One Summer’s Knight

Chapter 10

“Tuck…them in?” Riley shook his head, not because he hadn’t heard or understood the meaning of the words, but because they made no sense to him.

Summer sagged against the door frame and folded her arms across her waist “You know, in bed? It means-”

“I know what it means.”

And sometime during the second or two it took him to say that, his mind had exploded with images…of com-silk hair on crisp pillowcases, of rosy-cheeked faces with sweet, smiling mouths and sky-blue eyes full of trust and questions, soft skinned arms and plump little hands reaching up to him… And with the images, came a white-hot, blinding flash of fear. He’d faced violence and even death, gone up against cutthroat lawyers and hostile judges with millions of dollars on the line, and worse, stared down Southern mamas hell-bent on making him a son-in-law, and he’d never known fear like this. And for what? An act millions of men all over the world performed every night of their lives-were probably performing right now, in fact, at this very minute?

Millions of fathers. But he was not a father. Had never been one. And for his entire life had reconciled himself to the vow he’d made never to become one. How in the world had he come to this?

“I know it’s a lot to ask…” Her lips formed an unstable smile. “They can be very insistent.” She turned to leave. “I’ll tell them you’re in the middle of something. They’ll understand.”

The hell they would. “Not at all,” Riley said in his Trusted Family Solicitor’s voice-Southern, confidence-inspiring, just a little unctuous. “Don’t mind a bit. Be right there.” He couldn’t have felt more fraudulent if he’d been about to step onto center stage at Carnegie Hall and attempt to perform the Brandenburg Concertos.

“You don’t have to do this,” Summer said in a low voice when he joined her. “Really.” She faced him bravely in the narrow confines of the doorway, eyes clinging to his, liquid and impenetrable as ponds.

He gazed into them for a long time before he murmured, with a thickening tongue, “Look, I don’t mind sayin’ goodnight. It’s not a major deal, is it?”

She shook her head and her lashes fell across her eyes. “No, of course not.”

“Well, then.” But all his senses vibrated with awareness of the lie, and from the tension he felt in her, even across the inches that separated them, he knew that she recognized it, too. It was a big deal, he just didn’t know exactly what kind of deal it was. Some sort of mileage post, perhaps, on a journey for which he had no road map nor known destination. He only knew that once he passed this post-or had he already done so?-in either case, there could be no going back now to the safe, secure place he’d started from. That place was lost to him forever.

The children were sitting up in their side-by-side twin beds, waiting for him. And holding their breaths, it seemed, from the way they released them when they saw him, in gusts of excited giggles. Beatle leaped down from David’s bed and came to meet him, dancing on her hind legs and shadowboxing in delighted greeting.

Riley said “Hey-” in the gruff, Southern way, and bent down to give the little Chihuahua a tickle as he moved between the beds. “So-” his stomach was jumping with nerves “-you want me to tuck you in, I hear?” Both children nodded eagerly. He frowned sternly at them. “Well, now, I can’t very well do that unless you lie down, can I?”

There were hushed gasps as the two children instantly flopped down onto their pillows, breaths once again held, giggles stifled. David, though, popped right up again and propped himself on one elbow to ask eagerly, “Did you get the computer put together yet?”

“Not yet,” said Riley, “but I’m workin’ on it.”

“I’m pretty good with computers. I could probably help you-you know…if you needed any help-setting it up and stuff.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to need help. Not tonight, though, okay?” He reached down to touch the boy’s hair, noticing as he did that the dog had jumped up on the bed and, after a few swipes at the kid’s chin with her tongue, was making a nest for herself against the curve of his thin body. Riley remembered then what Summer had told him about David having lost his security blanket in the fire. Did the dog know somehow, he wondered, who was in greatest need of her comfort?

“You’ll tell me when, right?”

“You bet. That’s a promise.” He turned then to the other bed, where the little girl lay rigid in feigned sleep, eyes squinched shut, nubs of baby teeth bared in an irrepressible grin. “And you, missy-” he began, but his voice ran aground on a shoal of gravel. The image of cherub curls and rose-pink cheeks against the pillow blurred and wavered…began to change subtly. Riley’s heart gave a lurch; fighting panic, he forced the child’s face ruthlessly back into focus, cleared his throat and was able to say gruffly, “What’s that you’ve got there?”

Her eyes popped open and she held up the small plastic lizard she’d been clutching to her chest. “Godzilla!”

