

With effort, Travis focused. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “What’s it called?”

Right now, if the man called the restaurant after himself, Travis wouldn’t have been able to make the connection. His brain was taking a definite time-out. He was struggling not just with an all-invasive headache, but with a sudden, startling desire to pull Shana onto his lap. Not just to pull her onto his lap, but to kiss her, as well.

Definitely not his style.

Not that he aspired to the role of hermit or someone who lived and breathed work to the point that he did nothing else, but he had become the controlled one in his family. The one who always thought things out, looked at the consequences of any action. He was no longer given to the rash behavior of his childhood.

So what were these urges doing, suddenly dancing through him with reckless abandon?

“Shawn’s Li’l Bit of Heaven.” Travis realized that he had been staring at the man, because Shawn added, “That’s the name of the restaurant. I named it for my daughter,” he confided.

“Shana?” Because if that was the case, Travis couldn’t help thinking, the man was given to serious understatement.

Shawn flushed and his complexion instantly turned a ruddy shade. “No,” he corrected, “Susan. That’s…my older girl,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. And then, because the woman’s presence was conspicuously absent, he added, “She couldn’t come. She’s been too busy to take time out for her old man these days,” Shawn grumbled. The frown on his face seemed to go deep, down to the very bone.

And then, the next moment, the man’s frown vanished and he was jovial again, caught up in a memory.

“But you should’ve seen her as a little bit of a thing. Sunshine in a bottle, that was her. Or maybe I should’ve said sunshine with a bottle,” he chuckled at his own joke. “She was a baby back then. Once she started walking and talking, she made it clear right from the beginning that she marched to her own tune.” He cleared his throat, pushing away whatever thought was troubling him. He raised his eyes to Travis’s face. “Anyway, you hear of it?”

Saying yes might leave him open to questions that he couldn’t answer. At the risk of bruising the man’s ego, Travis said, “I’m afraid not.”

To his surprise, rather than look put out, Shawn smiled and nodded. “The truth. You could’ve lied, trying to get on my good side, but you didn’t. You told the truth. I like that.” He nodded his head several more times, as if carrying on a debate that only he could hear. And then his eyes lit up. “Okay, boy, I’m gonna go with you.” He eyed him closely. “I’m putting my trust in you. Don’t let me down.”

“Thank you,” Travis said with feeling. “I won’t let you down.” Still seated, he slid forward and extended his hand to the man. At the same time, he felt Shana withdraw her fingertips from his temples.

For a moment, he thought it was because he was leaning forward.

And then it hit him.

Raising his eyes to her face as she came around to rejoin her father on the sofa, Travis stared at her incredulously.

“It’s gone,” he said like a mesmerized child watching a magician who had just made a full-grown tiger disappear from the stage. “My headache’s gone.” He was stunned. Migraine headaches, when they came, which fortunately for him was not often, moved in for the duration of the day. Sometimes longer. “That’s not possible,” he murmured.

Shana smiled at him. “Is your head throbbing?” she asked innocently.

“No.”

The look of pure satisfaction that came to her face was spellbinding to watch. “Then it’s possible,” she concluded.

Shawn chuckled, clearly pleased with the outcome. “Didn’t I tell you she was something?”

She certainly was. And the fact that her fingertips seemed to work miracles had nothing to do with it.

Chapter 3

The first meeting ended with Travis giving Shawn O’Reilly a list of documents he needed to review in order to ultimately place them beneath the protective umbrella of a living trust. In exchange, Shawn tendered an invitation to Travis to drop by the restaurant for a “meal that you’ll never forget.”

Whether by instinct or because being in such close proximity to Shana had temporarily rendered his ordinarily sharp thought process null and void, Travis refrained from mentioning that one of his brothers was a chef and owner of the popular Kate’s Kitchen, a fivestar restaurant overlooking the ocean in Laguna Beach. Trevor had named the restaurant as a tribute to their stepmother because of all the encouragement she’d given him over the years.

