Megan's Mate

Chapter 10

The sun had set by the time Nathaniel returned home. He'd overhauled an engine and repaired a hull, and he still hadn't worked off his foul mood.

He remembered a quote—Horace, he thought— about anger being momentary insanity. If you didn't figure out a way to deal with momentary insanity, you ended up in a padded room. Not a cheerful image.

The only way to deal with it, as far as he could see, was to face it. And Megan. He was going to do both as soon as he'd cleaned up.

“And she'll have to deal with me, won't she?” he said to Dog as the pup scrambled out of the car behind him. “Do yourself a favor, Dog, and stay away from smart women who have more brains than sense.”

Dog wagged his tail in agreement or sympathy, then toddled away to water the hedges.

Nathaniel slammed the car door and started across the yard. “Fury?”

He stopped, squinted into the shadows of dusk, toward the side of the cottage. “Yeah?”

“Nathaniel Fury?”

He watched the man approach, a squat, muscled tank in faded denim. Creased face, strutting walk, a grease-smeared cap pulled low over the brow.

Nathaniel recognized the type. He'd seen the man, and the trouble he carried with him like a badge, in dives and on docks the world over. Instinctively he shifted his weight.

“That's right. Something I can do for you?”

“Nope.” The man smiled. “Something I can do for you, ”

Even as the first flash of warning lit in Nathaniel's brain, he was grabbed from behind, his arms viciously twisted and pinned. He saw the first blow coming, braced, and took a heavy fist low in the gut. The pain was incredible, making his vision double and waver before the second blow smashed into his jaw.

He grunted, went limp.

“Folded like a girl. Thought he was supposed to be tough.” The voice behind him sneered, giving him the height and the distance. In a fast, fluid movement, Nathaniel snapped his head back, rapping his skull hard against the soft tissue of a nose. Using the rear assailant for balance, he kicked up both feet and slammed them into a barrel chest.

The man behind him cursed, loosened his grip enough for Nathaniel to wrest himself away. There were only seconds to judge his opponents and the odds.

He saw that both men were husky, one bleeding profusely now from his broken nose, the other snarling as he wheezed, trying to get back his breath after the double kick to his chest. Nate snapped his elbow back, had the momentary pleasure of hearing the sound of bone against bone.

They came at him like dogs.

He'd been fighting all his life, knew how to mentally go around the pain and plow in. He tasted his own blood, felt the power sing up his arm as his fist connected. His head rang like church bells when he caught a blow to the temple. His breath burned from another in the ribs.

But he kept moving in as they circled him, lashing out, dripping sweat and blood. Avoiding a leap at his throat with a quick pivot, he followed through with a snapping, backhanded blow. The flesh on his knuckles ripped, but the pain was sweet.

He caught the quick move out of the corner of his eye and turned into it. The blow skimmed off his shoulder, and he answered it with two stinging jabs to the throat that had one of the men sinking bonelessly to his knees.

“Just you and me now.” Nathaniel wiped the blood from his mouth and measured his foe. “Come on.”

The loss of his advantage had his opponent taking a step in retreat. Facing Nathaniel now was like facing a wolf with fangs sharp and exposed. His partner was useless, and the man shifted his eyes for the best route of escape.

Then his eyes lit up.

Lunging, he grabbed one of the boards waiting to be nailed to the deck. He was grinning now, advancing and swinging the board like a bat. Nathaniel felt the wind whistle by his ear as he feinted left, then the wood slapping on his shoulder on the return swing.

He went in low. The rushing power took them both over the deck and smashing through the front door.

“Fire in the hole!” Bird shouted out. “All hands on deck!” His wings flapped frantically as the two men hurtled across the room.

A small table splintered like toothpicks under their combined weight. The wrestling wasn't pretty, nor was there any grace in the short body punches or the gouging fingers. The cottage rang with smashing furniture and harsh breathing.

Something new crept into the jungle scent of sweat and blood. When he recognized fear, Nathaniel's adrenaline pumped faster, and he used the new weapon as ruthlessly as his fists.

He closed his hand around the thick throat, thumb crushing down on the windpipe. The fight had gone out of his opponent. The man was flailing now, gagging.

“Who sent you?” Nathaniel's teeth were bared in a snarl as he grabbed the man by the hair and rapped his head hard on the floor.

“Nobody.”

Breathing through his teeth, Nathaniel hauled him over, twisted his arm and jerked it viciously up his back. “I'll snap it like a twig. Then I'll break the other one, before I start on your legs. Who sent you?”