“Godzilla, huh?” He examined the toy warily. “Looks pretty mean to me. I bet he keeps all the bad guys away.” Helen nodded her enthusiasm. Riley tucked the lizard back beneath her chin and gave her hair a tousle. Almost there, he thought, his heart pounding. Almost done…

“Mr. Riley, could I kiss you g’night?”

Such a wee, small voice to strike such terror into his grown man’s heart. Barely breathing, not allowing himself to think at all, he bent down…and felt the warm little arms encircle his neck…the soft, cool touch, like a kitten’s nose or the petals of a flower against his cheek. Oh, Lord, he couldn’t endure any more, couldn’t hold her a moment longer; the trembling had already begun.

He gave her a quick squeeze, touched his lips to her forehead and rose, vibrating like an out-of-balance top. “Okay,” he said, “g’night, now,” and the words felt like sandpaper in his throat

As he moved away to their singsong duet of “G’night, Mr. Riley,” his eyes sought Summer like homing beacons. And found her in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she’d leaned against the one in his study, with her arms folded across her waist. Watching him. And if he’d expected to see a thank-you, a glow of warmth and appreciation in her eyes, he’d have been sorely disappointed. She looked as if her heart was breaking.

Riley had had the nightmare before, so he knew when he woke in the clammy darkness, wrapped in a familiar spiderweb of dread, that there would be no more sleep for him that night A glance at the clock-radio on his nightstand told him there was at least an hour or two until dawn. So he’d do as he always did at these times, go downstairs, get himself something to drink, a book to read…maybe take another crack at deciphering that computer setup manual. He’d have to be careful not to disturb anyone-and please, God, let the dog be steeping!-but just to be on the safe side, he put on his robe and belted it securely before opening his bedroom door and tiptoeing like a cat burglar into the hallway.

Once downstairs, he could see a faint light coming from the kitchen. Probably Summer had left one on, he thought, in case she or one of the children needed something in the night. It still gave him an odd feeling, that reminder that he was no longer alone in his house. He didn’t know whether it was a good feeling or a bad one-just that it was odd.

He found that it was the light above the stove that was burning. He didn’t turn on any more-didn’t need even that much to get a glass out of the cupboard and fill it with water from the bottle in the refrigerator, so often had he done those things before under these circumstances. But as he was about to leave the room, his hackles suddenly stirred and prickled with the awareness that he really wasn’t alone. He checked abruptly, and turned to see what his peripheral vision had barely caught a glimpse of-a lone figure sitting at the table in the morning room with the light from the kitchen gleaming in her blond hair.

“Hey.” He changed direction, angling toward her, heart leaping against his throat, water glass in hand. “Couldn’t sleep, either, huh?”

And heard her give a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I was afraid to say anything for fear I’d startle you.”

He gestured toward the mug she was holding between her hands. “What’s that you’re drinking? Hot cocoa?”

She shook her head. “Postum-you probably never heard of it.”

“Huh-I remember buying it-and you’re nght, I’d never heard of it. What is it-a coffee-substitute-type thing?”

She examined the contents of her mug critically, as if they were the result of a scientific experiment she’d just conducted. “I guess it can be, if you make it with water. If you make it with milk and sugar, though, it’s more like cocoa, only no caffeine. My mother used to make it for us when we were kids.” She shrugged. “The children like it. It makes a nice nighttime drink. Sort of comforting.”

“Sounds like just the ticket,” Riley murmured, taking a sip from his water glass.

“Oh-would you like some? I’ll get-” And she was already half out of her chair.

“No, you won’t.” Riley kept her where she was with a hand on her shoulder and put his water glass on the table. “I’m perfectly able to get it myself. What’d you do, microwave it?”

She gave a quick little nod; he could feel her edginess, a coiled-spring tension in the shoulder beneath his hand. “It works best if you dissolve the stuff in a little boiling water first, then add as much milk and sugar as you want and warm it up to however you like it.”

He nodded. “I think I can handle that.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and left her.

As the space between them widened to a more bearable distance, Summer lifted her mug, carefully cradled between her two hands, held it to her lips and took a long swallow, then rested it against her chin and let the fragrant steam, evocative of the security of childhood, warm and comfort her. It would have been nice, she thought, if Postum could somehow warm the cold and still the shivering she still felt deep inside. But it was plain the beverage’s healing powers could only reach so far.