Travis accepted the light-green business card that Shawn held out to him, tucking it into his wallet.

“What about our next appointment?” Shawn asked.

Travis flipped through several pages on his desk calendar, searching for an empty block of time. “How’s two weeks from tomorrow at ten sound?” he asked. Fully expecting the man to agree to the date, Travis picked up his pen and was about to write in Shawn’s name when the man stopped him.

“Don’t you have anything sooner?” Shawn prodded. “I’d like it sooner than later,” he added, then explained, “I’m really not a very patient man and when I make up my mind, I like to see things start moving. You understand how it is.”

It was a perfectly plausible explanation, one Travis felt confident was used by countless people every day. Impatience was a by-product of the present fastforward, fast-track world. Yet for some unknown reason, Travis couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Shawn was leaving something unsaid. That the man’s motivation for the request and his desire for speed was driven by something other than just impatience.

Travis didn’t push the subject.

But it did make him curious.

Travis worked his way backward through the calendar, starting with the slot two weeks in the future. Every space seemed to be taken. Business was good, he thought, but by the same token, it did make things difficult if he wanted to get O’Reilly in earlier.

He decided to give up his lunch. “How about two days from today, at noon?” he suggested. “Does that work better for you?”

“Don’t you ordinarily eat lunch around then?” Shana asked.

Travis dismissed the question. “I can send out for a sandwich later on,” he told her. “No problem.”

“Or, I can bring you something from the restaurant,” Shawn offered. “We’ll be here,” he said, confirming the appointment. “And in the meantime,” the man went on, “you come on by the restaurant tonight. Say, around eight? Unless you’ve got other plans.” His expression, though amiable, challenged him to come up with an acceptable excuse for not showing up at his restaurant this evening.

Travis did have other plans. Communing with his pillow and catching up on some well-earned sleep before he drifted into the land of the zombies. But he couldn’t very well turn down the enthusiastic invitation. For whatever reason, having him drop by to see the restaurant seemed to mean too much to his new client.

He wondered if Shana would be there.

“No,” Travis answered, “no other plans.”

Shawn immediately beamed in response even though, from his behavior, the outcome was a foregone conclusion to the man.

“Good, then we’ll see you there.” He nodded.

Hope bubbled up inside of him. Travis shifted his glance to include Shana before asking, “We?”

“Shana’s my right hand,” O’Reilly told him with a great deal of pride. “In more ways than one.” He groaned at the end of the second sentence as he attempted to get up from the sofa. Instantly, Shana tucked her arm through his, providing the leverage and support he needed to rise. “Couldn’t run that without her, either.” He took a deep breath, like someone who had just made it to the top of a mountain and then shook his head sadly. “Don’t get old if you can help it, boy. There’s little dignity to it.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Dad. You’ve got enough dignity for two people. You’re just a little creaky right now, that’s all,” Shana comforted simply.

Her arm still threaded through her father’s, she gently guided Shawn to the door. Opening it, he stepped across the threshold and was out in the hall when Shana suddenly remembered that she’d left her purse on the sofa.

Reentering the room, she flashed a conspiratorial smile at Travis who was about to follow them out. She’d left her purse behind on purpose, wanting the opportunity to get the attorney alone for a moment.

“You don’t have to come if you have other plans,” she told him, lowering her voice. “Dad tends to overwhelm people a bit. It’s the Texas in him,” she added with a laugh.

Her laugh was like music, Travis thought. Spellbinding music. It took him more than a second to shake himself free.

“That’s all right,” he assured her. “I really don’t have any plans.” And even if he had, he wouldn’t have passed up this opportunity, not if she was going to be there.

“No more midnight-oil burning?” Shana asked innocently.

Her eyes were smiling. He liked that. They seemed to highlight her entire face—making it even more perfect.

“I try not to do that two nights in a row,” he told her as he reached for the still-cold coffee on his desk. “It makes me a little sluggish mentally in the morning.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get to bed early,” she promised.

