E-Mail Order Bride

E-Mail Order Bride by Kathy Lynn Emerson Belgrave House www.belgravehouse.com Copyright ©1998 by Kathy Lynn Emerson ...

Author: Emerson Kathy Lynn

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E-Mail Order Bride by Kathy Lynn Emerson

Belgrave House www.belgravehouse.com

Copyright ©1998 by Kathy Lynn Emerson

NOTICE: This ebook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This book cannot be legally lent or given to others. This ebook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Chapter One “You need a life,” Carole said. Leslie Baynton set her teeth, conjured up a smile, and controlled the urge to throttle her older sister. “I have a life, thank you very much.” “This?” A sweeping motion with one hand dismissed everything in the cluttered apartment, including Leslie. “It suits me.” As a defense, the words lacked punch. Leslie didn't entirely believe them herself. She knew from experience that nothing she said would change what Carole thought anyway. While the older sibling prowled, looking for something else to complain about, the younger perched tailor fashion on her overstuffed sofa and braced herself for the next volley of criticism. At forty-seven, Carole Marsdon Salisbury looked sleek and trim in expensive off-white slacks and a coral silk blouse. Leslie managed to contain a sigh, reminding herself she didn't really envy her sister's looks and sense of style. She glanced down at the worn blue fleece that covered her from neck to ankles. When she was ten and Carole twenty, Leslie had been in awe of her sister s sophisticated beauty and had tried to imitate everything about her from clothing to mannerisms. Carole could have been a high-fashion model, she was that lovely and that perfectly proportioned. Leslie had inherited the same flawless skin and blue eyes, but there the similarities stopped. 3


Carole was a stunning blonde. Leslie had been obliged to settle for a sort of sand color. Her teen years had brought thick glasses, braces, and a bra size that was, to say the least, disappointing. And she'd stopped growing at five-footthree instead of reaching the willowy height needed to be a model, her earliest career goal. Still, she hadn't turned out so badly, and she'd come to prefer loose, comfortable sweatsuits like the one she had on now to designer clothes. She'd found better things to do than waste an hour every morning on makeup and hair. She'd learned, too, that she would never have been happy with a man like her sister's stuffy husband, and she'd have hated the obligation to engage in as much socializing as Carole and Mitch did. Since childhood, Leslie had been cursed with extreme shyness around strangers. There was, Leslie realized, only one aspect of Carole's life she still sometimes longed to emulate, the part that involved children. Carole had raised two, a beautiful, talented, intelligent girl set to enter her senior year in high school, and a handsome boy heading off to an Ivy League college with both academic and athletic scholarships in his pocket. Well aware of the futility of daydreaming about what she could not have, Leslie broke off her reverie and cast a wary glance in her sister's direction. She was just in time to see Carole run a finger across the top shelf of one of the five tall bookshelves that dominated the living room. She made a face at the streak she left in the layer of dust, then moved on to stand in front of Leslie's desk and glare at her computer. 4


A moment later Carole's scornful gaze shifted from the compact notebook computer to its owner. “You ought to get rid of this ... thing, Les. I swear, you've turned into a hermit since you bought it.” Leslie didn't bother to remind her sister that she'd always been a bit of a recluse. “The Internet is a great place to meet people,” she said instead. Although she'd once wished she had just a fraction of Carole's ability to make friends, during the last few years Leslie had learned to be content with her own company. The on-line chat rooms and digests she could access on the Internet might have been designed with someone like her in mind. Their very anonymity allowed her to be herself. More and more, lately, she'd felt free to express opinions, even argue about issues that were important to her. On-line, others respected her views. “Meet people on the Internet?” Carole sounded appalled. “Oh, that's smart! Don't you read the newspapers? Why, just the other day there was a story—” “I read the newspapers, Carole. I also watch television. I'm not going to send my life savings to some scam artist with a Web site, or invite a criminal into my home, or run off to have a mad passionate affair with a stranger.” That last possibility, however, brought a tinge of color into her cheeks, and Carole, for all her self-centeredness, saw entirely too much. Concern flashed in her eyes as she took note of Leslie's reaction.

5


“What are you involved in?” Carole demanded. “Some kind of singles club? Oh, Lord! Don't tell me you're using the computer to download pictures of naked men.” “Hardly. I've never had any desire for that kind of cheap thrill, and I've always avoided singles bars and their on-line equivalent.” She had, however, more than a year earlier, joined a discussion group for mystery fans. They e-mailed back and forth about books. And for almost a year, in private e-mails, she had been communicating with one particular member of that group, a man named Chase. They'd gradually branched out into other topics, discussing all kinds of things and always finding a great deal of common ground. For a while Leslie had been wary. She knew there were potential hazards in intense on-line relationships. But when Chase did not propose meeting in person, not even after they discovered that they both lived in Maine, she'd decided she had nothing to worry about. In fact, just lately, she'd begun to consider broaching the subject herself. She was curious about him and suspected he was as shy as she was. “Come over to the house for dinner tonight” Carole's abrupt words broke into Leslie's thoughts. As usual, her invitation was more of an order than a suggestion. “Mitch has already asked the bank's new accountant to join us. You'll like him. He's—” “Oh, please. No more blind dates.” Especially not with men Mitchell Salisbury, conservative banker, thought were suitable companions for his sister-in-law. 6


Carole wasn't accustomed to being thwarted, and she reacted with sarcasm. “Don't tell me you already have a date.” Goaded, Leslie chose to be provoking herself. “I prefer to spend Saturday nights cuddled up to my computer.” “You're pathetic.” “Because I like things the way they are? Because I don't want to be a carbon copy of you any longer?” Carole tried to stare her down, but for once Leslie managed not to blink first. “Stop meddling, Carole,” she warned when her sister lost this small test of wills. “When and if I decide my life needs reorganizing, I'll do it myself.” Annoyed, Carole stormed across the room to pluck her handbag from the table by the door. A pile of unopened junk mail tumbled to the floor, landing atop a brightly colored advertising flyer that had already been there for a few days. Tidiness had never been a priority for Leslie. “Fine!” Carole declared. “I wash my hands of you.” But just before she opened the door and sailed out into the corridor, she fired one last salvo. “You have no idea what an embarrassment you are,” she said over her shoulder. “You've managed to turn yourself into a stereotype of the old-maid librarian living alone with her cat!” “I'm not all that old,” Leslie muttered as she uncurled from her position on the sofa and went to lock the door behind her sister. And she wasn't a maid, either. She'd been married, briefly, right out of high school, something that still ranked as the worst mistake of her life. 7


Only seconds after Carole's noisy exit from the apartment, a large orange tabby emerged from behind the sofa and meowed a question. “Yes, Dewey. She's gone.” The cat, unconvinced, conducted his own search of the premises, curling his lip each time he caught a whiff of Carole's scent. “She feels the same way about you,” Leslie told him. Smiling faintly, Leslie crossed to her desk and booted up the computer. She composed a lengthy e-mail to Chase, allowing herself to vent on the subject of Carole. Chase would understand. He seemed to have had the same kind of lovehate relationship with his late brother, Jake, that she had with her sister. Chase was someone she could talk to, the one person in her life who really paid attention to her and offered practical advice instead of lectures. She'd never forget how he'd made her laugh after the previous week's debacle at work over the “big red book.” A college student had appeared at her desk in technical services and complained that he couldn't find a certain volume by Thomas Pyles, a history of the English language. When she'd checked and told him the library did not own the book in question, the young man had insisted they did. He'd used it before, he assured her. He even remembered that it was a big, heavy book with a red cover. That it wasn't listed as part of the collection didn't impress him. Leslie tried to help, spending more than an hour with the student, only to discover that he'd used the Pyles book at another library 8


entirely. Instead of apologizing, he grumbled that the book ought to have been in the Three Cities library. The last Leslie had seen of him, he'd been stalking off in high dudgeon to file a complaint ... against her. Still fuming by the time she got home, Leslie had recounted the silly, annoying episode to Chase. He'd put the situation back into perspective for her with one witty remark. “Want to make a little wager that when he finally finds that book it won't be red ... or read, either?” For some reason, his response had tickled Leslie's funny bone. She'd felt a thousand percent better. Their relationship worked both ways too. Leslie knew she'd been able to brighten Chase's day at least as often as he'd provided a sympathetic ear for her. Before she sent off her message, Leslie took a moment to scan the return addresses on her incoming e-mail. Nothing from Chase. She hesitated. He didn't talk about his job, but she did know all about his current family troubles. Sighing, she deleted what she'd just typed without sending it. This was not the time to plague him with her problems. As she logged off, Dewey suddenly jumped onto her lap, and she cuddled his fat, furry body. “Chase is having a rough time just now,” she told the cat. “He doesn't need to read about any more of my petty grievances.” She supposed she shouldn't count on hearing from him at all until he'd sorted things out, but she'd gotten used to having e-mail from him at least once every day, used to having him around, even if it was only electronically. Chase Forster had become a very big part of her life. 9


Uneasy in the aftermath of Carole's criticism, Leslie wondered if her sister might actually be right. Was she alone too much? More to the point, had she somehow managed to fall for a man she'd never met? No, of course not. What a preposterous idea! She and Chase were just good buddies. Pals. If she was at times fascinated by what he wrote to her, intrigued by the workings of his mind, why those were perfectly normal results of friendship. Weren't they? **** In another apartment some forty miles northwest of Leslie Baynton's, Chase Forster was just finishing a long-distance phone call. He said good-bye to his parents, cradled the telephone, then stood frowning down at it, idly stroking the dark brown strands of his mustache while he thought things through. His folks were in their seventies and retired. They didn't want to go through the hassles of parenthood again. No surprise there. Considering they hadn't done too well at it the first time around, he ought to be feeling relieved at their decision. Too restless to stay still, Chase paced the confines of his small, neatly kept apartment. “A place for everything and everything in its place.” He'd had that drummed into him in the military. Now he couldn't imagine living any other way. He paused in front of the window that overlooked the main street of Fallstown. At this hour on a warm mid-August evening the street was virtually deserted. The tourist season in the western Maine mountains was winter, when the skiers 10


came. This time of year the natives closed their shops early and went home to enjoy the long evenings with their families. Home. Family. Interesting concepts, but he wasn't sure he knew much about. them. The house he was about to move into with his nephew and niece, fifteen-year-old Jeremy and fourteen-year-old Calico, was the same one in which he and his late brother had grown up. It held a mixture of memories. Some were good. Many were very bad. Shaking his head, he left the window and wandered over to a table that held two computers, the portable assigned to him by the state for use in his work as a probation officer, and the PC he'd purchased shortly before the department of corrections closed most of the local probation offices and put the caseloads into a database. These days Chase worked from home, or out of his car, when he wasn't conducting business in various courtrooms and jails. The personal computer drew him. He had never been a parent and wasn't sure how to go about becoming a good one, but he did have one special person with whom he could share anything, including his concern about his suitability to raise two teens. It had become automatic for him to use Leslie as a sounding board. She was a woman with a lot of common sense, enlivened with a quick and quirky intelligence. Within a few minutes he'd composed a lengthy e-mail to her, though he didn't have to repeat the basics. Leslie already knew that Jeremy and Calico's father had died in a car crash two years back and that their mother, Gwen, was serving time in the state correctional facility at Windham. Ten days 11


earlier, right after she'd been taken into custody to begin a four-year sentence for writing bad checks, the kids had been sent off to Florida to visit their grandparents. “Jeremy is threatening to run away if he's not rescued soon,” Chase typed. “He reminds me of myself at the same age, a ticking time bomb of frustration and hormones.” Chase was certain all that explosive energy could be channeled into safe outlets once Jeremy was settled in a stable environment. He was a good kid at heart. Chase was sure he could reach him, teach him all the things he himself had been obliged to learn the hard way. “I just wish I knew more about raising girls,” he typed. “Sometimes Calico makes me believe women really are from another planet.” Chase put a “g” after that statement to indicate he was more or less kidding, added a few more sentences about his plans to move out of his apartment and into the house his parents had been using as rental property since their retirement, and sent the e-mail off into cyberspace. It was good to have Leslie to talk to, he thought, if only electronically. He smiled to himself. He didn't think he'd ever had a more intense relationship with a woman, and they hadn't even met face-to-face. He was going to have to remedy that one of these days soon. His curiosity had been piqued early in their correspondence. They seemed to have a great deal in common. The nature of e-mail made it possible to be candid, to share real communication instead of engaging in the polite social fictions that went along with traditional dating. 12


While he waited for her to respond to his message, Chase caught up on the criminal-justice digests he subscribed to online. Periodically, he checked to see if there was any new email. Finally, there was one. From Leslie. She commiserated with him over his concerns about his imminent fatherhood. Then, at the end, she wrote: “Maybe Calico needs a female role model.” Good idea, Chase thought, hitting the reply key. He typed: “Are you volunteering?” and sent the message back to Leslie. Her answer came in a short time later: “No insult intended,” she wrote, “but I think I'd need a little more incentive than instant motherhood, tempting though that is, to quit my job and move halfway across the state.” Smiling at the exaggeration, since Fallstown was less than an hour's drive from where Leslie lived in Three Cities, Chase considered what to say in his next message. He suspected Leslie wasn't kidding when she implied that the idea of instant motherhood held a certain appeal for her. He'd read between the lines of her e-mail when she'd written about her relationship with her sister's children. She'd like nothing better than to have kids of her own to take care of. She'd make a darned good mother too, he thought. An idea popped into his head. He tried to shake it, but it stuck, and the feeling built that he should yield to any impulse that was so strong. In the end, he gave in and sent the message. “How do you feel about acquiring an instant family?” As soon as the e-mail was gone, he had second thoughts. He tried to send a follow-up, but discovered he'd been 13


disconnected. Then he couldn't log back on to the Internet. All the lines were busy. By the time he got through again, Leslie's answer was waiting for him. “Is that a proposal?” she asked. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Now that the subject had been broached, now that his initial shock at even considering it had worn off, marriage sounded like a damned fine idea. A two-parent household would provide greater stability for the kids. And he and Leslie seemed to be compatible. He knew she wasn't altogether happy with her job. That probably meant she wouldn't mind giving it up to move to Fallstown. Chase abruptly pushed away from the desk. Was he crazy? He didn't even know the sound of her voice or what she looked like. They might be wildly incompatible on a physical level. He tried to tell himself that appearance shouldn't matter, but he knew damned well it did. They might not be talking about falling in love, but if he was going to marry someone, he sure intended to enjoy all the benefits of being a husband. That meant they needed to meet before they decided anything, even if this would be a—what? A marriage of convenience? No, that wasn't right. More like one of those mail-order deals. He started to send a simple dinner invitation, thinking they could meet on neutral ground, but once more Chase found himself yielding to impulse. As he typed he couldn't control his grin any more than he could edit the wording that popped 14


into his head and came out through his fingertips. Before he could change his mind, he transmitted the message. “Yes, this is a proposal,” he'd written. “Will you be my email-order bride?” Chase leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The die was cast. His fate was in her hands. Unable to sit still, he stood and started to pace. They'd meet. If they liked each other in person, and Leslie agreed to marry him, they could tie the knot right away. All it took was a few minutes in front of a notary. They could start working together to redecorate the house. He figured they'd have at least a couple of days alone together before Jeremy and Calico were due to return and move in with them. Stopping stock-still in the middle of the room, Chase shook his head to try to clear it. Maybe he was crazy. Even assuming Leslie agreed, that was no way to start a marriage. But this wouldn't be a traditional marriage, he argued with himself. And besides, Leslie might turn him down. Chase glanced at the computer. Maybe he'd jumped the gun a little, proposing like that. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to be cute with that e-mailorder stuff, even though he thought she appreciated his sense of humor, just as he got a kick out of hers. He should have asked to meet her first. Hell, he should have run a background check on her. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how little their correspondence had dealt in vital statistics. They'd revealed opinions, feelings, emotions. In many ways he thought he knew this woman very well. In others he was completely in the dark. 15


He knew Leslie lived in Three Cities and that she worked in the technical services department of the local library. That meant, she'd once told him, that she rarely had anything to do with the public. She knew what he did for a living, too, though not many of the details. A lot of what he did on the job was confidential. Although they hadn't exchanged ages, he was pretty certain from references she'd made that she was in her midthirties, as he was, but he could be completely wrong. For all he knew, she could be twice his age. Or only in her early twenties. And he knew almost nothing about her family. She'd said her parents were deceased and that she had an older sister. Mostly she'd talked about her niece and nephew, as he had about his. Chase threw himself back into the desk chair and stared at the computer screen. Absently, he tugged on his mustache. Asking a stranger to marry him, he thought, was certainly an uncharacteristic move for cop-turned-probation-officer. Ordinarily he'd have been more suspicious. Asked for more information. But with Leslie he'd let down his guard. They'd clicked right from the first and he'd never stopped to question why. Think positive, he told himself. After all, he'd been contemplating asking Leslie to meet him in person for some time now, and had only hesitated because he'd been reluctant to pressure her or invade her privacy in any way. He supposed he'd been waiting for some kind of indication from her that she'd like to get together. 16


A glance at his watch told him fifteen minutes had passed since he'd sent that last e-mail. She'd have had time to reply to his outrageous proposal by now. This time his connection went through on the first try, and he downloaded the latest e-mail from Leslie. He hit the key to display her answer. It contained only one word: “Yes.” Chase drew in a deep breath. Relief, he told himself. Now it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty. He quickly e-mailed back with his phone number, asking her to call him collect as soon as she received it. Ten minutes later his phone rang. **** Leslie almost hung up without speaking to him. Slick with sweat, her right hand clutched the phone while the other left a damp patch on the leg of her pale blue sweatpants. Her heart was racing double time. Her throat felt dry as sandpaper left out in the desert sun. “Yes, operator, I'll accept the call,” she heard him say. The voice was wonderful, deep and steady and warm as a cozy comforter on a cold day. She swallowed hard and waited. “Leslie?” She cleared her throat. “Yes.” An uncomfortably long pause ensued. Then he said, “You probably think I've lost my marbles proposing like that.” “No more than you must think I have for accepting.” “I've been meaning to suggest we meet in person. “Me too.” 17


“I guess we should probably do that now.” She thought she heard a smile in his voice, and forced herself to loosen the death grip she had on the phone. She was surprised but grateful when her own voice worked. “That's a good idea. When and where would you like to meet?” “As soon as possible. Would you mind coming here? I mean, it only makes sense that you should visit Fallstown and take a look at the house we'll be living in if ... if we go through with this.” That did make sense. It also made her very nervous. She hesitated so long that he spoke again. “I'm not an ax murderer, Leslie.” “I didn't—” “You should have. Have you got a pen and paper? I'll give you the numbers of the Carrabassett County Sheriff's Department and the Fallstown Police Department. You call and ask them anything you want about me. Okay? And have them verify the address I'm going to give you. It's the house I grew up in, the house I'm moving back into.” She dutifully wrote down everything he dictated. Her hand shook the whole while. “Now hang up,” he said, “and call me back when you've checked up on me.'’ “This is absurd. You wouldn't have given me those numbers if you had anything to hide.” “All right, then promise me you'll call them after you finish talking to me. But call them, Leslie. For your own protection and for my peace of mind.” 18


“Yours?” “I'd like to think I'm marrying a sensible woman.” A laugh escaped her. Sensible? Of course. That had to be why she was crazy enough to agree to become Chase Forster's e-mail-order bride. “Maybe that wasn't quite the right adjective,” he conceded, seeming to read her thoughts, “but you know what I mean.” And she did. Which was why she was considering this mad scheme at all. She felt as if she knew Chase very well indeed. Oh, there were things they hadn't discussed. Some of them were probably important. But she didn't think she'd ever known a man she'd dated in the usual way as well as she knew Chase. And Chase knew her most deeply held beliefs as well as her pet peeves. Careful, she warned herself. Until she met Chase in person she had no way of telling if he'd been as truthful with her as she'd been with him. He might have been spinning her a web of lies all these months. But she didn't think so. “Leslie?” His questioning tone told her she'd been silent too long. “Second thoughts?” “And third and fourth. How about you?” “Oh, yeah. Why did you say yes?” “Because I'd like a family.” She'd wound the fingers of her free hand into the phone cord, a sure sign of nerves. Very carefully, she untangled them. “As my charming sister pointed out to me earlier today, I've come close to turning into the cliché of the old-maid librarian who keeps a cat.” Dewey was curled up on the sofa, sound asleep, oblivious to 19


the fact that his mistress was contemplating changes that would affect him too. “The cat comes with me, by the way. “If you can handle two teenagers, I think I can adjust to one cat.” “You've never met Dewey.” “I've got to warn you,” Chase said, “that Jeremy and Calico aren't as well mannered as your sister's kids.” “I still like the idea of an instant family,” Leslie confessed, “though I would like to meet Jeremy and Calico before we commit to anything. And they should have something to say, too, don't you think?” “I think you and I should meet first.” “Yes, of course.” She was surprised to discover she was smiling into the phone. “You may not want to go through with this once you get a look at me.” “That bad?” There was no mistaking the teasing note in his voice. “You'll have to wait and see,” she shot back. “And that's assuming you check out with the local constabulary.” The longer their conversation continued, the easier Leslie found it to talk to him. It was almost as painless as communicating by e-mail. “I'm medium height with brown hair and eyes,” he told her. “Shall I wear a rose?” “I think I'll recognize you without one. When do you want me to come to Fallstown?” “Is tomorrow okay? How about one in the afternoon?” “Yes. Fine.” After he gave her directions, they broke the connection. 20


Leslie stared at the phone for a long time before she replaced it in the cradle. That had been easy, she thought. Too easy. Suddenly she started to shake so hard, she had to sit down. Tomorrow? Was she out of her mind? She removed her glasses and furiously cleaned the lenses with her sweatshirt. The room was fuzzy until she put them back on. Then she had to wonder, with considerable irony, if she was really seeing any more clearly than before. After a moment she sat up straight and squared her shoulders. This was no time to doubt herself. Every instinct she possessed told her that if she didn't go and meet Chase, she'd regret it for the rest of her life. How else could she decide, in a rational manner, whether to marry him or not? She was reaching for the phone, about to do as Chase had asked and check up on him, when Dewey butted her arm with his head. He was awake and hungry and making it very clear that she'd better drop everything and follow him to the kitchen. “What do you think, old boy?” she asked as she complied with his demands. Dewey was indifferent to everything but the food in his bowl. She might as well eat, too, Leslie decided, and fixed herself a light, early supper. She took her time eating the turkey sandwich and a dish of Cherry Garcia ice cream. Throughout the meal, her thoughts remained fixed on Chase Forster. She ran through all the pros and cons, over and over again. She kept coming to the same conclusion. 21


All fantasies aside, what Chase proposed had a chance of working out well for both of them. It would be a partnership between friends, the very best basis for marriage. They were two like-minded people joining together for mutual benefit. Mutual love was not a prerequisite. Chase had requested that she make two calls, Leslie reminded herself when she'd finished washing the few dishes and returned to the living room. She had a feeling he'd be disappointed in her, maybe even question her common sense, if he found out she hadn't done as he'd asked. Besides, now that she'd all but made her decision, she was curious to see what more she could find out about him. Curled up on her comfortable sofa once again, with Dewey snuggling in her lap, Leslie reached for the phone.