She watched Riley over the rim of the mug as he worked at the kitchen counter-shoulders broad and hips narrow underneath the navy silk robe, feet and calves bare and oddly defenseless. He was favoring the bruised one… She saw his dark head bending low and intent over the mug as he spooned and poured and stirred, noticing the way the hair grew on the back of his neck and fell unevenly over the wound in his scalp… And like a sneaky wave, a vision surprised her, washed over her and engulfed her…a vision of the way he’d looked last evening, bending down to kiss her children good-night. Oh, God, my poor children. Cold erupted from wells deep inside her to spread the shivers throughout her body. She felt an almost overwhelming desire to cry. Oh, God, please, she prayed silently, don’t let them grow fond of him. Or me, either… But already she knew it was too late.

She had to blink several times rapidly and sneak deep breaths to restore herself as he came strolling back, taking cautious and judicious sips of his Postum. After giving it a little shrug of at least tentative approval, he said, “Well, that was quite a day yesterday.”

And Summer could only think how vital and sexy he looked, with his beard stubble and his hair in rakish disarray-more Rhett Butler this morning than Cinderella’s Prince.

She tried to maintain a smile in return, but it collapsed miserably and she had to look away. She felt him come close to her, set his mug on the table. Heard his voice ask softly, “What’s the matter?” And felt his fingers in her hair. She drew a long, shuddering breath and then held herself still… very still. And after a few moments that seemed like an eternity, she felt him pull his hand away and sit down.

“Summer?”

“Riley-” she cleared her throat, cleared it again, shook her head, touched her lips with her fingertips…but there was no way to make it sound like anything but what it was… a desperate, desperate plea “-we can’t stay here.”

One eyebrow rose, confirming the Rhett Butler look. “Why’s that?”

“We just can’t.”

His voice grew softer, almost gentle. “May I ask what brought this on?”

What brought this on? My God-yesterday I almost lost my child! And I almost lost my head-over you, dammit. Over you! She shifted, angry suddenly, and overwhelmed by guilt. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? We’re destroying your life.” And she felt slightly foolish, but much more in control when he laughed.

“That’s being a bit melodramatic.”

“So is that,” she replied softly, her eyes sliding upward to the purplish knot on his forehead, clearly visible just above the hairline.

He touched it, shrugged dismissively and leaned back in his chair with one arm resting on the tabletop. Summer recognized the position instantly; it was the one he’d adopted the day he’d interviewed her in his office. A position of relaxed and confident authority. “Well now,” he said in the quiet lawyer’s drawl she remembered, “maybe this is somethin’ we oughta discuss.”

A week ago, that calm tone had filled her with hope; now it prodded her temper and her fragile emotions like a tongue on a sore tooth. “There’s nothing to discuss,” she said flatly. I came so close yesterday…so close. What if it happens again? I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to resist you “We simply cannot impose on you this way. We can’t.”

She hadn’t even finished before Riley grimaced and made an irritable shooing gesture, as if waving off a tormenting insect “Didn’t we have this conversation? I thought we’d covered all this the other night, over at the FBI headquarters.”

Her body jerked involuntarily, almost a physical rejection. “I was in a state of shock! I should never have let you convince me. Look-this is insane. Look at the way you live-”

“What? I live a very simple life.”

“Oh, yeah, right-you came to pick us up in a tuxedo, for God’s sake!”

“Oh, well-”

“And all this-your home…”

He was peering around with exaggerated eagerness, as if looking for a hidden surprise. “What about it?”

Summer knew a stone wall when she saw it She sat for a moment, breathing quietly to dampen her frustration and restore her customary patience. She knew she was right; she just had to convince him, somehow. Slowly and patiently, she began, “It’s beautiful. It’s elegant, and classy, and rich-”

“It’s got six extra bedrooms…”

“Hush. I mean it It’s beautiful, Riley. You know it is-you’ve obviously spent considerable time, money and effort making it so. These things-your paintings, the furnishings-even that pool, with all the plants and flowers, are like a little piece of paradise.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”

She wanted to hit him. “Will you stop it? I’m serious. It’s obvious all this is important to you, as it should be, or else why do you protect it the way you do-all this security?” When he didn’t seem to have a flip answer to that, she took the moment to rein in her emotions, then continued in a calm, reasoning tone, “And it’s just as obvious that a woman with two kids, a dog, a cat and a parrot do not exactly fit into this picture, if you see what I mean. We just do not belong here.” We can’t ever belong here. And if I were foolish enough to fall in love with you…

He was silent for a long time, regarding her steadily and somehow unnervingly, almost as if he’d read her thoughts. His jaw was propped in a cradle made of the index and little fingers of one hand-another pose she remembered. Finally, in a voice utterly devoid of inflection, he said, “What is it about me that makes you think ‘all this’ would be of greater importance to me than the safety and well-being-the life-of my client?”