He’d just raised the coffee cup to his lips and taken a sip. Hearing her comment caused the coffee to slide down the wrong way. He started coughing.

Instantly alert, Shana quickly crossed over to him and began to pound him on the back. Still coughing, Travis held up his hand, signaling that he was all right.

“Excuse me?” he finally got out, albeit rather hoarsely.

Shana replayed her last words, then grinned. If she realized how he’d interpreted the line, she gave no further indication.

“Dad has a tendency to do a lot of buttonholing at the restaurant. Sometimes he doesn’t know when to stop. He’s got a thousand stories to tell,” she explained. “I’ll just make sure you go home at a decent hour so you get some sleep.”

“Oh.”

The single word echoed simultaneously with enlightenment and just a touch of disappointment. For a moment there, he’d let his mind drift and her words conjured up an image he’d found both infinitely pleasing and damn arousing.

Of course that was what she meant. He knew that. What was the matter with him? “That’s all right,” he told her. “I come from a large family. I know how to make an exit without hurting anyone’s feelings.”

“Then I’ll look forward to seeing you tonight,” Shana said. “We’re right in the middle of the block. You can’t miss us.” Humor curved her lips and then she winked. “We’re the ones with a shamrock in the sign.”

With that, she left the room and joined her father. Travis heard them walking away, their voices growing fainter as they made their way down the hall to the elevator.

Shana’s wink had repercussions. Travis felt as if he’d just been shot with another arrow. Unlike the ones that had assaulted his temple earlier, this one had a soft tip and went straight to his heart.

He slid bonelessly back into his chair.

To the best of Travis’s recollection, he’d never responded to a woman like this before. Oh, there’d been attractive, even beautiful women who had crossed his path, but he couldn’t recall a single one making him feel as if he’d been struck by lightning. And been happy about it.

Shifting to slip his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and took out the card Shawn had handed him. He stared at it, committing the address to memory just in case he lost the card between now and this evening. It was a date he intended to keep. For a number of reasons. And humoring a client was way down on the list.

“You’re checking out another restaurant?” Even over the phone, Trevor’s voice sounded incredulous when Travis called him later that afternoon.

“Not checking it out, I’m seeing a client there,” Travis explained.

So far, Travis hadn’t been able to get to the crux of why he’d called. Trevor sounded a bit harried and definitely put out that he was asking about another restaurant.

“Why don’t you bring him over to mine?” Trevor suggested. “I’ll make your personal favorite,” he coaxed, adding, “on the house. You can pretend to pick up the check to impress your client and I’ll reimburse you the next time I see you. See, the best of all worlds. Besides, you’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to see you lately.”

“Look in the mirror,” Travis quipped. “That’s almost like seeing me.”

“We’re not mirror images of each other,” Trevor reminded him. There was a noise in the background and for a moment, Travis heard the sound of a hand being placed over the receiver. Trevor’s muffled voice called to his assistant, Emilio, to take care of a late delivery. When his attention returned to his telephone conversation with Travis, he said, “You, Trent and I are identical images of each other.” And then a thought obviously struck Trevor. “Unless you don’t want him to see me because it might confuse him. It is a him that we’re talking about, aren’t we?”

“It’s a him.” Travis thought it prudent not to mention Shana or the odd, almost overwhelming attraction he felt for her. Ever since his brothers had married, they waited for him to make the set complete. Telling Trevor about Shana would just set his brother off on a tangent that really had no basis in reality. “The restaurant I just asked you about belongs to my client,” Travis explained. “He wants me to drop by to see it.”

“Why?”

“Because I get the feeling that he’s as proud of it as you are of yours.”

There was a slight pause and Trevor capitulated. “What did you say the name of it was again?”

That was more like it. This was the reason why he’d called Trevor in the first place. He’d assumed that, just like lawyers and doctors, restaurant owners had their own little network, keeping tabs on one another and being more in the know about a particular restaurant than the average person on the street.