22


Chapter Two He was in luck, Chase thought as he walked through a heavy, reinforced-steel door into the dispatch room of the Carrabassett County jail. Of the three corrections officers on a shift, one drew dispatching duties, one was stationed inside the cell block, and the third handled the intake of new prisoners and other paperwork. This evening Penny Lassiter was the dispatcher and sat at the radio console. “Is the coffee hot?” he asked by way of greeting. The door closed behind him with a solid thunk. He'd timed his visit well, during the evening lull that followed feeding time for the prisoners. Even working around any urgent radio transmissions and emergency phone calls, he should have ample opportunity to ask Penny, very casually, if Leslie Baynton had called the sheriff's office to check up on him. One of the numbers he'd given her was a line feeding into Penny's workstation. “Our coffee is always hot,” Penny answered. She smothered a yawn and raked her fingers through short, straight hair the color of spring mud. “Not good, but hot. Help yourself.” Chase had known Penny Lassiter for years, even taken her out once or twice, but there weren't any sparks between them. She felt too much like his kid sister. It wasn't surprising, then, that he blurted out the reason for his visit before he'd even finished pouring coffee into a mug decorated with the logo of a local ski area. 23


“Gotten any calls about me in the last hour or so?” he asked. “Nope. Should I have?” He frowned, glancing through the bulletproof window that separated them from minimum security, then leaned back against it. “Yeah.” “Oh?” She swiveled around in the dispatcher's chair to face him fully and waggled dark, expressive eyebrows at him. “What have you been up to?” Chase was still trying to decide how to answer that when the phone rang. He watched Penny grab it, heard her erase every trace of a smile from her voice. “Carrabassett County Sheriff's Department. Officer Lassiter.” Chase didn't need to ask if this call was about him. Penny's broad grin quickly clued him in as she tipped back in her chair. Although she gave brief, unenlightening answers to Leslie's questions, amusement glinted in her eyes. “Well, well, well,” she said after she hung up. “And what was that all about?” “I just wanted the lady to know she hadn't agreed to meet some kind of pervert.” “Meet? As in date? Give, Chase. What's going on?” He sighed and sank into the uncomfortable wooden chair next to the coffeepot. “Got an hour or two?” “Might just. We haven't exactly been having a crime wave around here lately.” “You heard Gwen's back in jail?” Penny nodded. Even though his sister-in-law had been arrested in another county, the law-enforcement community 24


in Maine was small enough that nothing stayed private long. It was no secret, either, that both Gwen and Chase's late brother Jake had been involved in more than one small-time scam over the years. Jake had skated close to arrest several times before his death. “The kids are with my parents right now,” he went on, “but they can't stay there forever. Aside from the fact that Mom and Dad aren't up to raising a couple of teenagers, there's a rule in the retirement community where they live. No permanent residents under the age of fifty-five. So I'm taking them.” Penny gave a low, astonished whistle. “I hope you know what you're doing.” His expression wry, he muttered, “So do I.” “So who was that on the phone?” He stared into his coffee cup. “Someone I've asked to marry me,” he mumbled. “What? Details, Chase. Now.” “I've been corresponding with this woman, her name's Leslie Baynton, for about a year. Tomorrow we're going to meet in person for the first time.” “Anyone who'd agree to marry you sight unseen would have to be totally bonkers.” “Thanks a lot for the support, Pen.” They joked back and forth as Chase finished his coffee, and he told Penny about the on-line mystery group where he and Leslie had struck up an acquaintance. All the while his still-active cop instincts were telling him he ought to be 25


worrying more than he was. Something was probably wrong with a woman willing to go along with a scheme like this one. Just as he put down his empty coffee mug, Penny tore off a printout and skimmed its contents. The betraying twinkle in her eyes tipped him off. Belatedly, he realized that during the time they'd been chatting, Penny had run Leslie's name through the Department of Motor Vehicles computer. “Wow,” she said. “Do you know how much older she is than you?” He glowered at her, but secretly he was relieved. If Penny was amused, then Leslie had a valid driver's license, kept her car registration up to date, and hadn't violated any traffic laws. Those facts didn't rule out a criminal record, but they sure made it less likely. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to snatch that printout away from you and look for myself?” Penny's glee bubbled over into a laugh. “Relax, lover boy. Only six months. And she's a nice height for you. Five-footthree.” “So glad you approve.” At five-foot-eight, Chase had met plenty of women who were taller than he was. It tended to bother them more than it did him. Penny made a tsking sound and handed over the evidence. “You're slipping, pal. How come you didn't check up on her yourself?” Chase managed a nonchalant shrug, ignoring her question as he headed for the door. “Buzz me out, will you, Penny? I've got things to do.” 26


When she didn't hit the button to release the door, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Bet you haven't told her your deepest darkest secret yet, either.” Penny was grinning like a fool. “Have you confessed all? Does she know why you go by ‘Chase’ instead of using your real name?” **** Leslie's bed was piled high with rejected outfits. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered as she surveyed the mess. What did it matter what she wore to meet Chase Forster? If he didn't accept her for herself, regardless of her nearly nonexistent clothes sense, then she didn't want to marry him anyway. Resolutely, she selected a pair of pale blue linen slacks and a matching unstructured jacket. Compromise, she thought with a faint smile. Better than baggy jeans and a loose sweatshirt, her normal at-home attire, and a definite improvement over the bright red power suit she'd bought at Carole's insistence and worn only once. Surely Chase already knew she was the casual type. She thought he was too. As she dressed she found herself remembering bits and pieces of the e-mail correspondence she'd spent half the previous night rereading, after she discovered she was too wound up to sleep. She hadn't read it all. Printed out, there'd probably be six hundred pages of their correspondence. Mostly she'd perused selected messages he'd sent her, choosing them by subject heading as she scanned back through the mailbox labeled “Chase” in her computer's electronic mail program. 27


“Superior Court was in session again today,” he'd written on a blistering day earlier in the summer. “Ninety degrees in a courtroom without air-conditioning and I'm there in a dark, heavy three-piece suit and a tie. Worse, someone mistook me for a lawyer.” Heels or flats? Leslie stared at the shoe rack that ran up one side of her closet. Chase had said he was of medium height, but what did that mean? Her imagination veered away from how tall he was to contemplate physique. Was he skinny? Muscle-bound? Pudgy? She was alarmed to realize she had never conceived any clear physical image of him. It was his mind she'd been falling for. His body shouldn't matter. She knew that intellectually. But they were contemplating marriage. Intimacy. Not skinny, she decided. Not with that deep voice. The opposite image popped into her head, straight off the cover of a romance penned by a former male model. Now there was a scary thought. Given the choice, she'd prefer even overweight to muscle-bound. Those bodybuilder types seemed to think too highly of themselves. It was fruitless to speculate. She'd see for herself what Chase looked like soon enough. She selected a pair of shoes with one-inch heels and set to work on her hair, not that there was much she could do with it. For years she'd opted to keep it styled in a straight, simple cut that didn't need much maintenance. Makeup? She didn't always wear it, but a little something seemed called for today. While she carefully applied a small 28


amount of blush and eye shadow, her mind went back to the yearlong correspondence with Chase. They'd shared all kinds of things in their e-mail. He'd once confessed a weakness for Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. “I know that doesn't sound very macho,” he'd written. “Not cool. But the guy who took me to see H.M.S. Pinafore when I was a teenager was both macho and cool. Sheriff of this county, as a matter of fact. He took his whole family to see Gilbert and Sullivan live every chance he got, and for a couple of years he always invited me to go along too. Probably wanted to civilize me. It worked. I've been going on my own ever since, though it's damned hard to find productions these days.” Leslie had never even listened to a recording of Gilbert and Sullivan songs, but she liked what this unexpected interest of Chase's said about him. She'd have hesitated to get involved with a conservative law-and-order type who never departed from the stereotype of small-town ... what? Hick? Bigot? There were still plenty of both left in rural Maine. Fortunately, Chase Forster didn't seem to be one of them. Leslie smiled at her reflection as she sprayed on a light mist of perfume. There were signs in their correspondence that they thought alike on many issues. Once, when he'd been feeling down, she sent him a list of unintentionally comic headlines she'd found on the Internet. It turned out that they both loved puns and bloopers. “ROTFL,” he'd written back, using computer shorthand for “rolling on the floor laughing.” “The cow saved my day.” Leslie snickered, remembering that one particular headline. It had read: ENRAGED COW INJURES FARMER WITH 29


AX. She and Chase had agreed, too, on the runner-up for funniest headline: PAINTING FOUND BY TREE. In the months since, they'd sent many such humorous lists back and forth. She'd forwarded comments other people had taken from student science papers, including, “H20 is hot water. CO2 is cold water.” Chase had answered back with a set of strange sex laws he'd taken off a police digest. Oh, dear. Leslie put the perfume bottle down with a thump. Did that mean anything? She'd thought those examples were hilarious at the time and said so. Would he expect her to be more worldly than she was? Stop it, she ordered herself. The exchange had been harmless. So what if she and Chase now both knew that in Ames, Iowa, a man was not allowed to take more than three gulps of beer while lying in bed with his wife? Of course, there was that other one ... something about forbidding a man from shooting off a gun while his female partner was having an orgasm. If she'd been face-to-face with someone, Leslie suspected she'd have been six shades of red at hearing something like that. Long-distance it hadn't embarrassed her in the least. Forcing her thoughts back to more immediate matters, she gave her image in the mirror a long hard stare. No sense wishing she looked any different. This was as good as it got. Time to grab her purse and head out. Unfortunately, the drive to Fallstown gave her more time to think, and the contents of one particular e-mail quickly came to mind. She hadn't bothered to reread it the night 30


before, since it had been one of hers. She'd completely forgotten until that moment that she'd made a confession of her own to Chase. So comfortable had she felt “talking” to him on-line that she hadn't thought twice about confiding all of her adventures at a library conference she'd attended out of state that spring. Remembering the details of the e-mail, Leslie couldn't believe she'd been so open with him. She'd told him something she'd never have shared with anyone else, the fact that she'd watched an X-rated movie on the pay-per-view television in her hotel room. Out of curiosity. The opportunity to see what all the fuss was about had never presented itself before. “What did you think?” Chase had e-mailed back. “That I've led a sheltered life,” she'd replied. Did he remember that exchange? What must he have thought of her? Focus on the positive, she lectured herself. Chase wouldn't have proposed if he thought she was immoral. He cared too much about his family. She would become part of his family if she married him, she realized. That meant he would care about her. But as she continued to drive and contemplate the correspondence she'd so recently reviewed, her self-doubt returned. The truth was that she did not know all that much about Chase's family. He'd told her surface details. She'd gotten a strong sense that he was deeply concerned about Jeremy and Calico, but not a feeling that the Forsters had ever been close-knit. 31


The words of an e-mail he'd written nearly a year earlier came back to haunt her. She found she remembered it word for word, having read it several times during the wee hours of the morning. Most of the time I don't think about family. My brother's dead. None of the rest are here in Fallstown any longer. Their choice. I do miss my nephew, Jeremy, sometimes, but not the others. He was cute as a little kid. Curious. Into everything. Now I only visit him once in a blue moon and the last time wasn't very encouraging. He's into that teenage stage where kids seem to lose their vocabulary. You know how it goes: Where have you been? Out. What did you do? Nothin'. That was funny when I was his age. It's a bit more troubling now. In another leapfrog movement, Leslie's thoughts shifted to what Chase might do when he went “out.” Neither one of them had mentioned dating in their correspondence. She had no idea if he'd been seeing someone during the year they'd emailed back and forth. He probably had. Men had it so much easier when it came to finding people to socialize with. She wondered why he hadn't asked one of those women to marry him. Maybe he had. Maybe she'd turned him down. Maybe more than one had and he was getting desperate. No. That was silly. It was abundantly clear Chase had proposed on impulse. “Oh, damn!” Leslie swore. She'd just missed her turnoff on the main north-south highway she'd been following. Before she got any farther past Fallstown, she pulled into a gas station, intending to check the directions Chase had given her 32


over the phone. She dug into her purse for the slip of paper she'd written them on, then sat staring at it. Did she really want to go through with this? It wasn't too late to change her mind. What if she hadn't explained herself well? Had misled him in some way? It was easy to misinterpret words. What false expectations might he have, especially after she'd come right out and told him that her own sister thought she fit the stereotype of an old-maid librarian? Did he anticipate meeting a mousy little woman, her hair in a bun and the word shhhh permanently on her lips? Shaking herself, Leslie mentally ran through the content of other e-mails, searching for one that would give her the confidence she so badly needed at that moment. The only thing she could remember was an exchange on the subject of real-life cop shows on television. She'd asked if he watched them, thinking that since he'd once been in police work as a deputy sheriff, he'd find them interesting. He'd written back that he avoided them like the plague. When I want to relax, give me pure escapism every time. Why do you think I like reading mystery fiction? Unlike real life the bad guys always get what they deserve by the end of the novel. Order is restored. The virtuous triumph. Would the virtuous triumph today? she wondered. Would this story have a happy ending? Leslie smiled grimly and looked at the directions in her hand. There was only one way to find out. A short time later, she parked her dark blue Dodge Neon in front of 100 Carrier Street and peered up at the house. The 33


Forster place was a white clapboard structure with two floors and an attic, fronted by a terraced lawn. Tall spruce trees flanked the porch. And someone was framed by a picture window on the first floor, a dark, solid shape watching the street. Panic threatened, then receded. She'd come this far. She wasn't going to chicken out now. Drawing in a deep breath, Leslie got out of the car. There were two flights of steps to negotiate, three counting those connected to the porch, and her legs felt wobbly before she even started. Just the heels, she told herself. In spite of her lack of height, she usually wore flats or went barefoot. She grasped the iron railing firmly as she climbed. She did not look at the window again, afraid her nerve would fail her. The second flight of stone steps ended at the foot of the wide front porch. Fighting the urge to turn and run, Leslie lifted her head to take her first good look at the man who'd just opened the front door to greet her. Her breath caught. The jolt of physical awareness was unexpected. Disconcerting. She ascended the porch steps on autopilot. Medium height and brown hair and eyes. That was all Chase had given her by way of self-description. He hadn't mentioned a thick mustache accentuating sensual lips. He'd given her no advance warning of his intimidating build. Strong. That was the only word to describe him. He wasn't that much taller than she, and he wasn't muscle-bound, but he 34


had broad shoulders and powerful-looking arms, and he appeared fully capable of sweeping her off her feet and carrying her up a grand staircase à la Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara. Romantic nonsense. Forcing the too vivid image from her mind, though she could not control the rush of color into her cheeks, Leslie fought back a wave of shyness and stuck out her right hand. They were contemplating entering a partnership here, she reminded herself. Fulfilling her fantasies was not part of the deal. “Hello, Chase,” she said in a voice that sounded much too husky. “I'm Leslie.” For a moment he didn't answer. He was too busy staring back at her. Then he took her hand, and his was hard, warm, and slightly callused. The feel of it sent a tingle up Leslie's arm. She swallowed hard, determined not to be reduced to tongue-tied silence. This was Chase, she reminded herself. She strove for the light-hearted tone that had so often infused their correspondence. “Well, you aren't a troll,” she said. A slow, appealing smile softened otherwise hard features. Leslie found that simple change in expression immensely comforting. “And you're the best blind date I've ever had,” Chase told her. To her own amazement, Leslie began to relax. She didn't understand why she didn't stay more nervous around him, especially when she was so aware of him as a man. 35


Everything feminine in her responded to him, and yet, inexplicably, the attraction didn't scare her. She smiled back in pleasure and relief. She'd been right to follow her instincts. Chase Forster was as nice a man in person as he'd seemed on-line and over the telephone. “Want to see the house I grew up in?” he asked. “Of course.” A little of her shyness returned as she preceded him into the quiet front hall. This was also the house they'd be living in if they went through with the marriage. To her left, stairs climbed straight up, then made a sharp turn to the right. Not plantation-house style by a long shot, yet the image from Gone With the Wind flitted through her head once more. She reached out to stroke the wide, smooth railing, gazing upward. Behind her, Chase chuckled, a rich, deep sound. “That's a great banister for sliding.” A picture of Chase as a rambunctious child supplanted more adult scenes in her mind's eye, and she laughed with him. “I can't believe how at ease I feel with you.” “That's because we're friends.” He gestured to his right. “The tour starts this way. One living room.” He had said it all, she thought as she passed through the doorway ahead of him. They were friends. That was an excellent basis for marriage. She mustn't go developing romantic expectations. If she didn't yearn for undying devotion or grand passion, then she couldn't be disappointed. With a little effort and caring, they'd become successful 36


companions and partners. It would be stupidly naive to count on having more. Slow, deep breaths settled a sudden return of nerves. She made herself focus on the mundane. A large thermos, the cap off, stood on a scarred oak end table next to an easy chair that had seen better days. “Looks like you've been waiting for a while,” she remarked. “If that's coffee and there's any left, I could use some.” “You're welcome to it, if you don't mind sharing the cup. My folks took their dishes and cutlery with them to Florida. Most of the furniture too.” As Leslie watched he refilled the plastic lid, took an experimental sip, then passed it on to her. The gesture carried with it the hint of a toast. “Here's to sharing all sorts of things,” he proposed. Unsure why she did so, except that it felt right, Leslie deliberately put her lips on the exact spot his had touched. It was, she supposed, a first tentative step toward intimacy. Chase apparently thought so too. His pupils dilated with unmistakable sensual awareness, and for a moment Leslie's resolve faltered. She barely tasted the hot coffee and had difficulty swallowing as all the other things she was considering doing with this man impinged on her consciousness. In an attempt to hide a new bout of shyness, she used both hands to hold the cup steady and avoided Chase's eyes. She pretended to examine the room, though she knew she'd be hard-pressed later to recount a single detail. 37


The sound of a throat clearing brought her attention back to him. “Why don't you bring the coffee with you and I'll show you the rest of the place?” He started toward the archway in the wall opposite the picture window. “Wait.” He turned, a question in his eyes. She gathered her courage, telling herself she mustn't get distracted by physical attraction. There was too much at stake here. “We need to talk about Jeremy and Calico.” An infinitesimal hardening of his features warned her he'd heard the uncertainty in her voice. “They're still with my parents. We haven't decided yet when they're coming back to Maine, but it will be before school starts.” School started in two weeks, she thought. That didn't give them much time. “Do they want to live with you?” Both hands still wrapped around the thermos cup, she sipped at the coffee. “Jeremy says they do, but he knows they don't have any other choice. They're too young to be out on their own.” Something in his tone warned her he had some doubts himself about how this was going to work. That knowledge should have worried her. Instead it made her feel slightly better. She and Chase would be in this together. “Are you expecting problems?” she asked. “I've always gotten along well with them.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, I've never been in a position of authority over them before. And so far they don't know you exist. There's going to be a period of adjustment, no doubt about that.” He hesitated, then added with an honesty that warmed 38


her, “There's a good chance they'll find things to resent about both of us.” “I'd expect them to be wary of me, at least at first.” “Can you deal with that?” “I suppose that depends on how Jeremy and Calico express their feelings.” As far as she knew, they'd never been in trouble at school or with the law. “I can't predict how they'll behave. They were pretty much left to their own devices when they lived with Gwen.” Chase reached into his shirt pocket and produced a snapshot. Once he'd handed it over, he backed off, but Leslie could feel him watching her as she studied the photograph. It showed a pretty girl with long dark hair and striking eyes standing next to a boy wearing a ferocious scowl. “Your nephew seems a trifle ... defiant,” she said, handing the picture back. Jeremy's expression made her think of a cornered animal, but she told herself she was probably imagining things. “I won't lie to you. He's got a chip on his shoulder. But a lot of that comes with the territory. He is, after all, a fifteenyear-old boy.” Leslie took another sip of the coffee. “I don't know a whole lot about boys,” she admitted. “Well, at least you've had some experience dealing with teenagers. Your sister's kids have just passed through this stage, right?” Leslie nodded, her natural optimism reasserting itself. These two couldn't be all that different from her nephew and niece, Tyler and Beth. When Tyler was fifteen, she 39


remembered, he'd had a bit of an attitude problem, too, but it had turned out to be no more than a reaction to the fact that he'd just discovered girls. The phase had passed quickly. “I've also got a good memory,” she said aloud. “I can remember being a teenage girl very well.” “What you may need most is a good imagination. Gwen didn't provide them with much of a home life.” She clearly heard the bitterness in his voice. “I should have done more for them sooner, found some way to keep Gwen on the straight and narrow after my brother died.” “You'll make up for it now,” Leslie assured him. She didn't doubt it for a moment, but Chase sounded like a man trying to convince himself this could work. “Jeremy and Calico have known me all their lives, but they've never had to live under my rules.” “Then this will be a new experience for all of us. What sort of rules do you plan to enforce?” “Nothing harsh, but I won't pamper them just because I know they've had it rough. And I'd prefer you and I agree in advance on as much as possible. That way we can make their home life more stable. Present a united front.” “That makes sense. If there are issues we don't see eye to eye on, we can discuss them in private. And it goes without saying that we should always let them know we care about them, care what they think as well as what they do.” He nodded. “You made a good point earlier. We both have the advantage of remembering what it was like to be their age. If you handle Calico's crisis situations, I'll field Jeremy's.” Chase's smile was warm but still slightly wry. “One thing's 40


sure. We can't do a worse job of raising them than their real parents did. So, are you ready to continue the tour?” She smiled back, relieved to find they agreed on so many things. “Just let me polish off the coffee.” She was calm enough now to appreciate just how good it was. “You make it just the way I like it,” she added. “Hot and sweet.”

41


Chapter Three Hot and sweet. The words were still replaying in Chase's mind a few minutes later as he watched Leslie explore the nearly empty dining room. There wasn't much to see. It was bare of furniture except for a wooden rocking chair. He was one lucky son of a gun, he thought. He could feel a big, sappy grin spreading over his face at the realization that it was going to be okay. No, more than okay. Not only did he like this woman, he was attracted to her. Oh, yes. Definitely attracted to her. He'd liked her looks from the first moment he'd seen her get out of her car. She was no beauty, but she was pleasing to look at, with long straight hair—he'd never liked short haircuts on women—and from what he could tell given the loose clothing she wore, a trim figure. Not that such things were important, he lectured himself. But he knew he wouldn't have been able to marry a woman who physically repelled him. Her glasses gave her a slightly owlish appearance. He couldn't help wondering what she'd look like without them, but he figured he'd take it slow. He hadn't missed her incipient panic when she'd sensed his reaction to the sight of her mouth on the rim of the cup, right where his had just been. She'd hid it well. He'd give her that. But he was a trained observer. He'd spotted the fine trembling of her 42


slender fingers and the subtle catch in her breathing when she'd realized she turned him on. Her shyness pleased him. It balanced her attempt at a practical, businesslike approach to parenthood. The last thing Jeremy and Calico needed was a hard-edged executive type for a substitute mother. And he definitely preferred something a little softer in a wife. Wife. The idea still boggled his mind, but he was starting to get used to it. Hell, he was starting to look forward to it. He watched her walk to the window alcove, where the rocker had been placed, her movements naturally graceful. Unaware of his appreciative stare, she gave the rocker a tentative push, setting it in motion. “Strategically placed,” he said, coming up beside her, “to give anyone who sits here a bird's-eye view of half the neighborhood.” His hand settled on the back of the chair, a scant inch from hers. This close, he was extraordinarily aware of her. When he inhaled he caught a faint trace of perfume, a light floral scent he didn't recognize but definitely liked. “My mother had a chair similar to this one,” she murmured. “In the nursery.” Chase froze as alarm bells rang inside his head. Nursery? Babies? He hadn't given a thought to that aspect of the situation. He slanted a cautious glance at his bride-to-be. Obviously she was still young enough to have children of her own. Children with him. This marriage thing suddenly seemed a lot more complicated. 43


A little awkwardly, they both let go of the chair. He expected her to pursue the subject, or at least mention birth control. Instead she made a more general statement, her voice soft and worried. “You're taking a chance on me, Chase. Just as I'm taking a chance on you being the sort of man I think you are.” “We could have background checks done.” “And that would show what? If we'd ever been arrested, or had a lousy credit rating, or worked as a short-order cook?” He saw where she was heading. Those things might be significant, or not. She was talking about character. About trustworthiness. Surface “facts” didn't always reveal that. Hell, look at his old man. Harold Forster had never been arrested. He always paid his bills on time. And he'd been a complete failure as a father. Silently, Chase led the way to the kitchen. He watched Leslie as she inspected the old appliances and the small adjoining bath, but he was thinking of his parents. Some of their loudest fights had taken place over the supper table. They hadn't bothered about the children overhearing. They hadn't much cared what their boys thought or did. Even Jake's death hadn't made much impression on them. What if Leslie turned out to be just like his mother? He continued to think about that possibility as they finished the tour of the downstairs. All the rooms connected, so that they traveled in a circle back to the front hall. Chase pointed out the door to the as-yet-unfinished basement, then steered her toward the up staircase. 44