“Nobody,” the man repeated, then screamed thinly when Nathaniel increased the pressure. “I don't know his name. I don't!” He screamed again, almost weeping now. “Some dude outa Boston. Paid us five hundred apiece to teach you a lesson.”

Nathaniel kept the arm twisted awkwardly, his knee on the man's spine. “Draw me a picture.”

“Tall guy, dark hair, fancy suit.” The squat man babbled out curses, unable to move without increasing his own agony. “Name of God, you're breaking my arm.”

“Keep talking and it's all I'll break.”

“Pretty face—like a movie star. Said we was to come here and look you up. We'd get double if we put you in the hospital.”

“Looks like you're not going to collect that bonus.” After releasing his arm, Nathaniel dragged the man up by the scruff of his neck. “Here's what you're going to do. You're going to go back to Boston and tell your pretty-faced pal that I know who he is and I know where to find him.” For the hell of it, Nathaniel rammed the man against the wall on the way out the door. “Tell him not to bother looking over his shoulder, because if I decide he's worth going after, he won't see me coming. You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“Now pick up your partner.” The other man was struggling onto his hands and knees. “And start running.”

They didn't need any more urging. Pressing a hand to his ribs, Nathaniel watched until they'd completed their limping race out of sight.

He gave in to a groan then, hobbling painfully through the broken door and into the house.

“I have not yet begun to fight,” Bird claimed.

“A lot of help you were,” Nathaniel muttered. He needed ice, he thought, a bottle of aspirin and a shot of whiskey.

He took another step, stopping, then swearing, when his vision blurred and his legs wobbled like jelly.

Dog came out of the corner where he'd huddled, whimpering, and whined at Nate's feet.

“Just need a minute,” he said to no one in particular, and then the room tilted nastily on its side. “Oh, hell,” he murmured, and passed out cold.

Dog licked at him, tried to nuzzle his nose, then sat, thumped his tail and waited. But the smell of blood made him skittish. After a few moments, he waddled out the door.

Nathaniel was just coming to when he heard the footsteps approaching. He struggled to sit up, wincing at every blow that had gone unfelt during the heat of battle. He knew that if they'd come back for him, they could tapdance on his face without any resistance from him.

“Man overboard,” Bird announced, and earned a hissing snarl from Nathaniel.

Holt stopped in the doorway and swore ripely. “What the hell happened?” Then he was at Nathaniel's side, helping him to stand.

“Couple of guys.” Too weak to be ashamed of it, Nathaniel leaned heavily on Holt. It began to occur to him that he might need more than aspirin.

“Did you walk into a robbery?”

“No. They just stopped by to beat me to a pulp.”

“Looks like they did a good job of it.” Holt waited for Nathaniel to catch his breath and his balance. “Did they mention why?”

“Yeah.” He wiggled his aching jaw and saw stars. “They were paid to. Courtesy of Dumont.”

Holt swore again. His friend was a mess, bruised, bloodied and torn. And it looked as though he were too late to do anything other than mop up the spills.

“Did you get a good look at them?”

“Yeah, good enough. I kicked their butts back to Boston to deliver a little message to Dumont.”

Half carrying Nathaniel to the door, Holt stopped, took another survey. “You look like this, and you won?”

Nathaniel merely grunted.

“Should have known.” The news made Holt marginally more cheerful. “Well, we'll get you to the hospital.”

“No.” Damned if he'd give Dumont the satisfaction. “Son of a bitch told them they'd get a bonus if they put me in the hospital.”

“Then that's out,” Holt said with perfect understanding. “Just a doctor then.”

“It's not that bad. Nothing's broke.” He checked his tender ribs. “I don't think. Just need some ice.”

“Yeah, right.” But, being a man, Holt was in perfect sympathy with the reluctance to be bundled off to a doctor. “Okay, we're going to the nextbest place.” He eased Nathaniel into the car. “Take it slow, ace.”

“I can't take it otherwise.”

With a snap of his fingers, Holt ordered Dog into the car. “Hold on a minute while I phone Suzanna, let her know what's going on.”

“Feed the bird, will you?”

Nathaniel drifted between pain and numbness until Holt returned. “How'd you know to come by?”

“Your dog.” Holt started the car and eased it as gently as possible out of the drive. “He played Lassie.”

“No fooling?” Impressed, Nathaniel made the effort to reach back and pat Dog on the head. “Some dog, huh?”

“It's all in the bloodlines.”

Nathaniel roused himself enough to probe his face with cautious fingers. “Where are we going?”