“Shawn’s Li’l Bit of Heaven,” Travis told him. “Have you heard of it?”

“Rings a bell,” Trevor admitted. The silence told Travis his brother was trying to remember something. “They specialize in Irish food—and in Tex-Mex. To each his own, but it’s a strange combination if you ask me.”

“Not if you know the owner,” Travis told him. “The man’s from Texas and he had ties to Ireland somewhere along the line in his ancestry. His last name’s O’Reilly.”

“Ah. And another mystery has been laid to rest,” Trevor cracked. “I can ask around if you want,” he offered. “Just what is it you want to know?”

“If the restaurant is doing well. If there were any health code violations in the last year, things like that. The usual. I need to assess its present value,” he explained.

“Is the owner selling it?” Trevor asked, mildly interested. He’d been toying with the idea of opening a second restaurant and leaving Emilio to run the one presently open.

“No, he wants to put it into a living trust for his daughters.”

There was a low whistle on the other end of the line. “Nice,” Trevor commented. “But instead of taking the roundabout route, why don’t you just ask to look at his books?”

“I will, but I thought I’d get a heads up first so that I’d know what to expect,” Travis confided. “O’Reilly invited me to drop by for a meal tonight. It’s strictly social.”

“All right, I’ll see what I can find out,” Trevor said. “I can have Venus ask around. If anyone has ‘dirt’ on anything, those high-society people she used to hang out with would probably be the first to know.”

The mention of Trevor’s wife momentarily took the conversation in another direction. “So she still wants us to call her Venus, huh?”

The idea amused him. “Venus” was the name his brother had given her the night he’d rescued the woman who eventually became his wife from a watery grave. When Trevor had finally managed to pull her to shore, she had absolutely no recollection of who she was or how she happened to land in the middle of the water.

It was only after Trevor had built a relationship with the woman and fallen hopelessly in love with her that Venus’s memory returned. Rather than someone who had fallen on hard times and was down on her luck, she turned out to be the heiress of a vast fortune. She had accidentally fallen overboard while attempting to escape from a yacht and a pending wedding ceremony that would have bound her to a man she ultimately decided she didn’t love.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Trevor told him with feeling, “she is Venus.”

Travis laughed softly to himself. “Works for me,” he said.

“No offense, brother,” Trevor responded genially, “but that really doesn’t have top priority in the equation.”

He saw the light on his phone turn on. Bea’s way of letting him know his next appointment was here. It was time to go. “Just see what you can find out for me, okay?”

“When do you need to know?”

Travis glanced at the desk calendar to see who his next appointment was. On days like today, people tended to run together. And if not for Shana, he recalled with no small amount of gratitude, he’d really be in a bad way because he’d still have his migraine. “As soon as you can would be nice.”

He heard his brother laugh. “That’s what I love about you, Trav. You’re never in a hurry.”

Trevor should talk, he thought. But he chose neutral ground for his response. “Hey, compared to Kelsey, I’m standing still.”

“Compared to Kelsey, a hurricane is standing still,” Trevor said with a laugh. “I’ll get back to you,” he promised.

“You do that,” Travis said, ending the conversation. Hanging up, he slipped Shawn’s business card back into his wallet. It was already getting worn around the edges.

For no reason, an image of Shana flashed across his mind’s eye.

It had to be lack of sleep that made him act like this, he decided. Like some adolescent with a terminal case of overactive hormones. Hell, he thought, even when he’d been a teenager, he hadn’t behaved so intensely.

Although there was that time when he and Trent had switched places, going out with each other’s girlfriends just to see if the girls could tell them apart. Problem was, he’d found himself falling for Trent’s girl. There’d been a lot of guilt involved before he finally confessed his feelings to Trent. When he did, to his relief, Trent told him that he really wasn’t that into the girl.