“I thought this room would be good for Calico,” he said, escorting her into one of two front bedrooms. “I figure she'll like the cheerful, flowery wallpaper. My mother used it as a sewing room.” And she'd slept in that room more often than not, claiming his father's snoring bothered her. “At Calico's age,” Leslie said, “I painted my bedroom walls chartreuse. The ceiling was pink.” Chase couldn't help but grin. “I'm seeing a whole new side of you,” he said. And she was nothing like his mother. “How about we let both kids redecorate to suit themselves?” “Good idea.” They moved on to inspect the rest of the second floor, ending up in the master bedroom. While the other two rooms had been empty, this one contained a bed. A double bed. Chase's measuring glance went from the mattress to Leslie and back again, and he was sure she had no trouble reading his thoughts. If she agreed to marry him, they'd soon be sharing that bed. Spending a lot of time there, too, if he had anything to say about it. “What do you think?” he asked. “Very spacious,” she said. Obviously trying to avoid the subject of sleeping arrangements, she checked out the private bath, the large closet, the door that hid stairs leading to the attic, and the window that overlooked the apple, oak, and maple trees scattered across the narrow backyard. “I wasn't talking about the room,” he said. A little shyness was good, but the niggling concern that she wasn't as attuned to him physically as he'd thought spurred him into action. 45


“Chase—” “We can't overlook the intimate aspects of marriage, Leslie. They're part of the deal.” His gaze fixed on her luscious, tempting mouth. He really had to taste it. Now. Giving her no opportunity to pull back, he caught her by the shoulders and gathered her to him. With one hand, he removed her glasses, smiling down into the clear, light blue eyes he'd revealed. Beautiful eyes, but wary. **** They drifted closed as he lowered his head, intent on claiming her lips. Mesmerized by his slow, silent seduction, Leslie had no will to pull away. She savored the gentle pressure of his hand as it skimmed down her back and came to rest at her waist, leaving a trail of tingling awareness in its wake. Heat curled delicately through her, awakening sensual responses she had almost forgotten. In her state of heightened awareness, Chase's presence seemed to engulf her. Just being held this way was shockingly erotic. Everything about him called to her, from the fresh clean scent of his soap and aftershave, to the soft rustle of their clothes brushing together as he leaned closer. Panic fluttered through Leslie as she felt his breath near her lips and knew he was about to kiss her. She told herself kissing was a good idea under the circumstances. They'd have a disaster on their hands if it turned out that either of them actively disliked physical contact with the other. In spite of that conviction, it took every ounce of her willpower not to tear herself free of his embrace and run for 46


the hills. To quell the impulse, she kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, but as she waited for the first touch of his mouth on hers, a strange thing happened. Along with the trepidation, a heady anticipation began to build. At last his lips made contact. Light as the brush of a cat's tail, they skimmed hers, then returned to explore the contours more fully. He didn't taste so much as sip, gently sampling, coaxing her into following his lead, instilling in her a desire to explore him in return. The movement of his mouth on hers surpassed the merely pleasant. Feeling like an explorer discovering previously uncharted lands, she was enticed by the sensation into moving closer, snuggling in his embrace. His very restraint intrigued her. Aware of the inconsistency but no longer concerned by it, Leslie felt the tension seep out of her even as she was emboldened to kiss him back. “Good,” he murmured. It didn't surprise her that he could sense and respond to her moods. That was the way it should be. The feather-light touches continued, augmented by the brush of his soft, soft mustache as he sampled each corner of her mouth, then explored the fullness of her lower lip and the curve of the upper. She dared let her hands drift to his shoulders. One climbed higher, until her fingers found the ends of his thick, wavy hair. Cautiously returning another kiss, she had just begun to wonder if he'd be so bold as to bring his tongue into play when he carefully set her from him. She felt more than a flicker of disappointment at the loss of contact. 47


Cautiously, Leslie opened her eyes. He was smiling. He brushed a wisp of hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. There was that gentleness again, she mused, so much more than she'd have thought possible from such a powerfully built man. “Okay?” he asked. Her heart beat faster. He gazed at her with such intensity that she felt light-headed. “Okay doesn't begin to describe it,” she blurted. “I'm glad.” His slow grin acknowledged her embarrassment but didn't make it worse. Understanding gleamed in his eyes. Kindness. And a hint of something else that secretly thrilled her. She wanted to believe he was genuinely taken with her, just as she wanted to believe that they'd eventually have met in person anyway if they'd continued their electronic correspondence. But their present physical separation was enough to jar her sensible side awake. She reminded herself that she must not forget a few cold, hard facts. This agreement to marry was essentially a business deal, an arrangement he'd offered because he needed some help with his niece and nephew. That it might turn into a long-lived marriage didn't mean it was starting out with any claims of undying devotion. Although the sexual attraction they'd just explored was a bonus, Leslie knew she must not let herself get carried away physically or emotionally. She tried again to clarify her reaction to his kiss. “We seem to be compatible ... that way.” 48


“I agree.” Before she knew what he intended, he'd caught her to him again. This time the kiss was deep and thorough, and though it didn't last more than a few moments, she suddenly knew exactly what Susan Sarandon had meant when she'd said “Oh, my!” to Kevin Costner in Bull Durham. Chase looked equally shaken as he took a few steps back. “Might be a good idea to get out of the bedroom now,” he said. “Unless you want to continue ... testing.” “No! That is ... I ... we hardly—” “Hey, it's okay. I didn't mean to rush you, Leslie.” He started to reach for her, then drew back, as if he feared she'd think he was going to push her into something she wasn't ready for. “In fact, we can take things slow at first, even after we're married.” “Not too slow.” She was blushing again, but she wanted badly for him to understand that she wasn't objecting to the idea of furthering their physical relationship. No indeed. She couldn't remember ever being so attracted to a man, not even her former husband. He returned her glasses, then ushered her out of the bedroom and into the hail, touching her elbow in the process. That was all it took for Leslie to know he was right. It was time to get out of the bedroom. His hands were like his shoulders, she thought. Broad and powerful. But his touch was unfailingly gentle. The warmth of his fingers penetrated the linen sleeve of her jacket and sent a heated current along sensitized nerve endings. She missed the sensation when he released her. 49


There was a shortage of chairs in the house. In fact, she thought, there was a shortage of any kind of furniture in the house. They sat on the stairs, with her on the top step and Chase two risers below. “What I meant,” she continued, trying not to stumble over her words, “was that the idea was to get married almost at once. For the kids’ sake. So we can't put anything off very long.” “Just because we go through with the ceremony doesn't mean we have to, er, consummate the marriage right away. We can take some time to, ah, get used to each other.” Avoiding his eyes, she stared down at her clasped hands. Somehow she didn't think it would take too long. Chase cleared his throat. “There are a few more things we have to discuss before we get to that point.” “You're right,” she agreed, but her mind was playing tricks, wondering what would have happened if they'd stayed in the bedroom. She wouldn't have objected if he'd wanted to continue exploring the intimate side of their relationship. “What about birth control?” he asked. That jerked her back to reality, but at least she managed not to blush when she admitted she hadn't given the matter a single thought. “Maybe you'd better,” he said, smiling wryly. “Babies are a distinct possibility otherwise.” He hesitated, then asked, “The subject never came up on e-mail. Do you want to have kids of your own?” At thirty-seven? Her mother had been thirty-seven when Leslie herself had been born. No health problems had 50


resulted, but menopause and puberty had coincided—not a happy circumstance. “I ... I'm not sure,” she told Chase. “I don't think I have a strong maternal urge when it comes to babies. I mean, I didn't really start to relate to Beth and Tyler until they were old enough to talk.” Did Chase want children? She was about to ask when he spoke again. “Will you take care of it, or shall I?” Back to birth control. “I'll see my doctor,” she said. “I ... er, took birth-control pills when I was younger. I don't have any problems with them.” She wondered if she should tell him about her youthful marriage, but that wasn't a subject she liked to discuss. To her great relief, he was preoccupied with other matters anyhow. “Is all this really okay with you?” he asked. “Moving. Taking on my brother's kids ... and me?” “Don't worry. We'll split the cooking and housework.” “Four ways. “Good plan.” “I just don't want you to feel I'm taking advantage. Using you.” “I'm using you, too, Chase. Free room and board. A chance to quit a job that bores me to tears.” She gave him a sharp look. “That's okay with you, isn't it?” He nodded. “I didn't like the idea of you commuting that far in bad weather. In fact, I was remembering what you said in one of your e-mails. About wanting to go back to college. 51


There's a branch of the state university here in Fallstown, you know.” “I know.” “You don't have to work after we're married. Whether you do or not is entirely up to you. I don't make a fortune in my job, but we can manage all right on my salary.” “I have some money,” she told him, thinking how nice it felt to have someone be concerned for her. She would have hated a long commute, especially in winter. “You can just be a full-time mother if you want, though you'd probably be bored with the kids in school all day.” He hesitated, and she could all but see him rethink what he'd just said. “That didn't come out right. I didn't mean to imply you'd spend your days shopping, or lying around watching soap operas and eating bonbons.” He lifted his eyes heavenward and tried again. “This is not coming out right. I don't mean there's anything wrong with—” She put one hand on his shoulder to silence him. “Chase, I haven't thought that far ahead.” “Right.” He looked as if he wanted to say more. Or do more. His gaze traveled up her legs, drifted across the loose, concealing folds of her jacket, then fixed on her mouth. Abruptly, he stood. “Come on. You haven't seen the backyard yet. I'll show you my tree house. You'll be the first girl I've ever invited inside.” Leslie was smiling as she followed him down the stairs, and even though she couldn't help thinking that there were 52


still things to discuss, she found herself dismissing the questions that remained. With so little time before Jeremy and Calico returned, it seemed futile to try to cover every eventuality. She'd find out soon enough whether they had enough closet space, and how Chase squeezed his toothpaste tube, and whether he could be retrained to leave the toilet seat down. In all the ways that were important, she already knew this man very well. He'd shared so much of himself in their long correspondence that she simply couldn't feel she was taking any risk. No matter how irrational her actions might seem to anyone else, especially her sister, Leslie was certain she was doing the right thing by marrying Chase. **** Two days after their first meeting, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, Chase waited impatiently for Leslie to answer his knock. This was the day they were going to the town office to get their marriage license. He felt absurdly nervous over something that was only paperwork. She opened the door and stood there smiling at him as if finding him on her doorstep pleased her enormously. His heart gave an added little lurch at the realization she was glad to see him, that she hadn't changed her mind. Leslie had backed up to let him enter before Chase realized she was clutching a large orange cat to her chest. The beast squirmed in her arms, and a moment later kicked free to stuff himself beneath the sofa. “That was Dewey?” Chase asked. “That was Dewey.” She was wearing a loose top again, which immediately made him want to remove it. It wasn't 53


that her figure mattered to him, he told himself. He'd always been more a leg man than a breast man anyway. But he found it faintly absurd that he was going to marry a woman he hadn't, well, seen. “Chase? You've got an odd look on your face. Please don't tell me you hate cats.'’ “I have to admit I've never been that fond of them. We always had dogs when I was growing up.” “Dewey's part of the deal.” He heard the thread of nervousness beneath the warning. “I know that. It's just going to take some getting used to, that's all.” He walked farther into her apartment, drawn to the tall bookcases. Almost all mysteries, he saw. That didn't surprise him. Neither did the fact that as a couple they were going to have duplicates of many titles. Leslie waved him into a wing chair and went off to get coffee and cookies. While she bustled around in the kitchen he took the opportunity to have a closer look at her natural habitat. He frowned a bit then, noticing a towel thrown over the back of a chair, the jumble of papers on the desk, the lack of coasters. There was a film of dust on the coffee table too. It surprised him to discover that Leslie was such a careless housekeeper. Then he chided himself for being bothered by it. He wasn't marrying her to get someone to do his windows. “Do you want to go to the airport with me on Friday?” he asked when she returned. She swallowed some coffee as she considered that. “Do I want to meet Jeremy and Calico for the first time when they're worn-out from traveling?” 54


“Might as well see what you're getting into, warts and all.” He made a mental note to warn both teenagers to be on their best behavior. “Will it be a problem for you to get off work?” “Nope. I quit my job yesterday. I'm taking my two weeks’ notice in vacation time.” Her announcement caught him off guard. “You're that sure about marrying me?” “I'm that sure I'm ready for a change.” Leslie sipped her coffee standing up, as if she was too tense to sit. “If for some reason we don't go ahead with our plans, I'll look for a new job. I'm sick to death of endless hours of entering information into a database.” The cat chose that moment to reappear. It stood on its hind legs and put its front paws on Chase's knee. Then it leaped, landing squarely in his lap with claws extended. “Jeez, cat! You'd better check with your mistress before you destroy the equipment.” He was too busy putting down his coffee cup without spilling it and extracting claws from his jeans to look at Leslie, but he heard her soft sound of amusement and the clatter of china as she set aside her cup. “You laugh now, woman, but this cat came damned close to the family jewels.” Another hastily stifled chuckle made him smile as he dumped the affronted cat onto the floor and stood to brush off fur. Leslie scooped Dewey up before he could flee again and held him so his face was in front of hers. “Behave, Dewey. You two are going to have to share.” “Tell me he doesn't sleep with you.” 55


“Sorry, Chase. He likes to curl up against my back.” Chase had that position in mind for himself, among others. His smile deepened into a grin as he gazed at Leslie and her pet. “Cat, we have a serious territorial issue here.” He loved Leslie's reaction. She was still a little pink, but she took his teasing in stride. And she was looking at him with a new warmth in her eyes that made his blood heat. “Better get going,” he said, his voice more gruff than usual. “The town office closes at four.” An hour later they stood together at a counter in the Fallstown town office. The marriage license lay between them. Chase started to write his name, then remembered there was something he hadn't yet gotten around to telling Leslie. “Ladies first,” he said, shoving the form her way. There was no way to put this off. He was going to have to let her in on what Penny had laughingly called his deepest, darkest secret. He was all set to do it, too, before he glanced down at what she was writing on the form. Under “Current Last Name” she'd written “Baynton,” but “Maiden Surname” read “Marsdon.” “You've been married before?” He couldn't quite keep the disbelief out of his voice. He'd been thinking, from her shy manner and the innocent way she kissed, she might even be a virgin. A guilty look flashed across her face. She put the pen down and took a step away from him. “It was a long time ago and it lasted less than a year.” Chase was still staring at the marriage license. “But you kept his last name.” Baynton was her husband's surname, not 56


the one she'd been born with. For some reason, that really bothered him. That and the fact that she'd never mentioned being married. “Yes.” She offered no further explanation. He tried again, first taking the precaution of moving them both a little farther away from the town clerk's flapping ears. Bad enough that news of his impending marriage would be all over town before nightfall. He didn't need to give the gossipmongers any other juicy tidbits. “Leslie, don't you think the reasons your marriage didn't work out have some bearing here?” “Why should they? Our relationship is completely different. We're mature adults. We have all kinds of things in common. Victor and I didn't know each other the way you and I do. We got married because we were teenagers with overactive hormones. And because I was looking for an excuse to get away from home. Stupid reasons. Impulsive.” He caught himself before he could remind her that some might say she had stupid, impulsive reasons for marrying him. No question but that his proposal and her acceptance had been e-mailed without a lot of forethought. “You must have cared for him.” Chase had trouble getting the words out. He ground his teeth in frustration when she hesitated over her answer. “I thought I was madly in love with him,” she finally said. Her laugh sounded hollow. “Just goes to show what a poor basis for marriage that is!” Chase had to bite back a confession that it would be damned easy for him to fall in love with her. It wasn't such a 57


bad reason to get married, either. But Leslie didn't love him. She liked him. They were friends. And she was right on all counts. About love and about things that had happened in the past being unimportant. Besides, he told himself sternly, if another man had been fool enough to let this woman slip away, then he ought to be feeling damned grateful. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” she went on in a low, apologetic voice. “I didn't look at it as keeping secrets from you. The subject just didn't come up.” Which brought Chase back to his own “secret.” He cleared his throat as he reached for the abandoned form and a pen. “There's something I didn't tell you, either.” “You've been married before too?” “No.” Why was this so hard? It wasn't as if he had a criminal record or six ex-wives. “Just spit it out, Chase.” Her smile looked a little shaky. He could just imagine what she must be thinking. “Here's the thing, Leslie. Just as Baynton isn't the name you were born with, Chase isn't the one my folks gave me. It isn't a family name, either. It's a nickname.” He took a deep breath and slid the completed form her way. He had to give her credit. She didn't laugh. Or wince. “So,” she said after a moment. “Jake was short for Jacob and you got stuck with Esau. Very biblical.” Relief washed through him. He'd taken a lot of teasing over that name as a kid. Sounded to him like Leslie was okay with it, though. She wasn't going to balk at becoming Mrs. Esau Forster. 58


When all the paperwork was complete and Chase and Leslie were in his king-cab pickup truck, heading back to her place, she returned to the subject of names. “How did you end up being Chase?” she asked. “Before I became a probation officer, I was a sheriff's deputy. My first year with the department, I got into more than my share of high-speed chases.” He shrugged dismissively. “I was a real hot dog in those days.” “Did you ever crash?” “No crashes, but I did have my windshield shot out once. I was chasing a couple of guys who'd just held up a bank and the bullet came so close to my ear that I could feel the breeze.” “I think I'm glad you aren't a deputy anymore,” Leslie murmured. She looked upset. “Damn. I shouldn't have told you my war story. Sorry. It's no big deal. And it happened a long time ago. Anyway, that's why I'm called Chase.” She was still frowning. “Hey, the moniker could have been much worse.” And it was a hell of a lot better than Esau! “Most cops pick up handles on the job. I personally know a Skid, a Stick, a Clubber. Then there's Smoke. And Scorcher.” One thing about Leslie, she didn't stay in a mood long. “What?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice. “No Terminator?” He laughed out loud. “The job can be dangerous, but not that dangerous. To tell you the truth, I've been hurt worse since I became a probation officer than I ever was as a 59


deputy.” He patted his right thigh. “Dog bite. Pooch took exception to my wanting a word with his master. These days I keep a canister of pepper spray handy when I have to pay a visit to a ... client.” “Is that what you call them?” “Client is the polite term for a person assigned to my caseload.” “I don't think I want to hear the others.” “Wise decision. Seriously, though, this job is usually a lot less dangerous than police work. After all, I'm the guy who could revoke probation. Most of them find it easier to stay on my good side than risk going back to jail.” Her smile looked a trifle forced again, but Chase figured that meant the thought of him being injured, maybe even killed, bothered her. That meant she cared, which was good. “To be honest,” she said after a moment, “I'm just relieved the nickname came from chasing crooks and not skirts.” This was probably not the time, he thought, to mention that some women threw themselves at anything in a uniform. He'd been offered a few interesting propositions over the years. As he pulled into the parking lot at Leslie's apartment, he was very glad he'd passed on most of them. “I don't claim to have been a saint, but I've always stuck to one woman at a time.” The prospect of marrying Leslie no longer caused any second thoughts, he realized as he got out of the truck. He was eager now to introduce her to Calico and Jeremy, move her stuff into his house, and stand up in front of the notary with her. 60


He could feel that broad, pleased grin tilting the corners of his mouth again as he opened the door, caught his lady around the waist, and lifted her down from the passenger side of the truck. Soon, very soon, the name Baynton would be gone from her life for good. She'd be Leslie Forster. Chase's wife.

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Chapter Four No sooner had they stepped inside Leslie's apartment than Chase began making plans. “Okay,” he said. “Time to decide some things.” “Would you like to stay for supper?” Leslie asked. “There's stew simmering in the slow-cooker.” She led the way into her tiny kitchenette. “Sounds good.” Chase hunted up plates and utensils while she collected the basics for salad and sliced the loaf of French bread she'd brought home from the local deli. Dewey made a brief appearance, sniffed disdainfully at the food already in his dish, and stalked out again. “He's in a snit,” Leslie concluded. “He's accustomed to being my only guest at mealtimes.” “I never asked if you'd been seeing anyone.” “We skipped over quite a few steps, but the answer is no. I'd have had to hold off giving you an answer to your proposal if there had been someone else in the picture.” She was tempted to ask him about old girlfriends, but wasn't sure she wanted to know. He'd already told her he was the faithful type. That ought to be enough. Apparently Chase wasn't eager to pursue the subject of other relationships either. He returned to the matter of a wedding date. “We go back to the town office after the threeday waiting period to pick up our marriage license,” he reminded her. “After that we can tie the knot anytime curing the next three months. I don't see much need to wait long. 62


Friend of mine's a notary. She can perform the ceremony anytime we say.” Leslie paused in the act of shredding lettuce. “I haven't told my sister I'm getting married yet. I haven't even met Jeremy and Calico. We don't need to set a date tonight.” He looked as if he wanted to argue, but wisely held his tongue and started ferrying dishes to the dining area instead. “I don't want anything fancy,” Leslie assured him between trips. “Being married by a notary is fine.” “We'll have the standard vows,” he said with the air of a man making a decision. “What other kind are there?” Leslie asked, puzzled. “Shortest form doesn't have any ceremony at all. Just a signing of papers before the notary and witnesses.” That sounded a bit too businesslike to Leslie. She knew she sounded hesitant even as she agreed. “Standard vows are okay with me, Chase.” “I'm rushing you.” He sounded contrite. “A little, but I'm not complaining.” Between them, they'd gotten the meal on the table while they conversed. With an equal lack of fuss, Chase pulled out her chair, then seated himself opposite her. Never once did he touch her. As they began to eat, Leslie felt the first flicker of returning self-doubt. “We've got a lot to accomplish in the next two days,” Chase said after an interval during which he devoted himself to savoring the stew. “Furniture for the house is the first priority. We need to make lists. See what we have between us and what's at Gwen's place, then hit the stores for 63


anything we don't have.” He was surveying her apartment as he spoke, apparently taking mental inventory of her possessions. “Do you think your curtains will fit the windows at the house?” “I can't tell without measuring,” Leslie said mildly. He certainly was a take-charge kind of guy, she mused. She wondered why she didn't resent that. She'd never responded well to orders from Carole. Possibly because her sister wasn't half as appealing as Chase Forster. Leslie watched his hands as he used them to gesture while he spoke, marveling at their strength, their gentleness. The temptation to reach across the table and feel their pleasant roughness both surprised and embarrassed her. “I'm planning to go to Gwen's first thing tomorrow. I've already arranged to take the rest of the week off. I'll use my truck and a friend's open trailer and bring everything back to the house to sort. Gwen's apartment came partially furnished, so there isn't much.” “Beds?” Leslie asked, then paused with a piece of crusty bread halfway to her mouth, momentarily disconcerted by a flash of memory. Sunday's kiss was never far from her thoughts when she was around Chase. She kept wondering what would happen the next time he took her into his arms. As if he could read her mind, Chase smiled, a lazy, sensual smile. Although his words were mundane, a prickle of anticipation raced along her spine at the deep, resonant timbre of his voice. She had to ask him to repeat himself. 64