“Where else?” Holt headed for The Towers.

Coco squealed at the sight of him, pressing both hands to her cheeks, as Nathaniel hobbled into the family kitchen with one arm slung over Holt's supporting shoulders.

“Oh, you poor darling! What happened? Was there an accident?”

“Ran into something.” Nathaniel dropped heavily into a chair. “Coco, I'll trade you everything I own, plus my immortal soul, for a bag of ice.”

“Goodness.”

Brushing Holt away, she took Nathaniel's battered face in her hands. In addition to bruises and scrapes, there was a jagged cut under one eye. The other was bloodshot and swelling badly. It didn't take her longer than a moment to see that the something he'd run into was fists.

“Don't you worry, sweetheart, we'll take care of you. Holt, run up to my room. There's a bottle of painkillers in the medicine chest, from when I had that nasty root canal.”

“Bless you,” Nathaniel managed. He closed his eyes, listening to her bustling around the kitchen. Moments later he hissed and jerked when a cool cloth dabbed the cut under his eye.

“There, there, dear,” she cooed. “I know it hurts, but we have to get it clean so there's no infection. I'm going to put a little peroxide on it now, so you just be brave.”

He smiled, but found that did nothing to help his torn lip. “I love you, Coco.”

“I love you, too, sweetie.” “Let's elope. Tonight.”

Her answer was to lay her lips gently on his brow. “You shouldn't fight, Nathaniel. It doesn't solve anything.”

“I know.”

Breathless from the run, Megan burst into the kitchen. “Holt said— Oh, God.” She streaked to Nathaniel's side, grabbed his sore hand so tightly he had to bite down to suppress a yelp. There was blood drying on his face, and there were bruises blooming. “How bad are you hurt? You should be in the hospital.”

“I've had worse.”

“Holt said two men came after you.”

“Two?” Coco's hand paused. 'Two men attacked you?” All the softness fled from her eyes, hardening them to tough blue steel. “Why, that's reprehensible. Someone should teach them how to fight fair.”

Despite his lip, Nathaniel grinned. “Thanks, beautiful, but I already did.”

“I hope you knocked their heads together.” After a huffing breath, Coco went back to work on his face. “Megan, dear, fix Nate an ice bag for his eye. It's going to swell.”

Megan obeyed, torn into dozens of pieces, by the damage to his face, by the fact that he hadn't even looked at her.

“Here.” She laid the cool bag against his eye while Coco cleaned his torn knuckles.

“I can hold it. Thanks.” He took it from her, let the ice numb the pain. “There's antiseptic in the left-hand cupboard, second shelf,” Coco said. Megan, feeling weepy, turned to get it.

The door opened again, this time letting in a crowd. Nathaniel's initial discomfort with the audience turned to reluctant amusement as the Calhouns fired questions and indignation. Plans for revenge were plotted and discarded while Nathaniel suffered the sting of iodine.

“Give the boy air!” Colleen commanded, parting her angry grandnieces and nephews like a queen moving through her court. She eyed Nathaniel. “Banged, you up pretty good, did they?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Her eyes were shrewd. “Dumont,” she murmured, so that only he could hear.

Nathaniel winced. “Right the first time.”

She glanced at Coco. “You seem to be in able hands, here. I have a call to make.” She smiled thinly. It helped to have connections, she thought as she tapped out of the room with her cane. And through them she would see that Baxter Dumont knew he had put a noose around his own neck, and that one false move would mean his career would come to an abrupt and unpleasant stop.

Nobody trifled with Colleen Calhoun's family.

Nathaniel watched Colleen go, then took the pill Coco held out to him and gulped it down. The movement sent fresh pain radiating up his side.

“Let's get that shirt off.” Trying to sound cheerful, Coco attacked the torn T-shirt with kitchen shears.

The angry mutters died away as Nathaniel's bruised torso was exposed. “Oh.” Tears stung Coco's eyes. “Oh, baby.”

“Don't pamper the boy.” Dutch came in holding two bottles. Witch hazel and whiskey. One look at Nathaniel had him gritting his teeth together so hard they ached, but he kept his voice careless. “He ain't no baby. Take a shot of this, Captain.”

“He's just taken a pill,” Coco began. “Take a shot,” Dutch repeated.

Nathaniel winced once as the whiskey stung his lip. But it took the edge off a great many other aches. “Thanks.”

“Look at ya.” Dutch snorted and dumped the witch hazel onto a cloth. “Let 'em pound all over you, like some city boy with sponges where his fists should be.”