Trent’s heart really belonged to Laurel Valentine, the girl who, years later, became his wife.

The romance between Travis and Trent’s former girl hadn’t fared nearly that well. It lasted all of three months. Like a flash fire, it was way too hot not to burn out.

But even that hadn’t felt like this, Travis thought.

Of course, back then, he was getting enough sleep, he recalled with a touch of humor.

Glancing at his calendar again, he saw that, mercifully, he only had two more appointments for the day. And, for once, there were no court appearances scheduled in the late afternoon, like yesterday.

He was going home right after the last appointment, he told himself. What he needed before he went to the restaurant was a well-deserved nap. Lucky for him, he could fall asleep pretty quickly.

That was what he needed. Just some sleep and then, although beautiful, Shana O’Reilly would no longer look like an earthbound angel to him.

He leaned forward and pressed the intercom on his desk. “Please send Mrs. Baxter in, Bea.”

He thought he heard her murmur “It’s about time,” but he couldn’t be sure and there was no way he would ask her to repeat herself.

Kate hadn’t raised any stupid children, he thought with a smile as he rose to greet his next client.

Chapter 4

Twilight lightly embraced the parking lot as Travis got out of his vehicle and crossed to the front door of Shawn’s Li’l Bit of Heaven.

He wasn’t sure just what to expect.

A great many restaurants elected to go with a motif, a decor that identified them and defined the way they saw themselves. Walking through Shawn’s heavy oak double doors was like stepping into a sprawled-out country kitchen.

Unlike the cuisine it favored, the restaurant’s decor was neither Irish nor Mexican. Instead, it seemed dedicated to the concept of the perennial family gathering place of old: the kitchen where discussions were held, homework was done and food was prepared and enjoyed.

Rather than the slightly darkened atmosphere that other eating establishments favored, Shawn’s was brightly lit so that people could not only see one another at the table, but were able to make out the faces of the patrons at neighboring tables.

One big, happy dining experience, Travis thought. He looked around the general area, trying to spot either Shawn or his daughter. The restaurant was fairly full, not a bad accomplishment for a Tuesday when most people took their evening meal at home instead of going out.

“You made it.”

The words were uttered behind him. He didn’t have to turn around to know that the melodic voice belonged to Shana. But he turned around anyway, a tiny part of him hoping that she wouldn’t appear quite as beautiful at their second meeting as she had at their first.

If anything, she was even more beautiful.

Her long blond hair worn loose about her shoulders, Shana wore a peasant blouse and a wide, colorful skirt that easily fit into either one of the two cultures associated with the restaurant. Strategically placed on the white blouse was a small pin that identified her in ornate letters as “Shana.” Beneath her name was the title “hostess.”

“You work here?” Travis heard himself asking in surprise. He hadn’t pictured her showing people to their tables. Did princesses have a day job?

Amused by his question, she inclined her head slightly. “I help out when I can. Besides, Dad’s here every night, so it gives me something to do instead of sitting around just watching him.”

He wasn’t sure that he followed her meaning. “Watching him?”

The smile on her lips seemed to grow a shade tighter. “My father doesn’t like to admit it, but he needs help getting around. So I help,” she said simply. “Do you have a preference?”

He stared at her. “Excuse me?”

She gestured toward the dining area. “Your table,” she explained. “Do you have a preference where you want to sit? Some people like to be as far away from the kitchen as possible. Others want to be in the center of the room so they can see everything.”

As long as he could see her, it didn’t matter. “Anywhere is fine.”

“A man who’s easily pleased. I like that.” Sending a warm smile his way, she picked up a menu from the hostess desk and led the way into the dining area.

Music blended in with the voices of the various patrons, weaving a tapestry of noise that was oddly soothing.

Travis was doing his best to focus exclusively on his role as an impartial family lawyer but it definitely was not as easy as he would have liked. When she spoke, Shana became animated, gesturing to underscore her words. And each gesture caused the neckline of her peasant blouse to dip and move, rendering enticing glimpses of soft, perfect cleavage, the sight of which effectively kidnapped him away from thoughts of all things lawyerly.