“I said that Jeremy and Calico each have bedroom furniture. Beyond that, it's just a matter of packing clothes and knickknacks.” Stick to business, Leslie warned herself. He wasn't marrying her just to get a bed partner. An unexpected anxiety gripped her, and her stomach gave a nervous flutter. Maybe going to bed with her was secondary, but what if she wasn't enough woman for him? She was woefully short on experence. “Are you okay?” he asked, watching her closely. “Yes. Of course.” Marshaling her unruly thoughts, Leslie tried to focus on the subject at hand. Tomorrow. Packing. “Do you want any help with Gwen's things?” At the mention of his sister-in-law's name, Chase's expression hardened. “Gwen knew in advance she was going back to jail. She's supposed to have packed her personal possessions and left them for me to pick up.” His flat tone discouraged further discussion. Leslie chided herself for feeling left out. There was no reason she should go. She didn't know Gwen. She hadn't met Jeremy and Calico yet. She wouldn't be family until after she and Chase got married. Change the subject, she advised herself, and asked Chase about the contents of his apartment. They continued to discuss furniture until the supper dishes were washed and dried. She could listen to him talk for hours, Leslie decided. He had the most wonderful rich voice. Chase 65


handed her the dish towel, brushing his thumb against the back of her hand as he did so. Fire streaked up her arm. “I should go,” he said. “We have a couple of busy days ahead of us.” “Busy. Yes.” For a moment she couldn't think what he meant, then she remembered she was meeting Chase at the house the next afternoon to help unload the truck and trailer. Afterward she'd accompany him to his place to start moving his possessions. They'd use Thursday to begin transporting her furniture. And to shop. Leslie turned away from him to hang the damp towel over a rack, flustered by the nearly overwhelming urge she felt to ask Chase to stay the night. She stopped herself just short of speaking. It was too soon for that much intimacy, no matter what her hormones were telling her. Besides, there was always the chance he'd find her suggestion too brazen. She couldn't take the chance that, confronted with an overeager “old-maid librarian,” he'd change his mind about wanting to marry her. “I want to get an early start in the morning,” he continued, apparently unaware of the randy nature of her thoughts. She had to bite her tongue not to counter by suggesting an early start that night ... on the joys of matrimony. Get a grip, she lectured herself. With an effort, she plastered on a bright smile and walked him to the door. “See you tomorrow,” she said cheerily. Chase stepped into the hall, then turned to face her. With excruciating slowness, his hands moved to her shoulders. Inch by inch, he eased her forward until they were nearly 66


touching. Leslie lifted her face, meeting his lambent gaze. Eyes locked, a moment of breathless anticipation passed before he pressed the gentlest of kisses to her lips. She wanted more. So did he. Leslie had no doubt of it once they melded from knees to mouth. But Chase had better self-control than she. He kissed her thoroughly, until every atom in her body tingled, then he put her away from him, guiding her back into her apartment while he remained in the hall. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “Tomorrow,” she echoed. And a whole future full of tomorrows too. Leslie noticed the clock as she turned the dead bolt. For all that had happened that day, it wasn't late. Carole would still be awake. With a sigh, Leslie crossed to the phone. She was going to marry Chase Forster. There was no sense in postponing the inevitable. Best get the announcement out of the way. “Don't interrupt me,” she said to her sister when she answered the phone. As succinctly as she could, Leslie informed Carole that she was engaged to be married to a man she'd met over the Internet and that they would be sharing their home with his niece and nephew. “Instant motherhood,” she concluded, trying for a light touch. “Much easier than going through childbirth.” “I can't believe what I'm hearing.” “Believe it, Carole.” “You are insane.” Carole's reaction hardly surprised Leslie. Carole did not approve of impulsive behavior. “Wanting to 67


become an instant mother can only be the sign of a seriously disturbed mind.” Her horrified outrage came through in every syllable she uttered. “What kind of man asks a woman he barely knows to marry him without meeting her family first?" “I haven't met his family, either,” Leslie reminded her, “but I will on Friday. The kids have been living with Chase's parents in Florida.” She decided not to mention Gwen's current address, or the fact that one of Chase's fellow probation officers had been responsible for incarcerating her there. Gwen had violated the conditions of her probation. As Chase had explained it, Gwen had originally been sentenced to four years’ imprisonment, but the judge had agreed to suspend the jail time if she stayed out of trouble. She hadn't. Less than a year after she'd gotten that break, she'd started writing bad checks again. The result was that she was now obliged to serve out the entire sentence with no hope of an early release. “When are you planning to get married?” Carole asked, breaking in on Leslie's thoughts. “We haven't set a date yet.” Soon, she thought. She didn't want to have to wait long for the time when Chase didn't have to leave for the night. “You'd better wait at least six months,” Carole advised. “That will give you a chance to think things through. And in the meantime maybe Mitch can find someone to investigate this man's background.” “I know everything I need to about him already.” Dewey hopped up into Leslie's lap, startling her. He wasn't happy about her sudden decision, either. 68


“Marry in haste, repent at leisure,” Carole quoted. Leslie had planned to introduce Chase to her family before they married. Now she reconsidered. There wasn't much point in inviting her sister to the wedding, either. Not when Leslie could predict Carole's response. First she'd say more rude things. Then she'd refuse to attend. “I've made my decision,” Leslie said firmly, cutting Carole off in mid-spate. “I didn't call to consult you, only to let you know what's going to happen.” Carole was sputtering indignantly when Leslie hung up on her. “And the same applies to you,” Leslie informed Dewey. “I'm marrying Chase and you can like it or lump it.” **** “It's so tiny,” Leslie exclaimed when she got her first glimpse of Chase's apartment. “And so neat.” She was right on both counts, Chase thought. But then, anything out of place would have severely restricted his freedom of movement. “Your furniture is in better condition,” he said, surveying the packed living room. “I plan to finish off the basement at the house to use as an office and family room. My sofa and chair can go in the new family room. The desk will go in my office.” “Will there be room down there for a washer and dryer?” The basement and attic were the only two areas of the house Leslie hadn't toured. “Sure. One laundry room for the lady.” 69


Leslie cleared her throat and waited. It took him a minute to figure out what he'd said. “Oops. One laundry room for all of us?” “Right. No reason everyone can't pitch in, just as we will with the cooking.” “No problem.” He moved deeper into his apartment, glancing at the blinking light on his answering machine but ignoring it. “Bedroom's through here,” he said, gesturing to an open door. There was barely room for the two of them to turn around once they were in there, even though Chase's bed was a single. He used a battered highboy as a dresser and completed the decor with an old trunk and a laundry hamper. “Those are the curtains?” she said doubtfully. “If I remember right, they originally came from the Carrier Street house. That'll save us buying new.” Tape measure in hand, Leslie scrambled up onto the trunk and reached for the top of the window. She'd just stretched out to take the measurement when her foot slipped. Chase's heart lurched into his throat, but he was already moving. The shortest way to reach her was across the bed and he took it, but he was not in time to prevent her from falling. The best he could do was act as a cushion. They ended up in a tangle of arms and legs on the floor between the bed and the trunk. “You okay?” he gasped. Her voice shook, but her answer was affirmative. It took Chase a moment to realize she was trying to suppress laughter. 70


“You only think this is funny because you're on top,” he grumbled. “My hero,” she got out between giggles. “You saved me.” “Then I guess I deserve a reward.” With an abrupt shift in position, he rolled her beneath him and set about kissing her senseless. A mistake, he realized at once. He wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. By the time he forced himself to lift his head, his heart was slamming against his ribs and his breathing came in labored gulps. He looked down into her face, dazed by the intensity of his desire for her, and watched with even greater pleasure as her breasts tightened in uncontrollable response to his nearness and her lips curved into an embarrassed but sexy smile. “Aren't there laws against this?” she whispered. “Only if we do it in the street and scare the horses.” She started to laugh again. He joined in as he reluctantly lifted himself off her and extended a hand to help her to her feet. “Time to stop,” he said. “I want our first time to be special. And I want it to be after we're married.” “Time to stop,” she agreed, though he was sure she regretted the necessity as much as he did. “And time to shop,” she added. “There's no food in the house and we have hungry teenagers arriving tomorrow.” “Your stove and refrigerator go with your apartment?” he asked, struck by a sudden thought. “Yes.” She actually blanched. “Yours?”

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He nodded. “That means we're stuck with what's at the house.” The kitchen hadn't been remodeled in thirty years or more. On the other hand, everything worked. They'd manage. “Let's buy a barbecue grill while we're shopping,” she suggested. “And a picnic table.” “I knew I was marrying one smart lady.” Slinging a casual arm around her shoulders, he steered her out of his bachelor bedroom, away from temptation. Now all he had to do was convince her to set the wedding for the earliest possible date. **** At Portland International Jetport on Friday, Leslie waited anxiously at Chase's side for the first passengers to emerge through the arrivals gate. She sincerely hoped his niece and nephew took the news of an impending wedding better than Carole had. “It'll be okay,” Chase said, giving her hand a squeeze. I told the kids on the phone that you'd be here with me.” “But not that we plan to marry.” “Well, no. Just in case you want to back out after you meet them.” “They'd have to be pretty bad to make me change my mind.” Or they'd have to take violent exception to her, she added silently. A teenage girl walked through the gate, instantly recognizable as Calico. She looked just as she had in her photo, a bright sprite with long dark hair and a cute figure shown off by snug jeans and a flower-decorated T-shirt. A huge grin blossomed on the girl's face the moment she 72


caught sight of her uncle, but the smile dimmed when she finished hugging him and turned to Leslie. Wary, Calico waited for Chase to introduce them, then stuck out a hand. “Hey,” she said. Leslie took the proffered hand and shook it. “Hey, yourself.” “Where's your brother?” Chase asked. “He's coming.” Calico hesitated long enough to make Leslie suspect there might be trouble ahead. “Uncle Chase, you'd better brace yourself.” “What the—?” Leslie followed Chase's appalled gaze to catch her first glimpse of his nephew. She didn't have to look far for the cause of Chase's reaction. Jeremy had shaved off half of his hair and dyed the other half a particularly virulent purple. “Damn kid's done this deliberately,” Chase muttered. “It would be difficult to do by accident,” Leslie said. She looked from uncle to nephew and back, fascinated and alarmed. Chase was taking Jeremy's fashion statement as a personal affront, an attempt to embarrass him, a premeditated flaunting of Chase's newly acquired authority. Defiance radiated from the boy as he walked toward them. Chase's hands clenched into fists and he took a step in Jeremy's direction. Leslie grabbed Chase's arm and tugged until he came to a stop. “It could have been worse,” she whispered. “How?” She could feel the tension in him and knew that if he really wanted to charge across the waiting area and 73


throttle Jeremy, she did not have the strength to hold him back. His own self-control would have to do that. “Nose ring?” she suggested. “Tattoo?” She understood Chase's outrage, but she thought she could guess what had happened and couldn't help feeling some empathy with the boy. She remembered all too well the time she'd cut her own hair in defiance of her mother's dictates about style. The result had not been flattering, not even after a trip to her mother's hairdresser to remedy the worst of the unevenness. Still, Leslie had kept her hair short for years afterward rather than admit she looked better with it long. Hairstyles were surely one of the more common forms of youthful rebellion, a shaky effort at independence that might seem foolish to an adult but meant the world to a teenager. Jeremy would compromise sooner if he wasn't pressured now. Properly horrified by the alternatives Leslie had suggested, Chase forgot all about storming across the airport to confront Jeremy. After a moment he swallowed hard and looked again at his nephew. The swagger in the boy's walk had grown even more pronounced. “He's scared,” Leslie whispered. “He ought to be.” As Jeremy came closer Leslie noted other aspects of the boy's appearance. He wore the typical teenage male uniform she'd seen around, baggy pants and a loose football jersey. He was fifteen, Chase had said, but he looked older. Not from any physical bigness—he was more Tom Cruise than 74


Sylvester Stallone—but from something in his face. A young, sullen Tom Cruise, she decided. Tom Cruise with an attitude. “I've half a mind to stop at the mall on the way home and make him get a haircut,” Chase muttered. “We agreed to a united front,” Leslie reminded him. “Besides, shouldn't you try to find out why he did this before you force him into anything?” “I'll bet there's a girl involved.” To Leslie's relief, Chase sounded calmer. “Or a dare,” she suggested. Jeremy was almost upon them. “Let it go for now or he's going to find us quarreling over his behavior.” “Are we quarreling?” He sounded surprised. “I think so.” Her lips curved. “Our first fight?” A gleam came into his eyes. “Does that mean we get to make up later?” “If you behave.” Leslie's smile was warm and genuine as Jeremy stopped in front of them. She saw in him her own nephew, and Tyler had always been easy to love. “Leslie,” Chase said, “this is Jeremy.” Jeremy gave her a cocky grin and drawled a question guaranteed to raise adult hackles: “You my uncle's main squeeze?” A vein in Chase's temple pulsed, but before he could say or do anything to shatter the uneasy peace, Leslie answered the boy. “No,” she told him. “I'm his bride-to-be. And the wedding is tomorrow.” She met Chase's startled gaze with a steady look. There seemed no reason to delay. She had the marriage license 75


right there in her purse. They'd stopped at the town office to pick it up on their way to the airport. Chase cleared his throat. “Right. Tomorrow.” “Congratulations, Uncle Chase,” Calico said politely. “Do we call you Aunt Leslie?” “Yes, you do,” Chase answered. His glance shifted pointedly to Jeremy. “That's the respectful way to address her.” “Okay.” Calico gave her uncle another hug. As they headed for the baggage carousels she chattered happily about her grandparents and her stay in Florida, capturing Chase's complete attention. Jeremy said nothing, just trailed along behind the rest of them. With the thought that she should make some light, friendly remark to the boy, Leslie glanced back at him, only to encounter a most disconcerting expression on his face. It was gone an instant later, leaving her wondering if it had been a trick of the light. For a moment he'd seemed to be assessing her, as if calculating her weaknesses. Nonsense! She berated herself for being oversensitive. After a short period of adjustment, they were all going to get along just fine. While Calico and Jeremy collected their bags, Chase pulled Leslie aside. “Tomorrow?” he asked softly. “Are you sure?” The instant she met his eyes, Leslie was sure. “Yes, I am,” she said in an equally soft tone. “Tomorrow. No fuss. No bother. Just say our vows and get on with becoming a family.” 76


Obviously relieved, Chase grinned at her. “What the lady wants, the lady gets. Tomorrow it is.”

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Chapter Five “We are gathered here today to unite this man and this woman in the bonds of matrimony.” “Here” was the notary's spacious living room. Chase watched Leslie carefully as the familiar words were spoken. She was very pale, and her fingers tightened on the bright nosegay of rainbow-colored flowers he'd handed her a moment earlier. The notary continued her solemn rendition of the marriage ceremony, but the words buzzed in Chase's ears as he wondered whether the bride was about to turn and run. If she was going to change her mind, she had less than two minutes left in which to do so. As if to echo that thought, the notary came to the line “or ever after hold his peace.” In the pregnant pause that followed, both Leslie and Chase stared straight ahead. There were muffled sounds behind them, but neither turned around. Jeremy and Calico were their only wedding guests. Leslie hadn't even told her sister they were getting married that day. The Salisburys were going to be away all weekend, she'd explained, taking young Tyler to college for his freshman orientation week. She was sure they wouldn't delay their departure and had insisted she did not want to wait until they returned. Chase hadn't even considered asking his parents to fly north. 78


“I charge you both to search your hearts once more,” the notary said. “If either of you knows any reason why you may not be joined together in marriage, speak now.” Neither of them said a word. The ceremony continued. Chase wished, now that it was too late, that he'd opted for a simple signing of documents. Sweat beaded on his forehead, as if the temperature had suddenly shot up into the nineties. He dared another glance at Leslie. Her simple A-line dress was made of cool ivory linen, with a matching long-sleeved bolero jacket. She seemed composed now. Her color was better. When his hand brushed hers, she slanted her eyes in his direction and met his gaze with a quick smile. The notary droned on. It would all work out, he told himself. He just wished he knew what Leslie was thinking. Worrying about that, he missed a cue. The notary hissed at him to say his line. “I will,” he mumbled. His glance at Leslie caught a flash of panic in her eyes, and suddenly every protective urge he possessed surged to the fore. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, managed a smile, and repeated himself. This time he sounded as if he meant it. By this exchange of vows, he took responsibility for her future happiness. It was an awesome responsibility, but one he realized he welcomed. He listened carefully as she spoke her own vow, her voice soft but certain. “The ring?” Prompted by the notary's amused tone, Chase fumbled in his pocket for the plain gold band Leslie had said was all she 79


wanted. He should have gotten her an engagement ring, he thought. Something nice. Something unique. And then it was over. Official. They were joined together as one for the rest of their lives. Chase turned his bride to face him and sealed their bargain with a gentle kiss. When he felt Leslie swallow hard, he pulled back far enough to wink at her, winning a tremulous smile. Applause shattered the silence. Those muffled sounds he'd heard earlier now had an explanation. During the ceremony, creeping quietly over the thick carpet, a dozen or more of his friends had come to wish him well. Leslie had heard those muffled sounds, too, but still had expected to see only Calico and Jeremy behind them when she turned. She was not prepared to find the room had filled with strangers, more than half of them in uniforms of various sorts. Neither was she ready to deal with a young woman—a young, attractive woman—flinging herself into Chase's arms to give him a smacking kiss. “Thought I wouldn't find out, huh?” The woman laughed up into a face that first wore a decidedly sheepish expression, then grinned back. Leslie felt a disconcerting twinge of envy. Chase knew this woman well. It was obvious he liked her. A lot. And Leslie had no idea who she was or what she'd been to him in the past. It didn't matter, she tried to tell herself. Unfortunately, she couldn't quite make herself believe it.

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“Who blabbed?” Chase demanded, finally setting the young woman away from him. He reached for Leslie and tucked her against his side. A man in a Fallstown police uniform pointed at the notary, who shrugged and looked unrepentant. “Figures,” Chase said. “A man can't have any secrets in this town.” The razzing became general then, including questions about why he'd wanted to keep his new wife a secret, questions he evaded with a skill that would have amused Leslie if it hadn't been she they were talking about. She was introduced to everyone, but only a few of the names stuck She wouldn't be forgetting Penny Lassiter's name, though. How could she after the young woman informed her that Chase had been visiting her at the jail the night Leslie phoned to check up on him? “I'm staying at your house with the kids tonight,” Penny announced next. “You two have other plans.” Chase tried to object. “Now, Pen—” “We got you a little wedding present,” another officer cut in. Gordon something, Leslie thought. Or was it something Gordon? The patch on his uniform sleeve said Waycross Springs Police Department. Chase took the envelope Gordon handed him and peeked at the contents. Whatever was in there both surprised and pleased him. “Thanks. All of you. Much appreciated.” Food appeared for an impromptu reception, more evidence that the notary had conspired with Chase's friends to make this day special for him. Leslie tried to be pleasant to 81


everyone, but inside she was feeling overwhelmed and a bit panicky. These boisterous people might be Chase's buddies, but they were all strangers to her. Their very friendliness was intimidating. She wanted to find a hole to crawl into, preferably with Chase, but she knew there was no escaping, not just yet. And when the party did break up? They were to have a honeymoon. She hadn't been able to avoid thinking about her first night as Chase Forster's wife, but she'd imagined it in the bedroom overlooking the apple trees. Even with Jeremy and Calico in the house, that hadn't seemed too daunting. Now she didn't even know where they were going. Chase had tucked the gift envelope into his inside jacket pocket without showing her the contents. Ever the optimist, Leslie reminded herself that wherever they ended up, she was sure to have the right clothes. Her entire wardrobe, in suitcases, bags, and boxes, was in her car. She kept smiling, but after an hour of loud voices and raucous laughter, she needed to escape for a few minutes. She slipped out the back door onto a small porch and breathed deeply, then almost choked as she inhaled not fresh air and new-mown grass but tobacco smoke. From the other side of a trellis, she heard Calico's voice. “Uncle Chase isn't going to like it if he catches you with that cigarette, Jeremy.” “Who cares what Uncle Chase thinks? It's my life.” 82


“You're a jerk, Jer. I like Uncle Chase. I like Aunt Leslie too. And they're sort of our parents now. They're going to take care of us.” Jeremy's snort conveyed a lot of what he felt about that. Leslie hesitated, unsure whether to make her presence known or dart back into the house. “That Leslie person hasn't got what it takes to be anybody's mother,” Jeremy declared. Leslie couldn't have moved then if the house had caught on fire. “Uncle Chase just married her for the sex. He's trying to set a good example for us.” His salacious chuckle spoke volumes. “Doesn't want to have to go out to get a little nooky and with us there he figures he can't bring his women into the house. Might corrupt our morals or something. Like we don't know about all that stuff.” Cheeks flaming, Leslie fled, pursued by the terrible thought that Jeremy might be right about Chase's reason for marrying her. And about her inability to be a good mother too. How could she know? She'd had no practical experience. What if she was a complete failure? “You okay?” a woman asked as Leslie burst into the kitchen. It was Penny Lassiter. “Yes. Fine,” she lied. “I was looking for you,” the other woman said. “I want to put Chase's duffel bag in your car.” She had that batteredlooking object in her hand. “You are taking your car on the honeymoon, right? The blue Neon?”

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“Yes. Let me have that.” Leslie fumbled for her keys in the small shoulder bag she carried and reached for Chase's bag with her free hand. “No need.” Penny snatched the key ring and left with it before Leslie could object. In the living room, the crowd had thinned. Chase had his back to her, talking to two younger men. Their voices carried clearly. “So what's next,” one joked. “An heir?” Leslie saw Chase stiffen at the insinuation that this was a shotgun wedding, but he tried to laugh it off. “Hell, no,” he said. “What do I need with a kid of my own when I've already got Jake's two?” “Figure every man wants a son,” the other fellow said. “What for?” Chase asked, apparently seriously. “Let Jeremy carry on the family name.” Well, that answered her question about whether Chase was interested in having children, Leslie thought. She manufactured another smile and joined the three men. A few minutes later Penny came back, casually flipping Leslie's keys to Chase. “Oh-oh,” he said, his voice rueful. “I knew we'd have to stop at a car wash on the way out of town, but I was hoping we wouldn't find too many other surprises.” “What are you talking about?” Leslie didn't like his tone of voice, or the unholy glee she saw in Penny's eyes. “Penny told me earlier that she packed for me,” Chase explained. “I expect that means there's a gag gift or two in with the change of skivvies. And you just gave her access to your car. Who knows what else she's left for us?” 84


The idea of Penny Lassiter casually rooting through Chase's underwear disturbed Leslie far more than the possibility that the other woman had done anything to the Neon. As soon as Chase had thanked the notary, he and Leslie went outside, followed by the rest of the company. In the short time Penny had possessed Leslie's keys, the car had been thoroughly decorated. Shaving cream and streamers adorned the outside. Every empty centimeter of the interior was filled with crumpled newspaper. Chase put on a show of being upset for the benefit of his friends, but Leslie saw he had to work hard not to grin as he pulled great wads of last weekend's Sunday Telegram off the seats and hurled them like dodgeballs at selected targets. Within minutes he was behind the wheel, steering them through a shower of birdseed. “Could have been worse,” Leslie said as they pulled in at the promised car wash. “They could have filled the interior with confetti.” “You're a real Pollyanna, aren't you?” There was no sarcasm in his tone, and Leslie supposed he was right. How else could she explain her present frame of mind? In spite of her worries about Jeremy and Calico and her doubts about her ability to be a mother to them, despite her curiosity about Penny Lassiter and her relationship with Chase, she was unable to focus on anything but the hours immediately ahead, on her first afternoon and night as Chase's wife. 85


“I do try to look at the bright side,” she agreed. “Can't you think of anything worse than big sheets of newsprint?” They both got out of the car to pull off streamers. “Sure. Saw it years ago when I was just a little kid. Back when computers used cards with holes punched in them. Some clown filled an entire car with the tiny little bits that had been punched out. Four or five years later, when the happy bride and groom sold the car, they were still finding them.” Leslie stood back while Chase hosed away the remaining evidence that they were newlyweds from the exterior of the car. On the last pass, the spray came dangerously close to her toes. “You did that on purpose,” she squealed, stepping quickly out of range. “Me?” He pretended to be greatly offended by her accusation. “Never!” Laughing, both a bit damp, they climbed back inside the car. Chase looked good, Leslie thought. Smelled good too. And he made the interior of her car seem to shrink in size. As her glasses began to fog she looked quickly away. Swallowing was difficult. Breathing required thought. She needed a few minutes before she was able to attempt conversation. Pollyanna? Sweet little Pollyanna had never had thoughts like the ones dancing in Leslie's head at that moment. She felt an overwhelming compulsion to learn what making love to Chase would be like, and an insidious need to erase Penny Lassiter from his mind. If he liked women who flung themselves into his arms, she was perfectly willing to comply. 86


“So,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Where are we going?” Chase grinned, anticipating Leslie's reaction. “The gang sprung for a night at the Sinclair House.” Any woman, Penny had told him, would think a honeymoon at the historic, turn-of-the-century hotel was very romantic. From the expression on Leslie's face, she'd got that right. Chase relaxed. He'd had the sense that something was bothering her back at the reception, but everything seemed to be okay now. Must have been bridal jitters, he decided. “Last time I was at the Sinclair House, it was business,” he went on. “Guy on my caseload was accused of vandalism.” Unfortunately for Lucas Sinclair, manager and part owner of the hotel, neither Chase nor Gordon Tandy had been able to catch the man at it while he was still on probation. “I've heard of the Sinclair House, but I've never been there,” Leslie confided. “Is it as luxurious as they say?” “More so. Good thing I'm all duded up in my wedding finery. They don't even let gentlemen into the dining room without a jacket and tie.” By the time they reached their destination, it was dusk. Their first view of the hotel was against a backdrop of the sun setting behind the White Mountains of neighboring New Hampshire. Leslie's sigh of pleasure was soft but telling. Glancing her way, Chase wondered if she had any idea of how the last rays of pink and gold warmed the curve of her cheek and added alluring shadows to the folds of her short jacket. 87