And it was she who was silenced. Suddenly and unmistakably he was her lawyer again, and she felt foolish and ridiculous to have imagined she might ever be anything else to him but a client Whatever in the world had made her think she could argue with him, anyway? He was the great Riley Grogan, the man who in court had reduced her to the role of brainless bimbo. Right now she felt just as bogged down and trapped as she had on that dreadful day, as he continued to subject her to his hard, unreadable stare. But with one difference. Now, for all his outward appearance of authority, she had the distinct impression that she’d touched a nerve in him. That in some unfathomable way she’d even hurt him.

Not yet ready to concede defeat, she looked away and said softly, “But you have a life. I know you must-or, anyway, you did before we came. Since then-”

He leaned forward suddenly, on the attack, cutting her off, startling her. “What do you know about my life?”

“I told you, I-”

“You checked me out before you hired me.” His smile was sardonic. “And tell me, what did you find out? All about my professional reputation and track record, I’m sure. Social gossip. I’m certain you were able to discover that I am unmarried, and that I make the rounds of various Charleston-area social functions, fulfilling my duties as one of the Low Country’s most reliable escorts. What else? The fact that I serve on the boards of several charitable organizations? That I am known to be law-abiding, upstanding and trustworthy? Those things would be of particular importance to you, I imagine.” He paused and leaned closer to her. “Now, tell me, Mrs. Robey, what do you know about me?”

She flinched away from his nearness, cheeks burning, dry mouthed, and could only mutter, “Obviously-”

He straightened and made a smacking sound with his lips, something else she’d seen him do, she fuzzily recalled, that day in court. “You keep using that word-obviously Now-how can something be obvious if you don’t know a person?”

But she wasn’t in court, Summer reminded herself, grasping at that like a drowning rat hauling itself aboard a floating twig. And she wasn’t a brainless bimbo. And she would not let herself be intimidated again-not even by Riley Grogan. She shook herself mentally and leveled a look at him. “You’re right. I don’t know you. All I know about you is what I’ve seen. What you’ve shown me. I’ve seen the lawyer-” she gave him a small, sardonic smile of her own “-you do that extremely well, thanks for reminding me. I’ve seen your clothes, your car, your home-”

He made an impatient movement that told her she’d landed another blow, however small. He sat back, frowning, though not at her, and after a moment said in a low, gravelly voice, “I had my reasons for acquiring…all that I’ve acquired. At one time I suppose it was important to me. Things change. Priorities change…” And he was silent, gazing at the thinning darkness beyond the windows.

Summer saw the deeper darkness reflected in his eyes and suddenly felt a sadness in him that she didn’t understand. Surely not, she thought. Riley Grogan? But he has everything.

Sorry now that she’d pushed so far and presumed so much, she said haltingly, “I think…people see you the way you want them to see you. Maybe, if I don’t know you it’s because… you really don’t want me to.”

“Oh, that’s not true.” But it was an automatic denial, and after a moment he shifted as if the chair had become uncomfortable to him. “If it is, it’s probably because I don’t-” he cleared his throat loudly “-I don’t quite know how.” And he looked at her, his smile askew. “Maintaining an image can get to be a habit. A hard one to break.” In a sudden change of mood, he clasped his hands together on the tabletop and leaned toward her. “Try me. What would you like to know? Go ahead-ask.”

The intensity of his gaze was like a physical force; bracing herself to meet it seemed to take all her strength. Faintly, she said, “You’d answer me truthfully?”

He nodded. “Or not at all.”

But she found that it was hard to think when he looked at her like that-as if, like Mowgli’s Kaa, his eyes had the power to mesmerize her. In another moment, she feared, he could if he wished take control of her completely…body, soul and mind.

“Your witness,” he prompted softly.