“This table all right?” she asked, selecting one that was slightly right of center.

“It’s fine,” he told her, his eyes on her, not the table in question. If she’d offered it, he would have agreed to sit on a toadstool.

Get a grip, Trav, or she’s going to think her father’s employing a babbling idiot.

Taking a seat, he accepted the menu from her. Ambition had always been a driving force in his life. It generated the next question he put to her. “How old are you if you don’t mind my asking?”

She studied him for a long moment before speaking. “That depends.”

He felt his breath catching in his throat and he forced it out. “On?”

“Are you asking the question as our lawyer, or as my father’s guest?”

He tried to gauge which was the better answer and which would get him a response, because he had a feeling that they weren’t equal in her eyes. He went with what was safe. “As your lawyer.”

“Then I’m twenty-five,” she told him.

The first thing that registered was that she was two years younger than he was. He forced himself back on track.

“I’m assuming you have a degree.” She seemed far too intelligent to have just floated aimlessly after high school, living off her father.

“I do.” Amusement entered her eyes as she secondguessed what he was getting at. “You think I should be some fledgling barracuda sailing down the fast lane in pursuit of a mega career.”

That was a little blunter than he would have worded it, but she’d gotten the gist of it. “Not exactly in those terms, but I’d think you would be more motivated than this. Don’t you want to forge a career for yourself?”

She seemed to take no offense from his suggestion. “I have a career, Mr. Marlowe. I’m the hostess here. It allows me to meet a variety of interesting people I might not meet at another job. And, more importantly, I am also my father’s caregiver. With me around, he doesn’t quite feel the sting of his infirmities as strongly as he might if someone else was hovering over him, offering to help when his strength fails him.”

Caregiver.

He understood feelings like that. They fit right in with the way things were done in his own family. It was also nice to discover other people valued home and family the way he did.

He found himself being more and more attracted to Shana. It was a definite conflict of interest, he warned himself.

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” Travis asked warmly.

“He means the world to me,” she corrected and then added, “He’s my dad. I’d walk through fire for him—and he’d do the same for me,” she told him with feeling. “We’ve gotten even closer since my mother died,” she confided. “I couldn’t leave him to deal with things on his own, even if I wanted to—and I don’t,” she underscored in case Travis had another comment to offer about her choice of vocations.

If she had a career the way he seemed to think she should, she wouldn’t have been able to devote as much time to her father as she did. And she wanted to spend time with him. There was this vague feeling buzzing around inside her that time was short.

“I noticed he had trouble getting up from the sofa this morning,” Travis acknowledged. He lowered his voice, as if this was something he understood was private and she didn’t have to answer him if she didn’t want to. “What’s wrong with him, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“If I did, you’d probably only go to the source.” Travis didn’t strike her as a man who backed off until he had what he was after. “My father has a number of things going wrong at the same time.” She deliberately divorced herself from her words. If she didn’t, she knew she would tear up and although he seemed very amiable, Travis was still a stranger. “He has emphysema, a result of a cigarette habit he started at the age of eleven and didn’t stop until he turned sixty-five. Plus there’s angina—he’s on heart medication,” she told Travis before he had the opportunity to ask. “There are also a few other minor conditions, all of which keep him from being the dynamic man he used to be.”

Travis thought of the first impression Shawn made on him this morning. “Oh, I don’t know, he seemed pretty dynamic to me.”

Shana smiled fondly. “You should have seen him when I was a little girl. He seemed to be able to go for days without stopping.” She’d worshipped the ground her father had walked on. “I’d come home from school, rush through my homework and then sit by the window, waiting for him to come home. When he did—and I was still awake,” she added with a laugh because there were many nights when she’d fall asleep waiting, “he’d always pick me up, swing me around and ride me around on his shoulders.