Suddenly he wished that coming there had been his own idea. His bride deserved a honeymoon, and if it had been left to him, he'd have plunged them both directly into the perils of parenthood. He was still brooding when they pulled up under the portico and no fewer than three uniformed hotel employees rushed out to assist them. Chase had thought he was prepared for the onslaught, but he couldn't quite hide his uneasiness over the whole concept of valet parking. Only reluctantly did he give Leslie's keys to the attendant. He was equally edgy about surrendering their luggage. “He's not going to steal anything,” Leslie whispered when she caught him giving the bellboy a suspicious look. “Old habits die hard.” When that same bellboy used a huge, old-fashioned key to admit them to a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over a spectacular view, all Chase could think of was what lousy security the Sinclair House had. “This is gorgeous,” Leslie exclaimed. On her way across the deep, plush carpet, she stepped out of her shoes. “Oh, Chase, look! A claw-footed bathtub!” Faced with her unbridled delight, Chase found his negative thoughts dissipating. He couldn't take his eyes off her when she whirled around, her face aglow. Once again, he wished he'd been the one to think of this, that he could take credit for her pleasure. “Penny did well,” he said, and wondered why Leslie's smile seemed to dim for a moment. 88


“You'll have to give me her address so I can write her a thank-you note.” “She'll be at the house when we get back,” he reminded her. And that was generous of Penny. He knew for a fact that she wasn't overly fond of kids. “Will she be around a lot?” Leslie asked. “We're good friends.” Chase was baffled by Leslie's demeanor. How could she not like Penny? Then he remembered what he'd told her earlier. “You're wondering what she left as a gag gift, aren't you? Might as well check it out.” He grabbed the duffel bag sitting incongruously next to Leslie's matched luggage and set it on the king-size bed to unzip. The expected addition was right on top. He chuckled as he pulled out a very small pair of briefs decorated with big red hearts. “Could have been worse,” he said. Leslie did not ask him to elaborate. Since it was already so late in the day, they went down to dinner as soon as they'd freshened up. Although Leslie didn't say anything, Chase began to feel uneasy. Was she worried about the night to come? He hadn't thought that would be a problem, but if she needed time, he'd give it to her. The last thing he wanted was to force his attentions on her. As uncertainty plagued him he became quieter and quieter. And once again he had the feeling of being suffocated by all the attention from the hotel staff. Every time he attempted to start a conversation with his bride, someone appeared to refill his water glass or his coffee cup or take 89


away an empty dish. Eventually, however, they were left to eat in peace. Silence hung heavy between them. Leslie seemed to share his discomfort. Desperate to return to some sort of normality, Chase blurted out the first thing that came into his mind. “Read any good books lately?” That won him a smile and they both relaxed slightly. “I did just finish Anne Perry's newest Thomas and Charlotte Pitt mystery,” she said. “That's appropriate considering the way this hotel's decorated.” The novels had a Victorian setting. Their characters might well feel at home in a place like this. Discussing the plot of that book and several other crime novels set in the late nineteenth century took them as far as dessert, which was delivered along with a bottle of champagne. “I didn't order—” Chase stopped objecting when he realized the tall, dark-haired man standing next to their table was not a waiter, but rather Lucas Sinclair himself. “Compliments of the management,” Lucas said. “With congratulations. I understand you're newlyweds. I got married myself in May and can heartily endorse the institution.” He stayed a few minutes longer, making small talk and popping the cork, then prudently withdrew. “That was nice of him,” Leslie said. “The Sinclairs are good people. I don't know his new wife, but his mother is the hostess who seated us and his father is that distinguished gent seated at the corner table over there. 90


Looks like he's recovering well from the stroke he had last year.” Leslie picked up her glass, prepared to sip the champagne. “Wait.” Chase caught her free hand. She quirked a questioning eyebrow. “To us,” he said, lightly clinking their glasses together. “To us,” she repeated, continuing to hold his gaze, and his hand, as they both drank the toast. She had the softest skin in creation. She wrinkled her nose at the bubbles. “I hope Lucas won't be insulted if we don't finish the whole bottle,” she whispered. “Afraid you'll get tipsy and let me have my wicked way with you?” He pretended to twirl the end of his mustache. His teasing made her smile. “Just being around you makes me giddy,” she confessed. “I don't need the champagne.” Suddenly Chase was ready to forgo dessert. Instead of strolling on the hotel's wide veranda, he wanted to sweep Leslie off her feet, carry her to their room, and make passionate love to her for the rest of the night. His earlier resolution not to rush her was all that held him back, especially when she begged a taste of his strawberry shortcake and fed him a bite of her chocolate torte in return. He couldn't resist catching the fingers that held her fork and nibbling them too. By the time they'd polished off most of the champagne, they'd progressed to a state of being relaxed in each other's company and powerfully aroused at the same time. Chase could see his own desire reflected in Leslie's eyes. When he suggested an after-dinner stroll, she readily agreed, cuddling 91


close when he eased an arm around her shoulders. She fit perfectly against his side. As if she'd been made just for him. “There's dancing in one of the lounges,” he said halfheartedly after they'd made one circuit of the hotel veranda. Only a brute would drag his bride straight off to bed after dinner. “I'm used to quieter entertainment in the evening,” she whispered, sounding incredibly sultry. “And I've never cared for crowds.” They went back inside the hotel and headed by mutual consent for the old-fashioned elevator. “What do you usually do in the evening?” he asked as the cage carried them upward. “Besides send e-mails and read.” “Watch a little television. That's about it. You've married a dull stick, Chase.” “Hardly. And I usually watch television too.” Arm in arm they proceeded along the hall to their room. He released her only to unlock the door. Too late, he remembered grooms were supposed to carry brides over the threshold. Leslie was already in the room, kicking off her shoes. All he could do was make sure the door was securely locked before tossing the key onto the nightstand. “There's no television,” Leslie said. Automatically, Chase scanned the room, thinking surely there must be a set hidden somewhere, but she was right. “I guess it wouldn't fit the decor,” he remarked as he turned back to her.

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Whatever he'd been about to say next froze on his lips. She was toying with the top button on her jacket and gazing at him in a way that made his toes curl. “Leslie?” he asked hopefully. “There's only one entertainment center in this room.” She nodded toward the huge bed with its high, carved headboard. The button came loose. Chase's mouth went dry. “I wonder if that's the sort of furniture they'd have had in a Victorian bordello?” She folded her jacket and placed it on the seat of a chair. Chase's tie and suit coat joined it a moment later, and for once he wasn't at all concerned about neatness. “Or perhaps it came from some proper household,” she went on, “where a new bride might be told to close her eyes and think of England on her wedding night.” Leslie had both hands behind her, working down the zipper on her dress. As he watched, the cap sleeves slid off her shoulders, revealing smooth, creamy skin and the lacy top of her slip. “Do you want to close your eyes?” he asked. A sudden blush brought color to her cheeks. “Maybe you should,” she suggested. “Just for a moment.” “Not a chance, Mrs. Forster.” Two quick steps brought him to her side and her into his arms. “You don't have to be shy with me.” The rest of their clothes were removed in record time, revealing to him for the first time a trim, slender body with high, firm breasts. “They're kind of small,” she said apologetically as he cupped them with his hands. 93


“Any more than a handful is a waste,” he murmured, and lowered his head to one pouting nipple to prove just how pleased he was. She returned the attention, all timidity truly gone now. If the look in her eyes was anything to go by, she was as pleased with his body as he was with hers. She clucked over the scar on his thigh, running her fingertips over the ragged surface left by the dog bite. Then she was distracted by other things and uttered a pleased sound that, when accompanied by an admiring stare, had a predictable effect on that part of his anatomy. “Definitely not a troll,” she whispered as he tugged her toward the bed. She resisted only long enough to remove her glasses and leave them on the bedside table. The mattress was soft, swallowing them as they slid beneath the covers and into each other's arms. He wanted to kiss every inch of her before the night was out, but at that moment he didn't think he could wait that long to possess her. She seemed to feel the same way, touching and caressing as if she'd never get enough of him. All that was very good for his ego, and inspired him to go slow, to bring her to lofty heights of pleasure before taking his own. “I love the way your mustache feels,” she whispered. “And you've got the most wonderful lips.” “Bless all those years of playing the tuba,” he murmured as he continued to kiss the inside of her thigh. He didn't think she'd heard him. Certainly she was too distracted to speak for some time after that remark. 94


Her excitement fueled his. That she responded so beautifully to his every kiss, his every caress with fingers and mouth and tongue, drove him nearly out of his mind with need. Her womanly scent filling his lungs, her taste on his lips, he slid slowly up her body and joined himself with her, claiming her inch by delicious inch, making her his wife in the most intimate and compelling way. She began to climax almost as soon as he had sheathed himself within her, calling out his name in breathless gasps. His only regret that this bliss would be over much too quickly, he followed her into a shivering, heart-stopping, thoroughly satisfying orgasm. A short time later, when they lay exhausted in each other's arms, she smiled up at him. “Tuba lips, huh?” They laughed together then. Chase felt as if he owned the world. He'd always known sexual gratification could be spectacular, and it certainly had been just now with Leslie. But what he'd never before realized was that making love could also be tremendous fun.

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Chapter Six Dewey was upset. From the moment they left Leslie's old apartment, he yowled repeatedly. She sympathized with the big orange cat. She'd rather be elsewhere too. At the Sinclair House in that big old-fashioned bed with Chase. Or in the claw-footed bathtub, also with Chase, even though that had been a tight fit. “A challenge,” he'd said. Smiling at the memory, she slanted a glance his way. He was intent on his driving and didn't notice. Was he anxious to get home? she wondered, and her smile slipped a bit. They'd been back to the Carrier Street house once already that morning, to trade her car for his truck. Leslie's brief glimpse of Calico, Jeremy, and Penny had been enough to remind her that she was venturing into uncharted waters. Calico didn't seem likely to be a problem, but somehow Leslie had to win Jeremy over. She also had to learn to deal with her intense reactions to Penny Lassiter. She shouldn't have been so relieved to hear Penny kid Chase about the lumps in the sofa, where she'd slept the previous night rather than invade the master bedroom. Dewey yowled again. They had him in the cab with them. The last of her boxes were in the bed of the truck. As the caterwauling continued, the glow Leslie had been feeling since the previous night dimmed further. Sighing, she opened the gate of the cat carrier and reached inside. 96


“Mama's sorry, Dewey,” she said, finding and stroking the soft fur atop his head. “We'll be there soon. Be a good boy, okay?” A sound of disbelief came from Chase. “You're talking to that cat like he understands.” “Cats are very intelligent. He definitely knows the meaning of words like food and eat.” She withdrew her hand and closed the gate. Dewey promptly made a nonverbal statement that filled the cab of the truck with a distinctive aroma. “Oh, Dewey,” Leslie lamented. Chase said nothing, but he goosed the gas pedal. At the house, Penny and Calico came out to greet them wearing broad smiles, but once the truck door was open, Penny immediately began to sneeze. “Oh, God! Cat!” she managed between staccato explosions. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she beat a hasty retreat. Thanks to her allergy to Dewey, Leslie realized, Penny would not be visiting Chase at home. She wasn't proud of her lack of sympathy, but she couldn't help being glad the other woman now had a reason to stay away. “What stinks?” Jeremy demanded when Chase dragged him from the television set to help unload the truck. Embarrassed not so much by her pet's misbehavior as by Jeremy's disgusted expression when he identified the odor, Leslie started toward the house. Welcome home, she thought as she descended the dimly lit stairs to the basement and its utility sink. As she went lower her spirits sank too. She tried to convince herself it was 97


natural to feel a letdown the day after such a perfect night, but she was not entirely successful. Temporarily, the unfinished cellar was serving as storage space for unpacked cartons and other containers, and for excess furniture accumulated from three different apartments. By the time Leslie had cleaned Dewey and his carrier, the contents of Chase's truck had joined the rest. “This place is a mess!” he said when he couldn't find a bare spot to put the last box. “Only natural,” Leslie said briskly. “It takes a while to settle in.” She relieved him of his burden and opened the carton, which fortuitously contained Dewey's litter box and supply of kitty litter. “Better late than never,” Chase muttered. Promising to be right back, Leslie carried away both cat and cat supplies. She needed to put Dewey in a room she could close off until he adapted to his new surroundings. The master bedroom seemed to be the best choice. By the time she'd discarded her shoes and returned to the basement, Chase was giving a good impression of a drill sergeant as he tried to get everything organized in record time. Jeremy had started out uncooperative and surly and his attitude had not improved. Now Calico, too, was showing signs of imminent rebellion. “Perhaps some of this unpacking could wait,” Leslie suggested mildly. “I want to begin putting up partitions this week,” Chase countered. “Anything we aren't using can go in the attic. We need to sort and move—” 98


“Nope,” she interrupted. “Not this afternoon. The only way to the attic is through our bedroom and I just let Dewey loose in there. He's had enough upheaval for one day.” From his expression, Chase was thinking unkind thoughts about her cat, but he had sense enough not to voice any of them. She patted his arm. “We can sort today and move tomorrow.” “I have to be in court tomorrow.” “We'll just have to struggle on without you,” she said cheerfully. Things would actually go much more smoothly that way. As far as she could tell, her new husband had only one flaw, an unfortunate tendency to give orders rather than encourage cooperation in more subtle ways. “These are Mom's things.” Calico spoke in such a quiet voice, it had the effect of drawing everyone's attention. She was on her knees in one corner beside a pile of cardboard cartons. “Gwen asked me to store her belongings.” Chase glanced at Leslie. “We can put them in the attic later.” “I want Mom's stuff in my room.” “It's mostly clothes,” Chase said. “What do you need with those? Besides, if you have to make room for all those boxes, you'll barely have space left for your own things.” “I don't care. I want Mom's stuff with me.” She looked at Leslie. “Go ahead,” Leslie told her, then watched with Chase as the girl toted the first carton up the stairs. “She's not going to forget we have a real mother.” Jeremy made the statement sound like a taunt. 99


Chase bristled at his nephew's tone. “That's enough impertinence, young man. No one expects either of you to forget Gwen.” “Going to take us to visit her?” Jeremy's sneer seemed deliberately offensive, but Leslie tried not to react. She remembered what she and Chase had agreed. She dealt with Calico. Chase handled Jeremy. Only Chase seemed to have a hard time hanging on to his temper around the boy. “That depends, Jeremy,” he said. “They have rules about letting troublemakers into the facility.” Wincing at Chase's choice of words, Leslie watched Jeremy seize a second box filled with his mother's things and dash up the stairs after his sister. “Oh, Chase,” Leslie whispered. “I think he was about to burst into tears. Did you have to be so hard on him?” “You haven't seen hard. The boy's got to learn to abide by a few basic rules if he's going to live in my house. For starters, I'm thinking he'd better get a proper haircut before school starts.” “Are you listening to yourself? Tell him that and you guarantee a rebellion.” “Why the hell would any kid in his right mind shave his head or dye his hair, let alone both?” “Did you try asking him?” She went to him, puffing her arms around his waist and looking up at him. “He wouldn't give me a straight answer.” Chase's hand cupped the nape of her neck as he met her gaze. Sensual responses she hadn't known she possessed before last night 100


leaped to life. He must have sensed that. The frustration Jeremy had engendered in his eyes abruptly turned to something else, something that had nothing to do with his nephew and everything to do with his wife. Just the touch of his lips on hers left Leslie breathless and disoriented. The underlying physical awareness of him she'd felt since they'd gotten out of bed that morning made her wish it was time to retire for the night. Judging from Chase's shaky laugh, he felt the same way. “I should have given you a real honeymoon,” he murmured. “This isn't fair to you.” Warmed by his sentiments, she resolved to make the best of things. “We'll take the sorting in easy stages. It isn't necessary to get it all done today.” “And the kids?” “We need to adjust to each other in easy stages too.” For a moment longer she snuggled close, enjoying the feel of the warm flesh beneath his shirt as her hand stroked his back. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in the curve of his shoulder, but they were not alone in the house. And they needed to talk about a few things. “We knew there would be a period of adjustment,” she said. “That they might resent living under your rules. Resent having a substitute mother imposed on them. But I expect we'll learn how to muddle through.” “I'm glad you're confident. Jeremy obviously resents the whole concept of rules. I'm not sure about Calico.” “I suspect she'll settle down nicely, now that she's gotten her way about Gwen's things.” 101


“Yeah. Gwen. That's another problem. She's given me orders to keep the kids away from her. No visits.” Shocked, Leslie just stared at him. The idea that a mother would reject all contact with her own children appalled her. “You'll have to find a way to change her mind.” “Not so easy to do, Leslie. I've known Gwen a long time, even before my brother did. She's one stubborn woman. She goes her own way, always, no matter who gets hurt.” “You can't tell Jeremy and Calico she doesn't want to see them. They'll be devastated.” “I won't lie to them.” “Chase, please. Let them think there's a delay due to red tape or something. Maybe she'll relent.” “You don't ask for much, do you?” Leslie wasn't sure if that was amusement or irony in his voice. “Okay. For as long as I can, I'll try to avoid telling them that their mother flat out refuses to see them. Anything else?” “Go easier on Jeremy?” Chase's fingers had been stroking a particularly sensitive area on the back of her neck. Now he turned her so that he could place his lips on the spot. “Since you're the one asking, I'll try to go a little easier on him. I won't even mention his hair again.” As his hands tightened on her shoulders Leslie trembled. “There are more important issues than hair,” she murmured. She meant the visit to Gwen. And the fact that Jeremy smoked, a shortcoming she had chosen not to share with Chase just yet. 102


But Chase's thoughts had veered off onto another path. “Do you think anyone would miss us if we locked ourselves in the bedroom for a week or so?” Close to her ear, his voice was dark and sensual. “I think they'd notice.” The breathless sound of her own voice startled Leslie into pulling away. “We can't do this. Jeremy and Calico could come back down at any moment.” Reluctantly, Chase let her go. He tugged his mustache, drawing her gaze to the lips beneath it. “I take you in my arms and I tend to forget there are two impressionable teenagers on the premises.” His words reminded her again of Jeremy's opinion. The boy thought Chase had married her in order to procure a source of convenient, legal sex. At that memory, a raft of insecurities surfaced. What if Chase did think of her that way? Did he perceive sex as just another part of a loveless bargain he'd struck with her? Since you're the one asking, he'd said. And then he'd suggested locking themselves in the bedroom. Suddenly Leslie wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or annoyed by his behavior. It was an intriguing notion that she could seduce her new husband into doing things that were against his better judgment, but she certainly didn't like the implication that she would. Obviously unaware of her thoughts, Chase had hoisted one of Gwen's boxes. “Come on, wife,” he said, grinning. “Let's take these things up to Calico's room and then get a start on the rest of this clutter. The sooner we're done, the sooner we can turn in for the night.” 103


She picked up a carton and followed him. Perhaps she was misinterpreting his words. She hoped so. Several hours later, to Leslie's relief, Chase gave up on the idea of completing all the sorting in one day. He volunteered to start the grill and cook burgers while she tossed a salad, a proposal she gladly accepted. Their simple supper at the picnic table in the backyard was drawing to a close when Chase's beeper went off. Leslie hadn't even realized he was wearing one on his belt. After all, he was casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that depicted an ancient Scotsman carrying a bagpipe and declaring that OLD PIPERS NEVER DIE. THEIR BAGS JUST DRY UP. She watched in dismay as Chase went on red alert. There was no other way to describe it. After a quick glance at the number showing on the small beeper screen, he excused himself to make a phone call. Whatever was happening, Leslie decided, it wasn't good. When Chase didn't return in a reasonable amount of time, Leslie left Jeremy and Calico to handle cleanup, a job Chase had already assigned to them, and went after him. She couldn't help feeling a sense of pride as she passed through the house. In just a few days, with the addition of furniture from her apartment and Chase's, the rooms had begun to come alive and look homelike. Now all she had to do was find something to replace the old-fashioned wallpaper that decorated the dining and living rooms. Cabbage roses had never been her favorite design. She found Chase in their bedroom, arriving just in time to hear the last part of his phone conversation. “Yeah. Definitely 104


put a hold on him if they bring him in,” he ordered. Then he slammed the receiver down without saying good-bye and stood, his body rigid, just staring at the wall. More cabbage roses. “Problem?” Leslie asked. It seemed to take an effort to answer her, but he finally did. “One of my less stable ... clients is on a rampage.” She didn't like the sound of that. “What's a hold?” she asked. “That's what happens when they catch him.” Chase's smile was icy, making Leslie glad she was not the one who'd prompted it. “They hold him until he has a hearing before two probation officers. Then he probably stays in jail, serving out the time he would have spent on probation if he hadn't violated the conditions that were set up at the time of his release. Unfortunately, that part's not up to me. A judge makes the final decision.” “And if they don't find this person in the first place?” On a rampage, he'd said. She tried not to let her imagination run away with her, but the words painted a chilling picture. “They will.” She persisted. “Are you in any danger?” She put her hand on his arm, capturing his attention, but he wasn't looking at her with a lover's eyes now. Something cold and dangerous glinted in their depths. “One advantage to having moved,” he said grimly, “is that no one knows where we live.” “You're scaring me, Chase.” She wanted him to gather her into his strong arms and hug her close and tell her everything 105


would be all right. Instead he paid her the unwelcome compliment of being honest with her. “There's no point in trying to shield you from the downside of my job. From time to time I do have to deal with violent offenders. Or with irate family members. I suppose we'd better set up some ground rules.” More rules, she thought. That wouldn't go over well with Jeremy and Calico. The concept wasn't particularly appealing to her, either. “Such as?” “First, the telephone. We have an unlisted number. There's also a caller-ID box attached to each extension, and an answering machine on the phone downstairs. If you don't know the caller, or it says ‘unknown name’ or ‘private name’ on the caller ID box, then let the machine pick up first. I taped the answering message, verifying the number but without giving any of our names. The only number I give to my clients is the one for my voice mail at work. The police departments I deal with have the beeper number. All my business calls should come in one of those two ways, but it pays to be cautious” Leslie swallowed hard. “Is all this necessary? You sound like you're still some kind of cop.” He looked surprised. “I am some kind of cop.” Leslie's words jarred Chase out of his concerns about what was happening on the other side of Fallstown. The police would handle his “client” for the time being. His role would come later. At the moment he had to refocus and rethink a few of the assumptions he'd been making about his new wife. “You don't know what I do for a living, do you?” 106


“I know you're a probation officer.” “Yes, but what do you think I do?” “Well, I suppose you're some kind of social worker. You help the people who have been in jail start a new life.” Some kind of social worker. His wife thought he was some bleeding-heart social worker! Chase couldn't believe it. “I'm a law-enforcement officer with the department of corrections,” he told her. “I arrest the scumbags who can't live up to the promises they made when they were let out of jail. I am not their baby-sitter. I enforce the law. Lay down the rules that they'd damned well better live by if they don't want to go straight back into a cell.” Behind her glasses, Leslie's eyes betrayed growing irritation at his tone, but her voice softened. “You haven't talked much about your job, Chase. I suppose I should have asked, but I always had the feeling you'd rather discuss other topics.” True enough. He should have been more forthcoming. “Maybe I'd better not assume anything about what you or the kids know,” he said. And maybe he'd better go over a few more ground rules right now. “Where are Jeremy and Calico?” “Doing the dishes.” He nodded. “We'll let them finish, then talk. There are a few things I should tell them too.” “Tell? I hope you mean explain. And while you're at it you might clarify why you're in such an all-fired hurry to get those boxes out of the basement. A few well-chosen words can usually avert most misunderstandings.” 107