“There were two of them,” Nathaniel muttered.

“So?” Dutch gently swabbed the bruises. “You getting so outa shape you can't take two?”

“I kicked their butts.” Experimentally Nathaniel probed a tooth with his tongue. It hurt, but at least it wasn't loose.

“Better had,” Dutch returned, with a flash of pride. “Tried to rob you, did they?”

Nathaniel's gaze flashed to Megan. “No.”

“Ribs're bruised.” Ignoring Nathaniel's curse, Dutch prodded and poked until he was satisfied. “Not cracked though.” He crouched, peered into Nathaniel's eyes. “D'ya pass out?”

“Maybe.” It was almost as bad as another thumping to admit it. “For a minute.”

“Vision blurred?” “No, Doc. Not now.”

“Don't get smart. How many?” He held up two thick fingers.

“Eighty-seven.” Nathaniel would have reached for the whiskey again, but Coco shoved it aside.

“He's not drinking any more on top of the pill I gave him.”

“Women think they know every damn thing.” But Dutch sent her a look, reassuring her that their charge would be all right. “Bed's what you need now. A hot soak and cool sheets. Want I should carry you?”

“Hell, no.” That was one humiliation he could do without. He took Coco's hand, kissed it. “Thanks, darling. I'd do it all again if I knew you'd be my nurse.” He looked back at Holt. “I could use a ride home.”

“Nonsense.” Coco disposed of that idea instantly. “You'll stay here, where we can look after you. You may very well have a concussion, so we'll take shifts waking you up through the night to be sure you don't slip into a coma.”

“Wives' tales,” Dutch grunted, but nodded at her behind Nathaniel's back.

“I'll turn down the bed in the rose guest room,” Amanda stated. “C.C., why don't you run our hero a nice hot bath? Lilah, bring that ice along.”

He didn't have the energy to fight the lot of them, so he sat back as Lilah walked over and touched her lips gently to his. “Come on, tough guy.”

Sloan moved over to help him to his feet. “Two of them, huh? Puny guys?”

“Bigger than you, pal.” He was floating just a little as he hobbled up the stairs between Sloan and Max.

“Let's get those pants off,” Lilah said, when they'd eased him down to sit on the side of the bed.

He still had the wit to arch a brow at her. “You never said that when it counted. No offense,” he added to Max.

“None taken.” With a chuckle, Max bent down to pull off Nathaniel's shoes. He knew what it was to be nursed back to health by the Calhoun women, and he figured that once Nathaniel got past the worst of the pain, he'd realize he'd landed in heaven. “Need some help getting in the tub?”

“I can handle it, thanks.”

“Give a call if you run into trouble.” Sloan held the door open, waiting until the room cleared. “And, when you're more up to it, I'd like the whole story.”

Alone, Nathaniel managed to ease himself into the hot water. The first flash of agony passed, transforming gradually into something closer to comfort. By the time he'd climbed out again, the worst seemed to be over.

Until he looked in the mirror.

There was a bandage under his left eye, another on his temple. His right eye looked like a rotting tomato. That left the bruises, the swollen lip, the nasty scrape on his jaw. All in all, he thought, he looked like hell.

With a towel slung around his waist, he stepped back into the bedroom, just as Megan came in the hallway door.

“I'm sorry.” She pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying all manner of foolish things. “Amanda thought you might want another pillow, some more towels.”

“Thanks.” He made it to the bed and lay back with a sigh of relief.

Grateful for something practical to do, she hurried to the bed, plumped and arranged pillows for him, smoothed the sheets. “Is there anything I can get you? More ice? Some soup?”

“No, this is fine.”

“Please, I want to help. I need to help.” She couldn't bear it any longer, and she laid a hand to his cheek. “They hurt you. I'm so sorry they hurt you.”

“Just bruises.”

“Damn it, don't be so stupid—not when I'm looking right at you, not when I can see what they did.” She pulled back on the need to rage and looked helplessly into his eyes. “I know you're angry with me, but can't you let me do something?”

“Maybe you'd better sit down.” When she did, he took her hand in his. He needed the contact every bit as much as she did. “You've been crying.”

“A little.” She looked down at his damaged knuckles. “I felt so helpless downstairs, seeing you like this. You let Coco tend you, and you wouldn't even look at me.” Drenched with emotion, her eyes came back to his. “I don't want to lose you, Nathaniel. It's only that I've just found you, and I don't want to make another mistake.”

“It always comes back to him, doesn't it?” “No, no. It comes back to me.”

“What he did to you,” Nathaniel corrected grimly.