“They seemed like the broadest shoulders in the world to me then.” She let a sigh escape, then flushed ruefully, as if that qualification somehow made her disloyal to her father. “Back then I thought he would go on forever. That he was immortal.” Her voice took on a tinge of sadness. “I think he thought so, too.”

“It’s a common feeling,” Travis told her. He had so many clients who had been coerced by their families to get their affairs in order and prepare a will. “Until someone close to you dies.”

She looked at him sharply, catching something in his voice. “Who died who was close to you?”

He wasn’t here to talk about himself. Backing off, he said, “I was just speaking in general.”

Shana looked into his eyes and then slowly shook her head.

“No, you weren’t,” she countered quietly.

He had no idea how she knew. Maybe those luminescent blue eyes of hers allowed her to look into his soul, maybe not. Either way, he saw no reason to pretend that she was wrong. He didn’t believe in lying.

“My mother.”

His answer surprised her. “You lost your mother, too?” It gave them something in common. Without realizing it, she felt a little closer to him. “When?”

Why was it always painful, going back to that time? He was twenty-two years past it. The memory should have healed by now.

“I was five at the time.”

She looked at him with sympathy. She’d felt devastated when she lost her mother two years ago. How much worse was that kind of a loss for a little boy? For a moment, she took a seat at the table, placing her hand on his in silent empathy.

“That must have been terrible for you.”

“It was,” he agreed. He’d made a vow never to dwell on that time, but to acknowledge it and move on. Because, for all intents and purposes, his life had done the same. “But luckily, after several very huge misses, my father struck gold when he finally hired Kate to be our nanny.”

Shana heard the wealth of affection in his voice. Whoever this woman was, she meant a great deal to him.

“Kate?”

“She’s my stepmother. She has been for over twenty years. Even in the early days, before she married my father, Kate made a world of difference to all of us, thank God. I think my brothers and I were destined for juvenile hall if she hadn’t come into our lives and straightened us out.”

“So she was a disciplinarian?” Shana guessed. She tried to picture the man in front of her being a difficult child and couldn’t do it.

“Just the opposite. At the time, she was a childpsychology student with an abundant amount of patience and love.” And then, as if hearing what he was saying for the first time, Travis stopped talking and looked at her in surprise. “How did we get on this subject? I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions.”

The smile Shana gave him told him she was very good at turning the tables on people, usually without them knowing it.

“A little mutual sharing never hurt,” she told him. “Besides, it makes you a little more human and accessible to us.”

He never thought of himself in any other way. Kate had set a very good example. “I’m always accessible to my clients.”

Her mouth curved, more intrigued by what he wasn’t saying. “But are you human?”

“That’s decided on a case-by-case basis.”

Any further exchange between them was cut short. Shawn O’Reilly, smartly dressed in a navy blue jacket, light gray slacks and a very light blue shirt, joined them. His very presence overwhelmed any sense of intimacy that might have been fostered.

Clapping Travis lightly on the back, he happily declared the same thing that Shana had when she first saw him. “You came.” Digging his knuckles into the table for support, he lowered himself into the chair opposite Travis. The chair that Shana had just vacated.

“I already used that line, Dad,” Shana teased, unwrapping his utensils from within a deep-green woven napkin. Without looking, she placed the cutlery on either side of his hands.

“Speaking of lines,” Shawn nodded toward the room’s entrance, “it looks like there’s one forming at the hostess desk.”

Shana quickly glanced over her shoulder. Two separate parties had gathered there. Several of the people were looking around for someone to come and seat them.

“Whoops.” She flashed a quick grin at Travis. “I guess talking to Mr. Marlowe here made me forget I’m still on duty. I’ll leave him in your hands, Dad. I’m sure you can entertain him with your stories.” Raising her hand, Shana signaled to catch the attention of a nearby waitress. Making eye contact, the young woman nodded. “Becka will take your orders and bring you both something to eat.”

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