Was that sarcasm? Chase supposed he deserved it. “Am I coming across as a martinet?” “‘Fraid so.” He sighed. “You're right. I do need to take the time to explain my reasons. But I'm not used to having people question my decisions.” He tugged her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Keep me in line, okay? There's a lot more to this family stuff than I realized.” A short time later, in the kitchen, they all sat around the small table that had been in his apartment and helped themselves from a plate of cookies Leslie had set out. Chase started with the announcement that he planned to remodel the basement. “By putting up partitions, we can easily section it off into a family room, a laundry room, and an office for...” “We?” Jeremy sounded wary. Chase hoped the boy's aversion to hard work wasn't going to last long, and resolved to make sure he spent at least some time on the project. Supervised time. Aloud he said only, “I can use all the help I can get.” “Don't you have an office downtown?” Calico asked. “I thought Daddy took us there to visit you once.” Flattered that she'd remembered, Chase shook his head. “Not anymore. A couple of years ago, when all the probation/parole officers in the state were issued laptop computers, some of the local offices were closed. So I need a space at home to do paperwork. And because my cases are confidential, that room will have to be off-limits.” 108


“You mean you're the only one who gets to use the computer?” In spite of the sneer in Jeremy's voice, Chase detected the first evidence of real interest he'd heard from the boy. “We have two others,” he said. “You can borrow either of them.” “Except when I need mine for schoolwork,” Leslie interjected. Chase realized he'd forgotten she'd be going back to school too. “Still leaves one,” he told Jeremy. “I'll even set each of you up with e-mail addresses.” “Got any good computer games?” “Not until your homework is done.” Leslie opened her mouth, then closed it again at his automatic response. Chase could tell she wanted to cut Jeremy some slack, but he figured the boy needed structure in his life, not coddling. He'd offered the use of a computer, hadn't he? Now it was Jeremy's turn to give a little. A haircut would be nice. “What'll you do if I don't follow all your rules?” Jeremy demanded. “Throw me in jail?” “Grounding you is a possibility,” Chase shot back. “I'm certain we can negotiate a compromise.” That suggestion, made in Leslie's soothing voice, should have calmed troubled waters. Instead it seemed to have the effect of pouring oil on them. Jeremy's lip curled. “Bet I know more about computers than either of you. And I could figure out how to send e-mail without paying a cent to any of those online services.” 109


“That's called hacking, Jeremy,” Chase said sternly. “It's illegal.” That comment won him Jeremy's full repertoire—sneer, shrug, and sullen silence. It also reminded Chase that at Jeremy's age, he, too, had reacted with defiance to any authority figure. He'd also had an unfortunate tendency to accept dares. Jake had always been able to taunt him into doing incredibly stupid things. Chase was trying to think what to say next, and how to say it without sounding like a cop, when something large and furry flew past him to dive beneath the table. “Dewey!” Leslie exclaimed. “Oh, no! We must not have closed the door properly when we left the bedroom.” “I'll get him,” Jeremy yelled. “No, I will!” Calico shouted. For a few minutes confusion reigned. Dewey did not want to be caught. He scooted from one hiding place to another until at last Calico located him in the living room under the wing chair that had come from Leslie's apartment. They coaxed him out with an offering of tuna fish. “We're going to have to do something about that cat,” Chase muttered. “He'll be fine once he gets used to his new home,” Leslie said. “I can take care of him for you, Uncle Chase,” Jeremy offered. An odd note in his voice made both Chase and Leslie stare at him. Leslie clung more tightly to her pet and took a step 110


away from the boy. It was painfully obvious what was going through her head. Was Jeremy the kind of kid who enjoyed being cruel to animals? Chase wondered, entertaining momentary doubts of his own. Jeremy's eyes had narrowed, as if he might indeed be contemplating dire deeds, but overall the boy's expression was just too theatrical to be believed. Reassured by that conclusion, Chase spoke with as much heartiness as he could muster. “We'll all be fine once we get used to our new home.” When Leslie went up to put Dewey back in the master bedroom, saying she'd probably stay there and turn in for the night, Chase regrouped in the living room. He sat Jeremy and Calico down on Leslie's sofa and announced there were a few more rules, but that this was the last batch. “First, the cat. He's a house pet. Make sure he doesn't get outside.” Then he launched into the protocol for answering the phone. The outright rebellion he'd half expected from Jeremy didn't materialize, but Calico had an objection. “Uncle Chase,” she wailed, “you're going to ruin my social life. How can I make any friends at our new school if they can't call me?” “No one said you couldn't phone out,” Chase reminded her. Calico considered that. “When the family room is finished, can we have people over?” At the prospect of a basement filled with teenagers, Chase fought a shudder, but this seemed important to Calico. Even Jeremy looked a trifle less sullen in anticipation. “Sure,” he said. 111


“Could we have a party?” Calico asked. Chase really wasn't ready to deal with that question. He fell back on the only response he could think of: “You'll have to ask your aunt.”

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Chapter Seven The sound of Chase's footsteps on the stairs warned Leslie of his approach, but she did not get up as he came into the bedroom. She stayed where she was, seated tailor fashion on the bed with Dewey nestled in her lap. Enough time had passed since she'd come upstairs that she'd changed into a cotton nightdress and brushed her hair. She'd had time, too, to think about Chase's job, and to wonder how on earth she could have so completely misinterpreted what was involved in it. It wasn't as if he'd been keeping secrets from her. She just hadn't asked the right questions. And she'd jumped to conclusions. Always a bad mistake. The door closed behind him. She heard the key turn in the lock. Just that quickly her thoughts focused on the night ahead, their first night together in this house. She suddenly felt a little nervous, certain nothing could equal last night's experiences. She still could not believe she'd behaved as she had. She'd acted with a boldness that would normally have been foreign to her, caught up in the sheer delight of being Chase Forster's wife. She hadn't consciously set out to seduce her new husband, but all her normal caution had been burned away by the flare of desire she'd seen in his eyes, and by the answering burst of flame that had heated her own body at the sight of him watching her. He was looking at her that way again. 113


“When you stare at me like that, you make me feel beautiful,” she said. “You are beautiful. And sexy. I only delayed coming after you when you excused yourself because it was still so early in the evening.” “I was half hoping you'd close up the house and say good night to the kids anyway.” She'd understood, though, that it wasn't likely. Chase was far too aware that they had “impressionable” teenagers in residence. “We talked awhile longer.” He crossed to the bed and took Dewey away from her, carrying the cat to the bathroom and closing him in. “Calico wants to have a party in the basement when it's finished. I said she'd have to ask you about that.” He lifted one eyebrow when he saw her expression. “You're smiling? Doesn't the idea of a houseful of teenagers terrify you?” “Oh, yes.” She didn't move, although her gaze charted Chase's every movement. “But we'll cope when the time comes. You haven't even built the family room yet.'’ “Jeremy took the rules about the phone pretty well.” He started to undress, pulling his T-shirt over his head with a flexing of muscles that further riveted Leslie's attention. She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on their conversation. Discussing Jeremy and Calico was important. It was the primary reason they'd married, wasn't it? To make a home for the two of them? Naturally that involved talking over what had happened that day, planning a strategy for dealing with the two young people and responding to their actions. 114


“I didn't like the way Jeremy acted toward Dewey,” she said. “The key word is act.” Chase bent to untie his jogging shoes. “He's bluffing, Leslie. Trying to rile you.” “I hope you're right. I want to like Jeremy, but he's making it difficult.” Both shoes and socks were discarded. “Let's just hope we can avoid both of us being ticked off at him at the same time. I found out why he's wearing his hair that way.” “He told you?” “Nope. Calico did. Seems Jeremy lost a bet to a boy he met in Florida. Someone else's visiting grandson.” “I guess we should applaud him for honoring his word.” Chase unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, taking his briefs with them. “To tell you the truth, I'm not all that interested in Jeremy at the moment.” “That's, er, obvious.” In two strides he was beside the bed and pulled her off it to stand in front of him. Once she was in Chase's arms, it was no longer possible to worry about why he'd married her, or what Jeremy was capable of; or that Calico might someday in the future throw a party. She simply reveled in the moment, feeling his strength surround her like a protective wall. Fingers clinging to his forearms, she savored the shift of sinew and muscle as he pulled her closer still. She ought to be unsettled at his strength, she thought. There was hardedged arousal behind his heavy-lidded gaze as he gauged her every response to him. She expected, as she had the 115


previous evening, that her usual inhibitions would resurface any moment. Instead, as before, she was filled with an urgency such as she'd never known. Her hands slid up to his hard, muscled shoulders, and she rubbed herself against him, delighting in the groan her movement provoked. She could feel his reaction through the thin cotton of her gown. And then the gown was gone. And they were no longer standing by the bed, but were in it, beneath the light summer coverlet. She wanted to tell him how much she loved this, and how she was beginning to feel about him, but the only words she could manage were incoherent murmurs of pleasure. Soon she abandoned any attempt to talk. There were much more interesting things to do with her mouth. **** Chase finished up in court earlier than he'd expected the next day and was home and changed into jeans and a T-shirt before Leslie and the kids had gotten very far with sorting the remaining packing boxes. He joined the three of them just in time to hear Calico ask why they owned so many mystery novels. Leslie swiped at a stray lock of hair and left a streak of dust behind. “Your uncle and I both belong to the same online mystery reader's group. That's where we got to know each other.” A frown furrowed Calico's brow. “On-line means over the computer, right?” At Leslie's nod she looked even more puzzled. “You were just words on a screen. How could you know you clicked from that?” 116


“We also had a TV show in common.” Chase ruffled Calico's hair as he sat down next to her and opened a carton. “Have you ever watched Murder, She Wrote?” “Oh, yeah. I've seen that. It's in reruns five nights a week.” “When Leslie and I discovered we were both from Maine, that led to talking about the show, since it was supposed to have been set here. It turned out that way back when it first went on the air, we'd both sent letters of complaint to the producers.” “Complaining about what?” Calico stopped burrowing through a box of playing cards and board games to listen. On the far side of the basement, though he was trying to pretend otherwise, Jeremy was also paying close attention. “I objected to the way some of the actors butchered a Maine accent,” Leslie told them as she continued to sort books. “And I didn't much like how they used the coast of California to portray this state. The architecture may be similar, but the Pacific Ocean doesn't look anything like the Gulf of Maine. Oh, and I mentioned that the characters would have a hard time getting to Cabot Cove by train since, at that time, the closest Amtrak station was in Boston.” “And I,” Chase said, “was riled up about the mistakes the production company made in showing law enforcement, especially since they'd milked all kinds of publicity out of having visited Maine before filming started. They'd been bragging about how accurate they were going to be, how they'd looked at uniforms so they could get them exactly right. Then they went and put one blue light and one red on 117


every police cruiser. In Maine, it's blue for police and red for fire. Worse, though, they set the show in a tiny coastal community but gave it both its own sheriff and deputies and a jail. At most, a place that size would have a part-time, untrained volunteer constable.” He gave Calico a sharp look. “You do know a sheriff is an elected county official, right?” Calico nodded. “And most sheriffs wear suits, not uniforms.” Chase could have kicked himself for reminding her how often the sheriff and other law-enforcement officers had intruded into their lives, both before and after Jake's death. Much as he could complain about his own parents’ lack of child-rearing skills, at least neither of them had ever been arrested in front of their kids. Calico didn't seem to bear him any ill will because of his current or former profession, but he wondered if Jeremy resented him for what he did for a living. It was hard to tell. The boy always looked surly. “Did you get answers to your letters?” Calico asked. “Oh, yes,” Chase said. “The producer was very polite. But in essence, he said that the American viewing public was too stupid to understand what a constable was. That's why they had to make him a sheriff.” “That's dumb,” Calico said. “Keep that in mind if you ever start to believe what you see on TV or in the movies.” Leslie taped shut a box of books she was leaving in storage. “Our mutual outrage at the misrepresentation of our 118


home state took your uncle and me through our first week of private correspondence.” She gave Calico a close look, then dusted her hands on her thighs and stood. “I think we've done enough for now. We may not be finished, but it's a beautiful day out there. Go get some fresh air while I start on the homemade pizza I'm making for supper.” They went. Not just Jeremy and Calico, but Chase too. He found it pleasant to have a backyard to wander around in, but soon realized he'd much rather do his wandering with Leslie at his side. At the sight that met his eyes when he entered the kitchen, Chase stopped dead in his tracks. The previous night, before he'd gone up to bed, he'd given this room a thorough cleaning, showing Jeremy and Calico how it should be done. The floor as well as the countertops had been spotless a little less than twenty-four hours earlier. Now he could only watch, appalled, as Leslie flung a circle of dough onto the floured counter and a great puff of white rose to engulf her. Flecks of flour already dotted her sweatshirt and clung to the insides of the open cupboards above her work area. She didn't even notice the mess. As unobtrusively as possible, he tried to initiate damage control. He put away the measuring cups she'd taken out but didn't need. He closed the drawer she'd left open an inch, just enough to allow flour to get inside and sprinkle the silverware. 119


Things got worse when she began to assemble the toppings. Soon bits of mushroom and onion and ground beef were everywhere. Then she started to grate the cheese. “Let me help with that,” he offered. “Where did you put the wax paper?” “What do you need wax paper for?” “To catch the shredded mozzarella.” “Easier just to shred directly onto the top of the pizza.” And onto the counter ... and the floor. Chase grabbed a damp dishrag to mop up a spill of tomato sauce. He bent down as Leslie turned. She stopped just short of barreling into him and let out a startled squeak. “You okay?” He caught her shoulders to steady her. How could a woman look so adorable with streaks of flour on her cheek? “I'd be better if you'd stop hovering.” “Just trying to help.” “Chase, even after we get new appliances in here, there won't be room for your kind of help.” He'd been about to drop a playful kiss on the end of her nose. Her words stopped him. “New appliances? What new appliances?” “The ones we desperately need. This kitchen hasn't been remodeled since Leave it to Beaver was on television.” “I don't know, Leslie. With the money it will take to fix up the basement, there might not be much left for—” “I'll pay for a new stove and refrigerator myself if money's that tight.” 120


“I don't want—” The sound of footsteps on the back porch kept him from saying more. “We can talk about this later.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he touched her lip with one finger. “No quarrels in front of the kids. Remember?” “What's that smell?” Jeremy asked. His sister poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “Is dinner ready?” she asked. “I'm starving.” “Almost,” Leslie said. “Go wash up.” When she turned from the counter to check the oven temperature, Chase darted around her to put a lid on the plastic container holding leftover chopped onion. Irritation blazed behind Leslie's glasses, which were also dotted with flour. “Will you please stop following me around!” “I'm not following you—” “You are. You're following me around and picking up after me and putting things away.” “I was just trying to help.” “If you want to help, go set the table.” “Which one?” His table and chairs were crowded into the kitchen. Hers had been set up in the dining room. “Mine.” “I'd rather eat on a TV table in the living room,” Jeremy announced from the doorway, having completed the world's fastest hand washing. “Mom always let us do that.” Leslie and Chase exchanged a look. “No,” they said in unison. **** “Where did that come from?” Leslie asked the next morning. A brightly wrapped box had been left at one end of 121


the kitchen table. Jeremy sat next to it, hunched over a bowl of cornflakes. “Penny brought it,” he told her. “Said it's a wedding present.” “She's already done enough for us,” Leslie murmured as she got the coffee going. Chase would be down any minute. The day before, they'd overslept. He'd had to grab a cup at a fast-food place on his way to court. “I bet I know what it is,” Jeremy said. Leslie was not a morning person. She desperately needed an infusion of caffeine. But she didn't want to discourage any effort Jeremy was inclined to make at conversation. She managed a weak smile and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Oh?” “Waffle iron. She noticed Uncle Chase didn't have one when she stayed over.” “Is that so unusual?” Jeremy shrugged and slurped the last of the milk from his cereal bowl. “She said the two of them used to eat waffles every day when they lived together.” Having dropped that bombshell, he left the table and sauntered out of the room, passing his uncle in the hall. “What's that?” Chase asked, spotting the package the moment he entered the kitchen. “Why don't you open it?” Leslie suggested. “Jeremy says Penny Lassiter brought it by.” How long had Penny and Chase lived together? she wondered uneasily. And how long ago had they broken up? Leslie tried to tell herself it didn't matter. He'd married her. 122


But she couldn't help feeling unsettled by the idea that Penny had been intimate with her husband. And she didn't even want to consider the possibility that Chase had once been in love with the other woman. She glanced at her husband and caught him grinning in anticipation as he reached for the package. “You think I'm going to get exploding paper snakes in the face when the lid comes off, don't you?” She didn't reply, but Chase was too intent on removing ribbon and paper to notice. The box emerged, its contents clearly labeled. Chase started to chuckle. “That Penny! Doesn't think the day's gotten off to a good start unless she scarfs down at least two waffles slathered in butter and syrup.” “Do you like waffles too?” Leslie watched the coffee drip into the carafe, her hands clenched on the edge of the counter. She didn't dare look at Chase again, too afraid she'd see more than mere fondness in his expression as he talked of Penny Lassiter. “I like those fancy ones they serve in restaurants,” he said. “Belgian waffles?” She couldn't stop herself from glancing at him. “Yeah. Loaded down with strawberries and whipped cream. Don't look so surprised. Strawberries and whipped cream have always been weaknesses of mine. I'll have to demonstrate that to you someday.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, trying to make her blush. She frowned at him instead. 123


If they'd been having this conversation via e-mail, would she have been able to ask him what she really wanted to know about his past with Penny? Face-to-face it was clearly impossible. She ended up making an inane remark about toaster pastries. “That's what we usually eat for breakfast,” Calico said. She came into the kitchen yawning. “Or doughnuts. Or cereal. Mom isn't big on cooking stuff.” “I'll be happy to make waffles every day if anyone wants them,” Leslie offered. Why not, now that they had their very own waffle iron? She watched Chase's face, but saw no reaction there. He busied himself folding the wrapping paper and rolling the ribbon and finding a place in the cupboards for their newest small appliance. “Cool,” Calico said. She reached for the coffeepot. “Wouldn't you rather have some juice?” Leslie asked, taken aback by the idea of a fourteen-year-old accustomed to starting her day with coffee. Calico thought that over. “Okay.” When Leslie got it for her, the girl seemed pleased. For a moment Leslie felt absurdly maternal. On a warm, fuzzy impulse, she hugged Calico, only to have Chase's niece stiffen and pull away. What kind of mother was Gwen? Not for the first time Leslie had to wonder about the environment in which Jeremy and Calico had been raised. Chase had warned her they'd learned to fend for themselves, but each bit of evidence she saw of Gwen's neglect astonished her. She had to tamp down the urge to overcompensate. Calico's involuntary reaction was 124


adequate proof that overt demonstrations of affection would not endear her to her newly acquired children. Slowly, she became aware that Chase had been watching her, and that he understood the exchange with his niece. A rueful smile lifted his lips as he approached the counter and held out an oversized mug. She obligingly filled it with coffee, her own expression sheepish. “It will take time to adjust to being a family,” he reminded her, “but we're off to a good start.” Leslie wanted very badly to believe him.

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Chapter Eight “I keep hoping your beeper will go off,” Leslie said quietly. Where was the emergency call when she really needed it? She'd done two things during the past week, besides settling into the house. She'd enrolled in classes at the university and she'd let her sister know she'd gotten married. After the initial shock, Carole had issued one of her command-performancestyle invitations to Sunday dinner, which was why Leslie, Chase, Jeremy, and Calico were about to step into the lion's den. Chase pulled into the driveway of Carole's house in Three Cities and stopped the car. “Think positive, Pollyanna.” He got out of the car and came around to open the passenger door for her. “Yes, dear,” she muttered under her breath. At least they were on time. Carole had made a point of saying dinner would be served promptly at two. Was Chase nervous too? she wondered. If he was, it didn't show. A smile flickered across her features as she recalled how she'd once assumed he'd be as shy as she was simply because they'd both found companionship on-line. Chase might be quiet and introspective on occasion, but he was a long way from being timid. On the contrary, he was fearless when it came to saying what he meant and meaning what he said. In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, dinner conversation was strained. Both Mitch and Carole seemed to 126


go out of their way to bring up subjects Chase knew nothing about. Then Carole focused on him, which was worse. When she heard that he could order a someone on his caseload picked up and held for three days without a hearing or the possibility of bail, she declared that practice “barbaric” and gave a theatrical shudder. “That's my uncle,” Jeremy put in, sotto voce. “You've heard of Conan? He's Chase the Barbarian.” Carole quickly changed the subject, but Leslie had the uneasy feeling her sister agreed, lumping Jeremy and his uncle together as undesirables. Somehow they avoided further conversational quicksand until they finished dinner and Carole sent Beth, Jeremy, and Calico off to Mitch's den to watch television. “Keep the door open, Pookie,” she called after the girl. Leslie wasn't sure whether Beth's groan was in response to the command or because her mother had deliberately used her old nickname. A six-year-old might think the endearment cute. At sixteen it had to be mortifying. “I suppose,” Carole said, turning back around, “Beth will be all right with your niece there to chaperon.” Carole didn't bother to hide her doubts about Jeremy's character. To her, Leslie guessed, the hairstyle said it all. “You don't show much faith in your own daughter,” Chase commented. “My Beth is a gently brought-up innocent.” “I beg your pardon. I understood that she was sixteen and a senior in high school.” 127


“And she'll be valedictorian, if she doesn't allow anyone to distract her from her studies.” Carole gave Leslie a pointed look as she poured after-dinner coffee into delicate china cups. “Of course, my daughter is much prettier than you ever were. And she does date. Nice, well-brought-up boys. She'll never be desperate enough to make the kind of mistake you did.” “I doubt Jeremy wants to marry her,” Chase interjected. His voice sounded mild, but Leslie sensed he was furious beneath a formidable layer of self-control. On her behalf? Or because of the insult to Jeremy? She couldn't be sure. “He's too mature for her,” Carole announced. “He's only fifteen!” Leslie said. Carole's eyes narrowed. “I'm afraid I cannot encourage any friendship between my daughter and your nephew.” “Don't worry about it, Carole.” Instead of picking up the cup Carole had just set in front of him, Chase removed the napkin from his lap and placed it by the saucer. “As Leslie just mentioned, Jeremy is only fifteen. He doesn't drive yet. The only way he'd be able to come over here and visit Beth is if Leslie or I brought him, and frankly that doesn't seem likely.” His piece said, he stood, holding out a hand. Leslie didn't hesitate to take it and rise, though she couldn't miss Carole's outraged expression. “We should be getting back home, Carole,” she said. “Lots to do before school starts, you know. Thanks so much for a lovely dinner.” The words were right. The tone was bright, almost chirpy. But by the time the four of them were in the car and pulling 128


out of Carole's driveway, Leslie felt herself sinking into something very like despair. Carole held a mean grudge, and while it hardly mattered if Jeremy got to know Beth better, Leslie was very much afraid her own relationship with her beloved niece had just taken a stunning body blow. **** Soon after they were back at the house on Carrier Street, Chase realized that Leslie was nowhere to be found. He checked every room. Nothing. Finally he went out into the backyard, surprised to discover that the air was downright balmy on this late afternoon at the end of August. He hadn't noticed the weather to and from Carole's. He'd been too preoccupied. Leslie had to be somewhere nearby. She'd been upset by their visit to her sister, but he was certain she'd have left a note or told someone if she was going far. Besides, her car was still in the garage. He'd walked only a little way among the apple and oak trees, enjoying the smell of the freshly cut grass underfoot, when he heard a rustling sound from above. The tree house. His tree house. Where they could be alone. Chase lost no time climbing the rough boards he and Jake had nailed into the side of the tree. Some were loose, but it hardly mattered. The platform wasn't all that high off the ground for an adult. “Hello, Chase,” Leslie said as he entered the tree house. It was a tight squeeze with both of them inside. They had to sit knee to knee. 129