“All right, yes.” She brought his hand to her cheek. “Please, don't walk away from me. I don't have all the answers yet, but I know when Holt said you'd been hurt—my heart just stopped. I've never been so frightened. You mean so much to me, Nathaniel. Let me just take care of you until you're better.”

“Well.” He was softening, and he reached out to stroke her hair. “Maybe Dumont did me a favor this time.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. Maybe his brain was a little addled by the drug and the pain. He hadn't meant to tell her, at least not yet. But he thought she had the right to know.

“The two guys that jumped me tonight. Dumont hired them.”

Every ounce of color faded from her cheeks. ”What are you saying? You're saying that Baxter paid them to attack you? To—”

“Rough me up, that's all. I'd say he was sore about me tossing him in the water and was looking for some payback.” He shifted, winced. “He'd have been smarter to put his money on a couple of pros. These two were real amateurs.”

“Baxter did this.” Megan's vision hazed. She shut her eyes until she was sure it had cleared again. “My fault.”

“Like hell. None of it's been yours, not from the start. He did what he did to you, Suzanna, the kids. Chickenhearted bastard couldn't even fight for himself. Hey.” He tugged on her hair. “I won, remember. He didn't get what he'd paid for.”

“Do you think that matters?”

“It does to me. If you want to do something for me, Megan, really want to do something for me, you'll push him right out of your head.”

“He's Kevin's father,” she whispered. “It makes me sick to think it.” “He's nothing. Lie down here with me, will you?”

Because she could see that he was fighting off the drug, she did as he asked. Gently she shifted his head so that it rested on her breast.

“Sleep for a while,” she murmured. “We won't think of it now. We won't think of anything.”

He sighed, let himself drift. “I love you, Megan.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair and lay wakeful while he slept.

Neither of them saw the little boy with shattered eyes and pale cheeks in the open doorway.

Nathaniel woke to the rhythm of his own pain. There was a bass drum in his head, pounding low in the skull, with a few more enthusiastic riffs at the left temple. It was more of a snare along his ribs, a solid rat-a-tat that promised to remain steady and persistent. His shoulder sang along in a droning hum.

Experimentally, he sat up. Stiff as a week-old corpse, he thought in disgust. With slow, awkward movements, he eased out of the bed. Except for the pounding in his head, it was clear. Maybe too clear, he thought with a wince as he limped into the shower. His one pleasure was that he knew his two unexpected visitors would be suffering more than he was at the moment.

Even the soft needles of spray brought a bright bloom of pain to the worst of his bruises. Teeth clenched, he waited out the pain until it mellowed to discomfort.

He'd live.

Naked and dripping, he stepped out of the shower, then filled the basin with icy water. Taking one bracing breath, he lowered his face into it until the shocking cold brought on a blessed numbness.

Steadier, he went back into the bedroom, where fresh clothes had been left folded on a chair. With a great deal of swearing, he managed to dress. He was thinking of coffee, aspirin and a full plate when the door creaked open.

“You shouldn't be up.” Coco, a tray balanced in both hands, clucked her tongue. “Now get that shirt off and get back into bed.”

“Darling, I've been waiting all my life to hear you say that.”

“You must be feeling a little better,” Coco said, and laughed, then set the tray on the bedside table and fluffed at her hair. It occurred to Nathaniel as he followed the familiar gesture that her hair hadn't changed color in a couple weeks, maybe more. Must be some mood she was in, he decided.

“I'll do.”

“Poor dear.” She lifted a hand to gently touch the bruises on his face. He looked even worse this morning, but she didn't have the heart to say so. “At least sit down and eat.”

“You read my mind.” Mote than willing, he eased himself into a chair. “I appreciate the service.”

“It's the least we can do.” Coco fit the legs of the bedside table over the chair and unfolded his napkin. Nathaniel thought she would have tucked it into his collar if he hadn't taken it himself. “Megan told me what happened. That Baxter hired those—those thugs. I've a mind to go to Boston myself and deal with that man.”

The fierce look in her eyes warmed Nathaniel's heart. She was like some fiery Celtic goddess. “Sugar, he wouldn't have a chance against you.” He sampled his eggs, closed his eyes on the simple pleasure of hot, delicious food. “We'll let it go, darling.”

“Let it go! You can't. You have to contact the police. Of course, I'd prefer if all you boys got together and took a trip down to blacken that man's eyes...” She pressed a hand to her heart as the image caused it to beat fast. “But,” she continued with some regret, “the proper thing to do is contact the authorities and have them handle it.”