It took a great effort, but she managed to wrench herself away from him both physically and mentally, rise and walk to the windows, where with the safety of distance and her back to him, she cleared her throat and ventured, “Okay…family. Nobody seems to know anything about your family.”

“That’s true. That’s the way I want it.”

She nodded, waited, and when he said nothing more, turned bravely to look at him. “Well? Do you have one?”

“Not really.” He shifted uncomfortably-unaccustomed, she imagined, to being on the receiving end of probing questions-and finally muttered, “My father died when I was…young.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, but was not ready, yet, to let him go. “What about your mother? Is she alive?” He nodded, but his eyes slid away from hers. She persisted, “Do you…see her?”

His eyes were on the mug in his hands. He raised it to his lips and drained the few drops that were left before he said in a carefully neutral tone, “From time to time.”

“Really?” She couldn’t have said why that surprised her, or why speaking of it should so obviously unnerve him. But her heart quickened as she asked, “Any brothers or sisters?”

He lowered the mug and now examined it minutely. His lashes were dark curtains across his eyes. “I had a brother,” he said at last, again in that voice devoid of all expression. “Younger. He died when I was twelve. He was..about six.”

“Oh, God-how awful.” And she thought: Just about Helen’s age. Shame and regret overwhelmed her, squeezed her chest and tightened her throat, so that she whispered through the pain, “I’m so sorry. I mean, I can’t even imagine what it would be like. My sisters and I-we were so close. Even to think of losing them…”

From half a room away, Riley saw her eyes fill with tears, and saw in those tears his own escape. Maintaining control of his natural empathy-his gift, his curse-had been challenge enough to him lately, it was true; but it was a battle he waged on a daily basis and was therefore accustomed to. Watching her, he said quietly, “You miss them.”

She gave a liquid-sounding laugh, like a hiccup. He watched her lips play through a whole symphony of emotions and was as fascinated as he’d been that first day in his office. She said huskily, “Yeah, I do. And the funny thing is, until last year I didn’t even see that much of them I guess-” she shrugged, drew an uneven breath “-I was too busy. There was my job, my clinic, and then I was married and they weren’t, I had kids and they didn’t. But then, after Hal left, and I knew I was going to have to start over, and I thought about where I would go… My parents live in Pensacola Beach, I could have gone there. But when I really thought about it, it was my sister-Mirabella-that I…” her voice broke, surprising her, he thought, and she drew another unsteady breath. “So, I came here. And now-” suddenly her hands were clenched fists and her voice trembled with anger “-I can’t even see her. I can’t even talk to her on the phone. Now, when I need her the most. It makes me so angry. I feel like-” She broke off with a laugh. “You know what it’s like? Remember that day, last winter, when you saw me in court? And the judge threatened to send me to jail? I thought, I can’t possibly go to jail-no way! And now, here I am-if I’m not in jail, I might as well be!”

Unexpectedly stung, he forced a smile. “Oh, come on, is it really that bad?”

“Oh,” she said quickly, empathetic enough herself to realize how her words might be taken and anxious not to give offense, “not that it isn’t a very nice jail. You’ve done everything you could possibly do to make us comfortable-too much.” She came toward him, arms folded tightly across her waist in what seemed to him an unconscious effort to contain treacherous emotions. Instead, because of the tension in her, the effect of that determinedly subdued tone and manner was to make her words all the more poignant. “But-my life has been taken from me. Don’t you understand? I have no freedom to come and go as I please. I can’t go to work, or shopping, or to visit my family or take the kids to McDonald’s. If that’s not prison, what is the definition?”

Her face was stark, strained…the unhappiness in it so distressing to Riley, he finally had to look away. “It’s only temporary,” he muttered. “Until the bad guys are put away. And the FBI, with all its resources-”

“Can’t find one man named Hal Robey!” she broke in, anger and derision thick and hot in her voice. “You know what makes me the maddest? It’s that I’m afraid. All the time. Do you know what it’s like to live every moment of your life in fear?”

He was stunned to hear himself say, “Yes, I do.” And felt with the admission, a curious sense of lightening.

Summer’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “You?” She came back to the table at once and sat, once again close enough to him to touch, as if, he thought, his confession of human frailty made him seem less dangerous to her.

To him, though, the danger seemed incalculable. Shaken by his brush with it, he forced a smile and murmured, “I told you, you don’t know me.”