“Apparently I'm not just plain old Chase today,” he teased her. “I'm Chase the Barbarian.” She fought a smile, but not for long. A giggle escaped her. Then a real laugh. “More like George of the Jungle. Or Tarzan. I don't believe Conan climbed trees.” “You Jane?” he asked. He could imagine her in one of those short leather sarongs Jane wore in the old movies. With Leslie's legs, she'd look great. Apparently reading his thoughts in his eyes, she froze, startled, but a moment later she'd closed the distance between them in one smooth movement that tumbled them both to the rough wood floor. “I need to be held,” she whispered. Obliging her suited him just fine. The space might be cramped for a couple of grown-ups, but in that weatherbeaten tree house, hidden by the profusion of leaves, they inhabited their own private world. Chase kissed his wife with abandon, and she kissed him back. It was a long, long time before either of them descended to the ground. “I do love barbarians,” she confided as they walked back to the house. **** I do love barbarians. Chase thought about that comment a good deal over the next few weeks, during which time school started for Jeremy, Calico, and Leslie, and Chase hit a busy patch on the job. He could live with the barbarian part, he decided, but he wished Leslie hadn't used the word love so casually. He found himself wanting to hear her say “I love you” and mean it, but as far 130


as he could tell, she regarded their relationship as something between a business arrangement and a friendship that included great sex. He told himself he shouldn't dream of more. He was damned fortunate to have as much as he did. He'd taken a real chance at Carole's dinner party. He hadn't intended to, but he'd ended up making Leslie choose between his family and her own. He could only hope she wouldn't come to regret her decision. For days on end, all of Chase's free time was spent on the renovations to the basement. Jeremy helped some, after Chase insisted, but the intended secondary benefit of him having a chance to get to know the boy was a washout. Although Jeremy proved a good worker, he either stayed sullenly silent or wore a Walkman. Conversation was minimal, even the day he came home from school and shaved off all the purple hair. Chase and Leslie speculated that he had a girlfriend, someone he wanted to impress by cleaning up his act. If that was the explanation, though, he kept very quiet about her identity. As for Chase, he climbed into bed every night with the only woman he wanted to impress. He was a lucky dog, he repeatedly told himself. No matter how tired he was, he didn't have any difficulty finding the energy to make love to her. After that, though, there was none left over for much else, not even pillow talk Sometimes he wondered if she missed the intense discussions they'd had via e-mail as much as he 131


did. If so, she never let on. She seemed content with their arrangement. On the afternoon construction was finished and his office set up—save for unpacking a few cartons stacked in one corner—Chase invited Leslie to inspect the newly created room. “Looks good,” she said. “Simple. Basic. Well organized. Neat.” He abandoned a box containing files and supplies when her tone of voice penetrated. “Is that sarcasm?” “Maybe irony.” She tried out his desk chair, using her bare toes to make it swivel. “It's pretty obvious that if we were in Neil Simon's The Odd Couple, I'd be Oscar and you'd be Felix.” “I'm not that bad,” he objected. “Am I?” Her grin coaxed a smile from him. “I wouldn't go so far as to call you fussy, but you do sometimes have the annoying habit of following people around and picking up after them. Chase bit back his automatic rejoinder. Pointing out that it was also annoying to find discarded clothing littered around their bedroom would not endear him to his wife. And her shoes ... she had a particular habit of stepping out of her shoes at odd places throughout the house and leaving them behind. Come to think of it, though, the sight of her abandoned footwear did not bother him all that much. Not as being sloppy, anyway. Ever since their wedding night, when their second session of lovemaking had started with him kissing his way up her 132


body from her toes to her mouth, the sight of her bare feet had a predictable effect on his libido. Chase had always known he was a leg man. He shouldn't be surprised to discover that he'd developed a new and unique appreciation of feet. Before he decided to act on that appreciation, he turned back to the boxes, pulling an oddly shaped, cloth-wrapped bundle from one. “What on earth is that?” Leslie asked. Chase's hands moved lovingly over the wrapping, uncovering three long wooden pipes, a mouthpiece, and a leather bag covered with the Royal Stewart tartan. “This,” he said, “is a bagpipe. I made an attempt to learn to play a few years back.” With a rueful shake of the head, he started to pack the pieces away again. She caught his arm. “Play something for me?” “Can't.” He grinned up at her. “Bag's dried up.” She blinked at him behind her glasses, then smiled back, obviously remembering the slogan on one of his T-shirts. “Sounds painful.” “What would be painful is the sound I'd get out of this now. Trust me, you wouldn't enjoy it. There's nothing worse than a bagpipe badly played. It takes seven years, so the experts say, to train a decent piper. I didn't have the time to devote to it.” When he'd repacked the box, he looked up at her again in time to catch a speculative look in her eyes. A secretive smile curved her lips. She'd stopped swiveling the chair. “What?” 133


“If playing the tuba did all it did for your lips,” she mused, “dare I imagine what a stint with the bagpipes contributed?” Not a thing, he thought. But that swinging bare foot mesmerized him. He'd come up with something creative, he decided, and credit it to the pipes. Later. Leslie had a disconcerting ability to make him forget where he was. It was the middle of the day, for Pete's sake, and the kids would be home from school soon. And he'd planned to finish getting his office in order that day. “I'll never be done with this unpacking if you make me demonstrate.” He tried to sound aggrieved, and failed. She had to be able to see the desire flaring in his eyes, he thought. She certainly couldn't miss the bulge at the front of his jeans. To avoid temptation, he fixed his attention on the last box. When he read the label, he hauled it out and shoved it toward his wife. “I'm closer to being finished than I thought. This one isn't mine. Your handwriting?” The words written on the flap said MISC. JUNK. “Mmmm.” Leslie leaned forward so that her breasts brushed against his shoulder. An electric shock zapped through him. The hell with the kids, he thought. But even as he reached for her she slid away, going down on her knees next to the box to rip off the tape. “Heaven only knows what's in here. This is a box I moved already packed. It hasn't been opened in years. Don't you love surprises?” She pulled back the flaps to reveal several 134


picture frames. “Oh. I remember now. These date from the time when I thought I had to display proof of everything I'd achieved.” “Diplomas?” He looked over her shoulder as she pulled them out one by one, then reached around her to take the top one out of her hands. “This says you have a master's degree in English literature.” “Yes.” She turned her head to look at him, pushing her glasses more securely into place on her nose. “You have a problem with that?” “I thought you were going back to school now to get your bachelor's degree.” “Oh. No. This is my third advanced-degree program. History this time. I also have a master's in library science.” She said that in such a matter-of-fact way, Chase thought. He hadn't a clue how to respond. “I wouldn't have taken you for someone who was opposed to educated women.” She was already packing the diplomas away, as if they were nothing. “Of course I'm not. I was just surprised.” She closed the box and sat back on her heels, a faraway look in her eyes. “Let me tell you something about smart girls, Chase. They're usually the ones too shy to attract any attention. And they get smart by studying because no one asks them out on dates and they don't have enough gumption to go places alone. Carole wasn't putting me down at dinner the other day. She was just stating facts. When a boy did finally show an interest in me, I foolishly fell head over heels 135


in love, and the next thing I knew, I was married and miserable.” Even though he understood she was talking about her first marriage, her words made him nervous. The parallels were there, impossible to ignore. Loneliness. Impulsive behavior. Instant attraction. All those had a familiar ring. “Why did your marriage break up?” he asked. “Because the only thing we had in common was good sex.” Chase winced but stayed silent. “I really knew nothing about him except that, for some reason, he wanted to elope with me.” “You had mistaken ideas about each other,” he said carefully. “So do we. Apparently.” He gave the boxful of framed diplomas a pointed look. She blinked hard, then stared straight at him. “You aren't another Victor.” He wanted to believe her, but there was something she had to understand. “It took me ten years to get my BA, mostly night classes and summer sessions on my vacations.” “Am I supposed to look down my nose at you for that?” He tugged on his mustache and let her figure out the answer to that one for herself. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, “but I'm not such a snob. Actually, I admire your persistence. I don't think I'd ever have been able to go to school and work too.” “Scholarship, huh?” She stood, dusting off her jeans and lifting the box. “Trust fund. Same one I tapped into when I ordered the new stove and refrigerator.” 136


Chase frowned. She'd gone ahead and bought them? Without waiting to discuss the purchase with him? That bothered him. So did her almost casual attitude toward money. “What trust fund?” he finally asked. She studied his face for a long moment before she answered. “Is this going to be another sensitive area between us? You're going to have to put up warning signs, Chase. I can't read your mind.” “Just explain about the trust fund. Have I gone and married a wealthy woman without realizing it?” The twinkle in her eyes was reassuring. Her words were not. “It's not that big a deal. Just something my maternal grandmother set up.” “How big a deal?” He wasn't sure why he persisted. He suspected he'd be happier not knowing. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” He could feel his eyes widen. He'd been right. This information did not brighten his day. “Woman, that's a quarter of a million dollars.” “If I tried to live on it,” she said with a shrug, “I'd use it up darned fast. What is the problem, Chase? It's a nest egg. An emergency fund. I don't even remember I have it half the time.” “Just when you want something. Like a refrigerator. Or a third advanced degree.” Now it was Leslie's turn to wince, but it was too late to call back his bitter words. “If you think I'm going to apologize,” she told him, “you can just forget it. For one thing, I'd much 137


rather have my grandmother still living than access to the money it took her a lifetime to save.” “Why didn't you tell me about this before we got married?” A sensible woman would have insisted on a prenuptial agreement to protect her assets. After all, he'd been a virtual stranger to her when they wed. He still was, apparently. “You never asked!” She set the carton down on top of his desk with a thump and turned to glower at him, hands fisted on her hips. Chase took a few deep breaths and got control of himself. He realized he was overreacting. Overreacting? Hell, he was acting like a jackass. “Leslie...” When she jabbed at her glasses again to prevent them from slipping down to the end of her nose, he reached out and removed them from her face. “Chase! I can't see!” “I know. I don't think I want you to see me too clearly right now.” In spite of her irritation, he saw she was once more fighting a smile. Relief washed over him. Carefully, he set the glasses on top of the offending box and leaned in. “Better?” They were almost touching noses. When her breath caught he knew she couldn't help but realize how much he wanted her, and she, thank goodness, seemed just as turned on as he was. “About those bagpipe lips,” he whispered. A moment later they were in each other's arms, all dissension between them temporarily forgotten. **** 138


“You've been busy,” Chase remarked as he and Jeremy descended the stairs to the family room. Under Dewey's supervision, Leslie and Calico were rearranging books, taking out duplicates and packing them away. It was a job that had needed doing for weeks, ever since the renovations in the basement had been finished. Even with Leslie's five tall bookcases and the shelves Chase had built in along the paneled walls, they'd ended up with far too many volumes for the available space. Leslie gave them both a bright, welcoming smile, but Dewey, wary of the boy, headed for a high perch atop one of the bookcases. Jeremy retaliated by picking up a catnip mouse and tossing it after him. Dewey's toys, Chase had noticed, especially catnip mice and small, squishy balls, seemed to litter every room in the house. He was always having to pick them up. “Why don't you just pack away all these books,” Jeremy said in the annoyingly snide tone he favored. “You've already read them. Why take up the space?” “And what would you put on the shelves?” his sister asked. “CDs? DVDs? We all know you can't read.” ‘'Can too.” “Prove it!” “It wouldn't hurt you to read a book once in a while,” Chase told him. “You're welcome to borrow any of these.” “Hey, I read all the time.” “Prove it!” Calico taunted him again.

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All swagger, he approached the bookshelves. “Her,” he said, pulling out a Hillary Waugh mystery. “I read her all the time.” Chase took the book from him and turned it over to show Jeremy the photograph of the author on the back. Giggles erupted from his sister behind him. “Try again, sport. And next time do your research.” “Hey! It was worth a shot,” Jeremy said. “Who knew Hillary could be a guy's name?” He took the book back. “Don't feel bad, Jeremy,” Leslie said. “For the first week or so Chase and I corresponded, he thought I was a guy.” “No way!” Calico said. “Way! Leslie can be a man's name too. He began to suspect he was wrong when I wrote something about identifying with a female character in a mystery novel, so he asked what my middle name was. After I told him it was Elizabeth, he explained why he'd asked.” “At that point, in e-mail talk,” Chase put in, “we were both LOL.” Calico looked confused. “Lots of love?” “Laughing out loud.” Even Jeremy cracked a smile at that, but the next moment he was lobbing another missile at Dewey. Hard. Offended, the cat sailed from the bookcase, to the back of an old sofa, to the stairwell. Jeremy went after the retreating feline, still carrying the novel and brandishing a small, square pillow filled with catnip and stamped with the words KITTY CAN'T COPE SACK. The manufacturer claimed it was for feline frolic and low-impact aerobics. 140


“Don't worry,” Calico said when she noticed Leslie's worried expression. “He wouldn't be caught dead admitting it, but the truth is that Jeremy thinks Dewey is cool.” Chase automatically reached out to straighten the shelf, where there was now a book-sized gap. “Hold it right there, Felix.” Leslie was smiling, but her tone said she meant business. Calico giggled again. Chase froze, his fingers touching the spine of one of their mystery novels. Slowly, he removed his hand. The colorfully jacketed volume tipped sideways to rest against its neighbor. At least Leslie had arranged them by author, he thought. And chronologically within series. “Now back away,” she said, her voice still firm. For the first time in years, Chase left a bookcase less than neat. Instead of spines lined up precisely one inch from the edge, the way they would be in a well-tended library, the volumes had a ragged appearance. As if these books were much-loved and much-used. He blinked. The effect was ... homey. His fingers stopped twitching. The urge to straighten had vanished completely.

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Chapter Nine “Want to come with me to the grocery store?” Leslie asked. “Sure.” Chase actually welcomed the prospect. If nothing else, the excursion would provide an opportunity to be alone with his wife. Not that having Jeremy and Calico meant they spent a lot of time doing things as a family. It was just that he was always aware of having two impressionable young people on the premises. Only behind the closed door of their bedroom did he ever feel he had Leslie all to himself. He got her to tell him about her classes on the way to the supermarket. The ten-minute drive passed much too quickly. At the store their conversation turned to food. Chase was enjoying playing devil's advocate for the value of presweetened cereal when he spotted the familiar slate-blue uniform of the state police. He caught Leslie's arm to prevent her from steering the shopping cart down that aisle. “What?” she asked. Not until they were safely in the frozen-foods sec-non did he try to explain. “Someone I want to avoid. Guy named Tooley.” “Client?” “Trooper.” “One of the good guys?” For once he didn't respond well to her teasing. “A jerk. Back when I was still a deputy, there was a traffic accident right in front of my apartment. I grabbed my hat and a 142


fluorescent vest and went to assist. Ended up directing traffic while they cleaned up the mess. Tooley came by, off duty himself, and the next thing I knew, he'd filed a complaint with the sheriff because I was wearing part of my uniform with jeans and a T-shirt. Unprofessional, he called it.” “He expected you to stop and change clothes before you offered help?” “He probably would have.” “You're right. He is a jerk.” Leslie opened a case and removed a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream, then put it back and selected a half gallon of a cheaper brand of vanilla. “We should introduce him to my favorite library patron, the one who was looking for that big red book.” Chase's ill-humor vanished. “Good idea. Tooley can help him fill out a missing-book report.” They'd come to the beer cooler. Chase started to reach for a six-pack, then drew his hand back. “I keep forgetting there are teens in the house, and that we're supposed to set a good example for them.” “They've already seen you drink a glass of wine at my sister's house,” Leslie reminded him. But Chase had made up his mind. “I don't want beer or wine or hard liquor in the house. Jeremy doesn't need to see me drinking or smoking.” Startled, Leslie gave him a hard stare. “But you don't smoke.” “I used to. You?” “No.” She smiled ruefully. “That was one youthful folly I skipped.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but 143


Tooley turned into the far end of their aisle. “That's everything on my list,” she said instead, and led the way to the nearest checkout. **** Delicious aromas filled the kitchen as Leslie taught Calico the intricacies of baking apple pies with fruit from their own trees. “Just a dash of cinnamon,” she instructed, tapping it in on top of the filling. Good thing Chase wasn't there, she thought. He couldn't seem to stop himself from wiping up every spill the moment it happened. She preferred to wait until she was through making a mess, then clean up everything at once. That chore was much easier now that the new stove and refrigerator had been installed and the old countertops replaced. “Jeremy will be in pig heaven when he gets a load of this,” Calico said. “Mom never made pies or cakes for us the way you do.” “The way to a man's heart is through his stomach,” Leslie quoted, more to cover a momentary awkwardness than to convey any particular message. Gwen still refused to authorize a visit from her children. “Is that true?” Calico asked. “True? Yes. Politically correct? No way.” She returned the cinnamon to one of the cabinets she'd painted light blue, covering over the sickly yellow that had been there. When she had time, she meant to tackle the walls, replacing a mostly brown-and-beige pattern of woodstoves and antique kitchen implements with something lighter and brighter, as well as more modern. 144


“Aunt Leslie?” Something in the girl's tone warned Leslie that Calico had serious matters on her mind. “I've met this boy.” Calico sighed as only a teenage girl could—deeply, passionately, completely self-absorbed. “I really like him a lot, but he doesn't know I'm alive.” “What's he interested in?” “He's on the football team. If I was a cheerleader, he'd notice me.” “Too obvious. He must do something else.” “Well, someone said he'd be a shoo-in for the lead in the spring musical.” “There's your answer, then. You try out too.” “I can't sing,” Calico lamented. “Okay, then. Try out as a dancer. Or volunteer to work on stage crew. Or better yet, offer to do makeup for the production.” Calico lit up, seeing the possibilities. “I could touch his face!” “Indeed you could.” But Leslie was belatedly remembering her own high-school days. What if Calico had more than a mere crush on this boy? “When I was your age,” she said, “I was very, very timid. The first time a boy paid attention to me, I was sure I was in love. I wouldn't listen to anyone about him. The day I turned eighteen, we eloped.” “Cool!” “Not really. We didn't have a clue what marriage was supposed to be about. And we hadn't taken the time to figure out how we were going to support ourselves, or what we 145


wanted in the future. Turned out we wanted two entirely different things.” Victor had wanted a good time. She'd wanted security. And unconditional love. “You broke up?” Fascinated, Calico gave Leslie her full attention. “Not right away.” An indicator light went off on the oven, and she busied herself inserting the pie. “That would have been smarter than what we did. We stuck together for almost a year. I kept telling myself I could make things work. All I succeeded in doing was making myself more and more emotionally dependent on him, even though he wasn't really the dependable sort. When he finally insisted we call it quits, I lost every bit of the self-confidence I'd gained by defying my parents to marry him.” Ironically, the only thing she'd been sure of was that she wanted to keep Vic's last name. For all her flaws, Leslie Baynton had had more gumption than Leslie Marsdon. “You make it sound like falling in love is a bad thing,” Calico said. “It can be.” Leslie rubbed industriously at a gob of gluey dough stuck to her new countertop. “Love can also be wonderful, but it's vastly overrated as the sole basis for happiness. If your heart leads you to override your head, that can be dangerous.” While Calico considered Leslie's words, Leslie thought about Chase, reminding herself that theirs was an ideal marriage, completely practical. She had all the pluses of marriage and none of the minuses. Even the sex was far better than what she'd experienced in her first marriage. This 146


time, though, she wouldn't make the mistake of confusing passion with love. Falling in love made a person far too vulnerable. If she expected too much, she risked disappointment. Disillusionment. Maybe even a broken heart. Leslie scrubbed harder. **** Chase sank into the desk chair in his office. No one had seen him slowly back away from the open door leading from the kitchen into the front hall. No one knew he'd overheard Leslie's words. Love is vastly overrated as the sole basis for happiness. Did she really mean that? He'd thought he and Leslie were edging toward a loving, fulfilling relationship. Now he wasn't so sure. He couldn't argue with her advice to Calico. His niece was too young to get involved with just one boy. But Leslie had called love “dangerous.” Was that what she really believed? When they'd married, he'd made his vows for life. He'd never been married before and never planned to wed again. But Leslie had been. She'd broken that first set of vows, even though she'd claimed to love her husband. Did that mean she was less committed to making this marriage work than he was? Chase hadn't had a whole lot of experience with being in love. The only time he'd thought he was had been a long time ago with a woman who'd taken his heart and stomped on it. But he'd married Leslie with every expectation that they'd learn to love each other. 147


These last weeks, he'd grown more comfortable with Leslie than he'd ever dreamed was possible with a woman. They didn't always agree on everything, but the differences just added spice to the relationship. And nothing was missing in the way they responded to each other in bed. Was he in love with his wife? Was that what love was? Being comfortable? Sharing good sex? Planning a future? And being scared she didn't feel the same things? A blackness settled over him when he thought that she might never love him in return. Worse, what if she wasn't in this marriage for the long haul? They'd decided the kids would need both of them for four years, the four years until Calico graduated from high school, and he was pretty sure she'd stay that long. Hell, the better part of the reason she'd agreed to marry him was to acquire a ready-made family. But after that, what? Leslie would have another master's degree by then. She had that damned trust fund to support her. She didn't need him at all. Only if she'd learned to love him in the interim could he feel confident that she'd stay. And if she wasn't already falling in love with him—and from what he'd overheard it seemed that she was not—what hope did he have that she ever would? Briefly, he considered telling her what he was feeling, but he quickly discarded that plan. He didn't want her to say the words because she felt sorry for him, or obligated because he'd said them first. He'd heard false words of love once before ... when Gwen told him she'd love him forever. 148


Six months later she'd married his brother. **** “Look,” Leslie whispered, signaling Chase to join her at the door to the living room. There, sprawled on the floor, was Jeremy, playing with Dewey with a ball of yarn. Unaware he was being watched, the boy showed a gentleness with the animal that he kept well hidden at other times. He had more of his uncle in him than she'd realized, Leslie thought. Quietly, she and Chase retreated into the dining room and from there into the kitchen, where she sat at the table while he poured them each another cup of coffee. It was late morning on a Saturday in mid-October. “I've got to tell you I'm relieved,” Chase admitted. “He had me worried, always throwing things at Dewey the way he does.” “Me too. But now I realize he never hits him.” Calico had been right. Jeremy thought Dewey was “cool.” Chase shook his head, absently reaching up to tug on his mustache. “Wish I could get a handle on that kid. I keep telling myself he's no worse than any other teenager, but he sure knows how to hit all my hot buttons.” Unfortunately, Leslie knew that to be true. With a touch of her hand on his arm, she conveyed her support and sympathy. “I can't seem to carry on a conversation with him without ending up issuing edicts,” Chase said. “You like rules. That's not necessarily a bad thing.” “It is to a fifteen-year-old boy.” 149


“At least you're talking to each other.” “Shouting at each other, you mean. Look at last night. I blew up when I caught him smoking. Yelled. Forbade him to ever do such a stupid thing again. And I knew, even as I was shouting, that I was only making matters worse. Of course Jeremy is going to sneak off and smoke now. Defiance adds to the thrill of doing something illicit.” “We need to do more things together as a family,” Leslie said. On too many evenings they all holed up in their separate compartments after supper. She and Chase and Jeremy each had work to do on a computer, so off they went to office or bedroom. Calico kept to herself, too, supposedly doing homework. Leslie suspected she really spent most of her time daydreaming, when she wasn't in front of her mirror dressed in her mother's much-too-mature dresses and experimenting with makeup. “You're right,” Chase agreed, but she sensed his reluctance. She hoped that only meant he'd rather be spending his time alone with her. “So what can we all do together?” “Jeremy and Calico are still asking about a visit to their mother.” “Forget it. Even if Gwen would allow it, it wouldn't exactly be a fun trip. And there's no reason you'd need to go along. Believe me, you don't want to meet her.” There was so much bitterness in his words that Leslie dropped the subject. She had a feeling he was right. She had seen Gwen's photograph, in Calico's room. 150


The woman was beautiful, but she had the coldest eyes Leslie had ever encountered. “How about a movie, then? If we can all agree on one to see.” “Done.” Chase dug the morning newspaper out of the recycling bin. A moment later he started to chuckle. “What's so funny?” she asked. “New movie called Under Lock and Key.” “That's funny?” “There are some types of evidence, evidence found at crime scenes, that have to be kept cold until they can be taken to a lab,” he explained. “And any type of evidence has to be kept under lock and key at all times. In the old days that was sometimes a tricky requirement for rural patrol officers who only had their own refrigerators for storage. Since they knew that somewhere down the line they might have to swear in court that the evidence had been handled and stored properly, they put a padlock with the key in it on top of the refrigerator whenever they had evidence in there. That way they could truthfully testify that everything had been kept under lock and key.” “Loses something in the translation,” Leslie said. Chase's sense of humor had been one of the things she'd enjoyed most during their long electronic correspondence, but lately she'd begun to realize she'd seen only one side of it. There was a darker aspect, usually to do with police work. She ignored the flicker of unease this observation caused and concentrated on selecting a film to see. 151