“No cops.” He scooped up delicately fried hash brown potatoes. “Dumont's going to suffer a lot more, not knowing what I'll do or when I'll do it.”

“Well...” Considering that, Coco began to smile. “I suppose he would. Like waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Yeah. And bringing the police in would make it tough for Megan and the boy.”

“You're right, of course.” Gently she brushed a hand over his hair. “I'm so glad they have you.”

“I wish she felt the same way.”

“She does. She's just afraid. Megan's had so much to handle in her life. And you—well, Nathaniel, you're a man who'd leave any woman a bit addled.”

“You think so, huh?”

“I know so. Are you having much pain this morning, dear? You can take another pill.”

“I'll settle for aspirin.”

“I thought you might.” Coco took a bottle out of her apron pocket. “Take these with your juice.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He obeyed, then went back to his eggs. “So, you've seen Megan this morning?”

“It was nearly dawn before I could convince her to leave you and get some sleep.”

That information went down even better than the food. “Yeah?”

“And the way she looked at you...” Coco patted his hand. “Well, a woman knows these things. Especially when she's in love herself.” A becoming blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I suppose you know that Niels and I—that we're... involved.”

He made some sound. He didn't want the image in his brain of them together in the dark. Coco and Dutch were as close to parents as he'd ever had, and no child, even at thirty-three, wanted to think about that side of a parental relationship.

“These past few weeks have been wonderful. I had a lovely marriage, and there are memories I've cherished and will cherish all of my life. And over the years, I've had some nice, compatible relationships. But with Niels...” The dreamy look came into her eyes. “He makes me feel young and vital, and almost delicate. It's not just the sex,” she added, and had Nathaniel wincing.

“Aw, jeez, Coco.” He took a sip of coffee, as he was rapidly losing his appetite. “I don't want to know about that.”

She chuckled, adoring him. “I know how close you are to Niels.”

“Well, sure.” He was beginning to feel trapped in the chair, barred by the tray. “We sailed together a long time, and he's...”

“Like a father to you,” she said gently. “I know. I just wanted you to know I love him, too. We're going to be married.”

“What?” His fork clattered against china. “Married? You and the Dutchman?”

“Yes.” Nervous now, because she couldn't tell whether his expression was horrified or simply shocked, Coco fiddled with the jet beads at her throat. “I hope you don't mind.”

“Mind?” His brain had gone blank. Now it began to fill again—the restless movements of her hands, the tone of her voice, the anxious look in her eyes. Nathaniel shifted the table away from his chair and rose. “Imagine a classy woman like you falling for that old tar. Are you sure he hadn't been supping something into your soup?”

Relieved, she smiled. “If he has, I like it. Do we have your blessing?”

He took her hands, looked down at them. “You know, for nearly as far back as I can remember, I wanted you to be my mother.”

“Oh.” Her eyes filled, overflowed. “Nathaniel.”

“Now I guess you will be.” His gaze lifted to hers again before he kissed her, one cheek, the other, then her lips. “He better be good to you, or he'll answer to me.”

“I'm so happy.” Coco sank, weeping, into his arms. “I'm so very happy, Nate. I didn't even see it coming in the cards.” Her breath hitched as she pressed her wet face to his throat. “Or the tea leaves, even the crystal. It just happened.”

“The best things usually do.”

“I want you to be happy.” Drawing back, she fumbled in her pocket for one of her lace-trimmed hankies. “I want you to believe in what you have with Megan, and not let it slip away. She needs you, Nate. So does Kevin.”

“That's what I told her.” He smiled a little as he took the hankie and dried Coco's tears himself. “I don't guess she was ready to hear it.”

“You just keep saying it.” Her voice became firm. “Keep right on saying it until she is.” And if Megan needed an extra push, Coco thought, she'd be happy to supply it herself. “Now, then.” She smoothed down her hair, her slacks. “I have a million things to do. I want you to rest, so you'll be up to the picnic and the fireworks.”

“I feel okay.”

“You feel as if you've been run over by a truck.” She marched to the bed, busying herself with smoothing sheets and fluffing pillows. “You can lie down for another hour or two, or you can sit out on the terrace in the sun. It's a lovely day, and we can fix you up a nice chaise. When Megan wakes up, I'll have her come give you a rubdown.”

“Now that sounds promising. I'll take the sun.” He started toward the terrace doors, but then he heard footsteps hurrying down the hall. Megan rushed in. “I can't find Kevin,” she blurted out. “No one's seen him all morning.”