But, to his relief, she wasn’t listening, focused once again on her own concerns and reassured enough for continued confidences. Gazing at the lightening windows, she said in a musing tone, “Sometimes, you know, I think I’d rather confront the fear. Go out there and face those…those bastards! Like-I don’t know, set myself up as bait for an FBI sting, or something. Anything to get those people caught.”

“But,” Riley reminded her gently, “you have the children to think about.”

“Yes…” He heard her breath escape in a long, slow sigh. “I have the children.” Then for a while she was silent, while her whole being seemed to wilt, and grow pensive and sad. When she spoke again it was in a halting half whisper, and he knew without any doubt that she had never spoken those thoughts aloud to a living soul before.

“Sometimes…it seems like I’ve been in jail all my life-a kind of jail, anyway. Maybe not all my life, but at least since I realized that the man I’d married wasn’t ever going to be a partner, and that it was pretty much going to all be up to me-providing for us, you know, raising my children. I’ve felt…so damn lonely.” The last word came from her with rough edges, like torn burlap. “I’ve felt trapped, you know? I feel like I’ve had no choices. It’s like that story of the little boy with his finger in the hole in the dike. Like I’m all alone and trapped by the whole overwhelming responsibility for survival-everyone’s… my own, my children’s-and that everything I’ve done has been because I had to, for someone else’s sake, never because it was what I wanted to do.”

She stopped abruptly, and Riley found himself with a heart full of words he could not-dared not-say. It was a vulnerable, exposed feeling, like a thief caught with his hands full of stolen booty, pinioned in the glare of police spotlights. Did you ever in your life, Summer Robey, do something just for yourself? Take a cruise? Shop for perfume? Kiss a lover in the rain? Go dancing after midnight? Have an affair with a dashing attorney…?

The moments ticked away, counted in his heartbeats. He felt his body grow heavy and humid, with rumblings and growlings deep down inside of unacknowledged and unassuaged hungers. What would happen, he wondered, if he touched her now? If he were to reach out, reach across that small distance between them and take her hands…her strong, capable, no-nonsense hands…would he feel them tremble? Hands could tremble, he knew, for many reasons, and so could lips…and bodies. He suddenly knew that he wanted to feel hers tremble-her lips, her body-but for no other reason than desire. Not with cold, exhaustion, nerves or fear. Never with fear-never again with fear! Only desire. For him.

He realized then that it was he who was trembling-deep down inside where only he could feel it. Where only he could know. He also knew that while it was desire that made him tremble, there was fear, too. And finally it was the fear that made him back away, tiptoe carefully away from the edge and, instead of touching her, lace his fingers together on the tabletop and lightly say, “Tell me, Mrs. Robey-if you could choose what you wanted to do, what would it be?”

She stared at him, wordless with surprise.

He gestured toward the windows, which, without either of them noticing, the dawn had painted a soft, seashell pink. “It’s Sunday. Say you could do anything you wanted to do today-say I’m a genie, and I’m granting you one wish, just for today-what would it be?”

Summer caught a breath and held it. After the traumas of the day just past, the night’s demons and a conversation fraught with strange undercurrents and unknown tensions, his mood, the question, the sheer lightheartedness of it, were as enchanting and restorative as a rainbow. And in spite of herself, knowing what a fantasy it was, she allowed herself to be drawn into the game, if only for a moment. Closed her eyes and opened her mind and allowed the yearnings to take shape…and color…and then, choosing one, just one, she whispered, “The beach…I’d go to the beach.”

“Done!” he said, slapping the table with his palm. “Today we’ll go to the beach.”

And just like that, the sunlit vision evaporated in the cold rain of reality. She shook her head, fiercely emphatic. “No. No-absolutely not. You’ve done enough-too much. Seriously.” A thought struck her. She sat up straight and fired it back at him. “What would you normally do on a Sunday? Whatever it is, I insist you do it-as if we weren’t here.”

“Okay,” said Riley. But she didn’t like the gleam in his eyes.

He got up from the table, gathered up his water glass and the two mugs and went into the kitchen. A moment later, Summer heard water running, cupboard doors opening and closing, the subdued rattle of pans. Intrigued, she went to investigate, and was confronted with the mind-boggling vision of Riley Grogan, street-fighting lawyer, tuxedoed man-about-town, dashing rescuer of tree-stranded children, Rhett Butler in a blue silk dressing gown, coolly dumping handfuls of flour into a mixing bowl.