By the time Chase left to run some errands, Leslie was feeling optimistic about the evening ahead. She went out herself that afternoon, to the library, returning several hours later. She came upon Jeremy in the living room, crouched over the end table that held the telephone. As he was punching buttons she at first thought he was making a call. Then she realized he was erasing phone messages. When he also deleted the caller ID readings, she cleared her throat. Either surprise or guilt made him jump. “Anything interesting?” she asked. His usual scowl firmly in place, Jeremy shrugged. “All ‘unknown name.’ Hang-ups. Probably salesmen.” Leslie didn't think any more about their exchange until later that afternoon when she took a call from Penny Lassiter. “Is Chase okay?” the other woman asked. “He hasn't returned any of my calls.” Penny went on to explain that she'd already left three messages on their machine that day. “Our answering machine appears to have a gremlin,” Leslie told her. “I'll make sure Chase calls you as soon as he comes home.” Silence hummed over the phone line. Leslie could all but feel Penny's hesitation before she spoke. “Is there some reason you don't want Chase talking to me? This isn't the first time he hasn't gotten messages I've left. If that's your doing, there's no need.” Leslie's hand clenched on the phone. “My doing? Why would I—” 152


“Oh, come on! It's a common cop-wife paranoia. Lots of you assume a female in uniform is out to collect trophies.” Had she been that transparent? Leslie felt awful. She really didn't believe any such thing. She trusted Chase completely. But there was someone else in the house upon whom she could not rely to tell the truth. “Jeremy's probably the one who erased your phone messages,” she said. But why would he deliberately try to cause trouble? Leslie supposed she'd have to have a talk with him. At the least she should let him know what she suspected. “How much has Chase told you about how he met my father?” Penny asked. The abrupt shift in conversation confused Leslie. “Your father? Penny, I don't understand what you're getting at.” “In other words, nothing. Okay. Here's the skinny. My dad was sheriff of this county when Chase was growing up. Chase was always in trouble, until Dad took him under his wing. For a while there, he spent more time at our house than he did at his own. A puzzle piece clicked into place. “Did he ever move in? Actually live with you?” “He slept over sometimes.” Leslie heard a smile in the other woman's voice. “We used to compete to see who could devour more waffles for breakfast.” Feeling like the worst kind of idiot, Leslie stumbled into an apology. “I thought ... something Jeremy said made me—” She broke off and cleared her throat. “I'm afraid I got the 153


mistaken impression that you and Chase lived together as adults. Stupid, I know, but—” “I do love Chase,” Penny said, interrupting the bumbling words. For a second Leslie stopped breathing. “Like a big brother,” Penny finished. “When we, ah, lived together, Chase was fifteen and I was nine.” She deserved the sarcasm she heard in Penny's voice. “Obviously, I should have asked Chase about his relationship with you instead of jumping to conclusions. I'm sorry. That was unjust of me.” “Yeah, you should have.” Penny sounded only grudgingly sympathetic. “I did go out with your husband once or twice after we grew up, but it was strictly platonic. If you've got to be jealous of someone,” she added in a grumble, “pick on Gwen.” “Gwen?” Leslie echoed, stunned. “Chase dated her before she hooked up with his brother. Really fell for her too. Then she dumped him and married Jake.” Long after Penny ended the conversation, Leslie was still replaying parts of it in her mind. Imagining cold-eyed Gwen as the love of Chase's life disturbed her, even though she was absolutely certain Chase no longer felt anything but contempt for Jeremy and Calico's mother. She wondered if she would ever understand the man she had married in such haste. **** 154


Chase came home to find Leslie sitting in the wing chair in the living room reading a book. Dewey slept on the sofa nearby. It should have been a tranquil scene, but as he paused in the doorway he sensed that something was offkilter. The words of an old Simon and Garfunkel song played in his mind, the one where the woman is reading Emily Dickinson but the man prefers Robert Frost, and communication between them dies a slow death. Leslie, he saw, was reading Barbara Michaels. Romantic suspense. Not his cup of tea. He preferred hard-boiled detective novels and police procedurals. They used to talk about books, he thought. There had been plenty they'd both liked. He cleared his throat. “Good story?” She looked up with a smile. “Fascinating. Did you ever hear of a cat's-eye gemstone? Seems they're good luck. I saw one in a jewelry store once, set in a beautiful ring.” He'd meant to get her a ring, Chase remembered. He'd decided that a diamond would be too ordinary for her, but he hadn't been able to decide what gem was appropriate. Now he made a mental note to find out more about these cat's-eye rings. Leslie studied Chase's expression, puzzled. She had no idea what he was thinking and she wondered again if she really knew him at all. It had been a hell of an afternoon. First Penny's call. Then she'd bearded Jeremy in his room, taking him to task about the phone messages. All she'd gotten for her trouble was an 155


outright lie. He claimed he'd never erased anything. Faced with such a blatant untruth, she'd retreated, unsure what to do next. Ratting on him to his uncle hadn't seemed a productive route to her. It still didn't. “It's nearly time for supper,” she said instead. She closed her book and stood. “I'll help,” he offered. That willingness to pitch in warmed her. She was smiling as she reached into a drawer for a paring knife. A moment later she cried out in surprise and pain. Chase could move faster than any man she'd ever met. Only seconds passed before he had her bleeding finger held under cold running water in the sink. “It doesn't look deep.” His breath lifted the hair near her ear. With his arms shadowing hers, he was very close, pressing against her back as he manipulated the faucets. “God, I hate to see you hurt. You ought to be more careful.” Irritation warred with the physical weakness she always felt when he was this near. His presence made her more wobbly-kneed than any loss of blood, but in this case the wound was his fault. “I wouldn't have cut myself if you'd warned me you'd sharpened the knives again,” she muttered. “Can't slice when they're dull,” he pointed out. “Exactly.” When he chuckled, she had to fight to control her temper. She'd never been like this before. Shyness and the fear of being thought foolish had always prevented her from snapping at people, no matter how annoying she'd found them. But since she'd been married to Chase, she seemed to have lost her ability to control her emotions. Stranger still, he 156


didn't seem to mind when she was occasionally sarcastic or when she fumed at him for something he'd done. Very gently, he removed her cut finger from the stream of water and dried it. He wasn't doing anything but putting on a bandage, yet erotic tremors were overpowering all other sensations. When he lifted her bandaged finger to his lips and kissed it better, she melted. “I've got another cure we'll try later,” he whispered. “For right now, you're on sick leave. Since you can't cook when you're so severely injured, we'll go out to dinner and then to that movie.” She yielded to his persuasion. Miraculously, the impulse to smack him for his penchant for overly sharp knives had vanished. She stared thoughtfully after him as he went to collect Jeremy and Calico. They might not have romantic love, but there was caring. And they'd never gone to bed angry with each other, which she'd always heard was the hallmark of a happy marriage. Leslie prayed that conventional wisdom was true. Whatever the ups and downs of being Mrs. Forster, she was certain of one thing. Her life would no longer be complete unless Chase was in it.

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Chapter Ten The final day of October was not a good one for Chase. Three solid hours of trying to track down a client accused of violating a restraining order had been followed by an unsuccessful effort to locate the officer who'd last arrested him but failed to send in a copy of his report. Chase came home hoping he could at least catch up on paperwork. When he arrived, the house seemed empty. All was quiet. Good. Five minutes later, just as he got settled at his desk, the CD player in the family room blasted the silence to bits. The partitions he had erected as walls in the basement were too thin to mute it by a single decibel. He started to yell, to tell Jeremy to turn it down or use earphones or go up to his own room, but just in time remembered that this was supposed to be Jeremy's house too. Chase could well remember how playing loud music had often been a release for him as a teenager. He also recalled how he'd felt toward his father when Harold Forster had ordered him to curb his enthusiasm and had followed that with a tirade against Pink Floyd or Arrowsmith. Opting for tolerance, Chase attempted to ignore the noise and focus on his reports. As a teen, he'd been able to do homework with the stereo blaring. As a dispatcher, he'd managed to block out all but the one transmission he'd needed to monitor. How hard could this be? A few minutes later his head was pounding and he was wondering how long that racket could continue without 158


deafening even Jeremy. Why wasn't Calico home? Where was Leslie? Finally there was no help for it. He was going to have to tell Jeremy to turn down the volume. Without yelling, he reminded himself as he stepped out of his office into the laundry room. But when he opened the door between the laundry room and the family room, he saw that Jeremy wasn't alone. He had a girl with him. Actually, under him. Sprawled full-length on the sofa, they were in the middle of a hot and heavy make-out session. Been there and done that too, Chase thought sourly. And been caught by his dad. For the first time he felt a smidgen of sympathy for his father. He cleared his throat. Loudly. No one heard him over the music. They didn't hear him cross the room to the CD player either. Only when he turned off the sound and sudden silence fell did the young culprits react to anything but each other. The back of the sofa now hid the girl from Chase's view. Just as well, since she'd appeared to have her blouse half off and her short skirt pushed up to her waist. “I want to talk to you after the young lady leaves,” he told a red-faced Jeremy as the boy staggered to his feet. Chase pretended to be fascinated by the collection of CDs to give them time to collect themselves. “I'll see you at the Halloween party,” he heard Jeremy say. The smack of a kiss was followed by the sound of light footsteps on the stairs. 159


Chase had forgotten it was Halloween. Both Jeremy and Calico were planning to go to a party at the high school. Which meant it would be quiet at home that evening. A good thing, he decided, since he had the beginnings of a killer headache. Once again, Chase cleared his throat. “About your behavior here this afternoon—” “You said we could have friends over.” The boy's stance was belligerent, legs wide spread, fists on hips. “Entertaining is one thing. Carrying on where anyone could walk in on you is not.” “I didn't know anyone was home.” “That's no excuse.” And this conversation wasn't going quite right. Had he just implied that if there had been no chance of anyone walking in, it would have been okay? He and Leslie had talked about relating to Jeremy and Calico through their own teenage experiences, but in practice this method was fraught with danger. Leslie might be able to share what she'd done when she was younger, but he was reluctant to give Jeremy any ideas the boy didn't already have on his own. “Sit down, Jeremy. There are a few things I need to say to you.” “Oh, great. Here it comes. More rules.” Shoulders slumping, he slouched over to a chair and flung himself into it. His face was fixed in his typical glum expression. “Not rules. Common sense.”

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“You going to tell me about how dangerous sex is? Or maybe how girls are all sweet and innocent? Well, that one isn't. She's the one who—” “Enough, Jeremy! I don't want the gory details. And I'm sure you think you already know all about protecting yourself and the young lady. But you're fifteen years old. Will you give me credit for having a little more experience?” “You going to tell me I should save myself for marriage?” “You going to stop smart-mouthing me for a minute? Rule One is don't kiss and tell. Rule Two is don't kiss at all if you don't feel something besides overactive hormones. Rule Three—” He broke off, sighed, and accepted the inevitable. “There's a box of condoms in my dresser drawer. Left over from before my marriage. They're yours. I'd rather you didn't need a single one for years yet, but if you do, for God's sake use it.” He couldn't tell which of them was more embarrassed. Jeremy seemed extremely interested in his shirttail, then bolted, heading up the stairs as if the devil himself were after him. Chase realized he was tugging on his mustache and abruptly brought both arms down to his sides. A peaceful, quiet evening was sounding better all the time, but shortly after he went upstairs, the doorbell rang. Leslie dashed out into the hall carrying a huge bowl overflowing with miniature candy bars and packages of gum. More astonishing still, she was wearing some kind of long, flowered skirt and a peasant blouse and big hoop earrings. And she was barefoot. “What are you supposed to be?” 161


“A gypsy.” The bell chimed again. Eyes laughing, she tried to dart past him. “Excuse me. Got to get that.” He caught her arm, forcing her to stumble to a halt. “Wait a minute. You don't know who's out there.” A puzzled expression replaced the joyful one. “Not by name, no. But I'm willing to bet they're children in costumes and that they're all carrying great big bags. It is Halloween, you know.” “There aren't any families with young children in this neighborhood.” Leslie stared at him, eyes owlish behind the glasses. “When I was a child, we roamed all over town.” Was she deliberately being obtuse? Chase pressed the fingers of his free hand to the bridge of his nose, hoping to lessen the throbbing in his head long enough to talk sense into his wife. He was peripherally aware that Calico was on the stairs and that Jeremy lounged in the door to the living room, watching them. “You're all grown up now,” he said stiffly. “And in my house we don't open the door to strangers.” "Your house?” “Sorry. Our house.” “Chase, you're being paranoid.” She broke free of his grasp and went to peer through one of the small windows to the side of the door. Over her shoulder, he could make out three disappointed youngsters just turning away in the gathering dusk. He felt no remorse. Better safe than sorry. 162


“Word is going to get around that the grinch lives here,” Leslie muttered. “We're going to end up getting eggs thrown at our front porch.” “Then I'll clean up the mess in the morning. Or Jeremy will. If we turn off all the lights, they'll think we've gone out for the evening and leave us alone.” “I suppose you'd turn Santa Claus away on Christmas Eve too.” “Damn straight.” He'd meant that as a joke. Sort of. Leslie didn't take it that way. He'd never seen her completely lose her temper before, and had never expected it to happen over such a little thing, but there was no mistaking the signs. Her eyes flashed. Her lips thinned. Her glasses all but vibrated off the end of her nose. Thrusting the overflowing bowl into his hands, she turned her back on him, heading for the stairs. “Supper's in the oven,” she said as she began to climb. “I have a headache and I'm going to go lie down for a bit.” “I don't think she's happy with you,” Calico said as they heard the bedroom door shut. “Don't you have a party to go to? Both of you?” They took the hint, but once they were gone, Chase kicked himself. This was not the way things were supposed to go. How had he ended up alienating everyone in the family when he was only trying to look out for their well-being? He wasn't used to having to explain himself, and he didn't feel up to trying to pacify Leslie. Not tonight. Not when he 163


had a headache. A real headache. Not the kind she'd obviously just made up. Grumbling to himself, ignoring the doorbell when it rang periodically throughout the next hour, Chase ate a solitary meal, cleaned up, then checked to make sure all the doors and windows were locked. That done, he retreated to the basement. He didn't plan to spend the night on the sofa. He intended to rest his eyes for a bit and let the aspirin he'd taken work on his headache. When he felt better, he meant to see what he could do about patching things up with his wife. **** Still half-asleep, Leslie skimmed one hand across the bed, searching in vain for the warm, solid shape that should have been lying next to her. When she found nothing, she froze, remembering. An awful, sinking sensation in her stomach worsened when she realized he'd stayed away all night. When she'd thrown herself into bed, alone, she'd had thoughts of rebuffing him if he came crawling. Of telling him he couldn't settle everything with sex. But he hadn't shown up at all. He was being considerate, she told herself. She'd said she had a headache. He was letting her rest. Or he was furious with her and staying away because he was angry. Either way, they shouldn't have slept apart. They should have discussed the reason for their disagreement. Why had she overreacted? Leslie remembered all too well, but his high-handed behavior was no excuse for her own snit. He could hardly be expected to make her understand why he 164


issued orders if she didn't give him a chance to explain. And she needed to impress on him the fact that he could not expect blind obedience from his wife. Most of the time he didn't, which was what gave her hope they could work through this thorny patch. Leslie flung back the covers and hopped out of bed, eager to set things right between them. But by the time she got downstairs, Chase had already gone out. The note on the refrigerator said only that he'd be back later. He was home when she returned from the grocery store that afternoon. She spotted him through the open door of his office as she came into the laundry room carrying fresh supplies of detergent, fabric softener, and bleach. He was just fastening the last Velcro strap on a Kevlar vest. The heavy bottles landed atop the washing machine with a thump. One tipped over, then rolled off the edge to land on the table next to it. Leslie barely noticed. Her gaze was fixed on Chase as he shrugged into a long-sleeved cotton shirt and buttoned it over the protective body armor. Blinking hard, she approached him slowly, almost cautiously. “Chase? Is that a bulletproof vest?” “Bullet-resistant.” The implication made her stomach lurch. “Why are you wearing it?” “Just a precaution. Nothing to worry about.” He unlocked one drawer of his desk, extracted a small box from which he took a gun in a holster, and attached that to his belt. 165


At Leslie's sharply indrawn breath, he swore. “Damn. I'd hoped you wouldn't get home before I left. I wanted to have this business wrapped up before you knew a thing about it. Another thirty seconds and I'd have escaped without you noticing the bulge.” His expression was bleak. Leslie swallowed hard. “Chase, what's going on?” “I have to apprehend someone who might not want to go back to jail.” Someone dangerous, she thought. Her gaze returned to the line of the vest under his shirt. “That only goes down to your belly button,” she said, pointing. “Shouldn't it be longer?” “You're thinking of bomb vests.” She felt herself blanch. “I couldn't sit comfortably if it was longer,” he said calmly. “The vest would be pushed up to my chin.” “There's so much of you exposed,” she whispered. “No protection for your neck or head. Nothing ... there.” She gestured toward his private parts. “For what it's worth, most people aim for the center mass.” “Oh, God!” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the horrifying image of bullets impacting against Chase's chest. His hands came down on her shoulders, half caress, half shake. Her lashes lifted and she stared at his anguished expression.

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“Damn, Leslie. I'm just making things worse trying to explain. I wish I had time to sit you down and talk about this but I don't.” Nothing he could say in the few minutes before he had to leave could possibly allay her fears, but Leslie couldn't help wishing he'd find some words of reassurance, of love, to sustain her. “The vest is just a precaution,” he said instead, repeating what he'd told her earlier. “Remember that story I told you about having my windshield shot out? Statistically, it's very good that that happened. Given the odds of a lawenforcement officer in the state of Maine being shot at, I'm off the hook. I've led a charmed existence ever since that incident because it's so unlikely that I'll be shot at more than once in my lifetime.” He banished whatever comfort she might have found in his words by removing his gun from its holster and checking to make sure the clip was loaded. “Has that ... thing been in the house all along?” Her voice was no louder than a whisper. The presence of a weapon so close to the center of their lives seemed to make everything more frightening. “Yes. And yes, I keep it loaded. An unloaded gun is no good to anyone.” Chase stroked her hair with one hand. The other cupped her chin, holding her head so that she had to continue meeting his eyes. “If someone has one, he should know how to use it and be prepared to. Fact of life.”

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“For you, maybe.” She jerked away from him. “This is all new to me.” Her hands had begun to shake. She clenched them into fists to try to hide the trembling. “Will it help if I tell you I've never shot anything but a target? I never got the chance to fire back the night I was almost hit. I was too busy trying to keep my vehicle on the road.” “That is not reassuring.” Who was this man? She wondered if he realized she was staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. “As for keeping a gun in the house,” he continued, either unaware of her expression or ignoring it, “it was under lock and key. Really under lock and key.” Irritated that he could try for humor in a situation like this, she took another step away from him. “I really don't find that funny. And if you're so sure the odds are in your favor, why even bother wearing that vest?” “Like I said, the vest is just a precaution.” He sounded impatient now. “Look, Leslie, I don't like frightening you. What hurts you hurts me. But there isn't anything that can make this kind of situation easier on a spouse.” “I don't want easy. I just want you to be safe.” “Now that I have a family to come back to, believe me, I'll be careful.” He checked everything—vest, gun, badge—one last time, then sent an exasperated look her way. “Penny told me once that there are only two kinds of cop wife. One type has a police scanner at the house and keeps it on all the time. She wants to know everything, as it's happening. The other type 168


doesn't want any details. Figures ignorance is bliss. If there's bad news, she'll find out soon enough. The best thing you can do for me, Leslie, is decide which type you want to be.” “No wonder the divorce statistics are so high among policemen,” she whispered, stricken. “I've got to go.” He cupped the back of her head with one hand and gave her a quick kiss. She tried to cling, even though she hated the feel of the Kevlar vest against her breasts, but he gently disengaged himself and left her with only a promise. “I'll be back as soon as I can.” **** Leslie was a nervous wreck by the time the evening news came on. How could she have let him go like that? Without telling him she loved him? She hadn't even told him she was sorry about the night before, when for the first time in their marriage, they'd slept apart. Fear seared through her at the televised report of shots being fired in Fallstown. Her heart stopped for a moment when the newsman announced one officer had been hit. He didn't give a name. Nor did he say much about the extent of the injury, except to mention it was not life threatening. That vague description left a lot of worrisome ground uncovered. Only when Leslie actually saw Chase on TV, leading a handcuffed prisoner to a waiting police car, did her panic begin to recede. It was replaced by temper. Frustrated, furious anger. Just a precaution? Like hell! The burning rage finally banished all the frightening images from her mind, but one 169


overriding certainty remained: Chase could get killed in this job. She could lose him in an instant. That wasn't just a vague worry now. It was a very real possibility. No matter what he'd said, he wasn't invincible. And he wasn't statistically safe from bullets, either. She didn't even want to consider some of the other ways a criminal might get at him. Chase must have arrested hundreds of felons during his years as a deputy. Some must bear a grudge. And obviously not everyone on his caseload was happy with him, either. A lump formed in Leslie's throat. He'd led her to believe his present occupation was safe, except for the occasional dog bite. He'd lied to her. Hysteria threatened as another news report about the shooting came on. It was a fast-breaking story, the newscaster said, but he didn't seem to have much more information. Leslie got a grip on herself and listened hard. The station was not releasing the name of the wounded officer, but they gave the identity of the shooter and detailed some of his previous run-ins with the law. It didn't take long to connect the dots. The man Chase had just arrested, the man who'd shot at him that night, was the same client who had prompted that phone call back in August, the one that had disrupted their very first evening together as a family. So there was another thing to worry about, she thought glumly. These situations could apparently drag on and on. For all she knew, this criminal could be free on bail in a day or two. Sometimes judges did go against Chase's 170


recommendations. He'd shared that much of his job frustration with her. What if the man got out? What if he came after Chase? What if all of them became targets? Abruptly, Leslie understood her husband's rules a little better. Why they didn't have their mail delivered to the house, for example, but instead picked it up at a post-office box. Why he'd said he wouldn't even open his door to a man in a Santa suit on Christmas Eve. Where she'd be sure the costumed visitor was a friend playing a joke, he'd assume the person behind the white beard had some illicit purpose in mind. Screening calls made a lot more sense to her now too. She stared at the phone. Surely Chase would call her. He must know how worried she'd be. But the instrument remained stubbornly silent. Leslie was alone with her thoughts. Calico and Jeremy both had gone to activities that would run over into the late evening. Neither had yet come home. Neither knew a thing about their uncle's danger. Would she have shared her fears with them if they had been home? That question gave her pause. Here she was, furious with Chase because he'd intended to go off into danger without telling her, and she'd likely do exactly the same thing to spare Jeremy and Calico. Which choice would a good mother make? That she didn't know had her wondering if she was a good mother. The ringing of the doorbell elicited a gasp. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she'd lost track of time. 171


Some absurd situation comedy now played on the television screen. She clicked off the small set on the kitchen counter and walked into the hall. Cautious for once, she peeked through the glass panel before she opened the door. The sight of a uniform on the other side had her heart back in her throat. They sent an officer to a cop's wife with bad news. Even with as little experience as she'd had, Leslie knew that much. She fumbled with the locks, frantic and frightened in spite of having just seen Chase on TV. “Don't panic,” Penny Lassiter said as she entered the house. “He's fine.” She gave Leslie one penetrating glance, grabbed her by the elbow, and propelled her back into the kitchen. “Sit,” she ordered. “I'll make coffee.” By the time Penny had prepared two steaming mugs, Leslie had her wits about her again. “I'm sorry. I've been a little jumpy this evening.” Penny handed her one of the coffees. “That's why I'm here. Chase asked me to stop by on my way home and let you know he was all right. He'll be here as soon as he can.” “He wasn't hurt?” “No.” “How is the officer who was shot?” Penny's wide smile confused her. “This is funny?” “Yeah. Kind of. He got shot in the butt.” Leslie sighed. “I guess I'll never understand cop humor.”

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“It isn't just cops.” Penny sounded defensive. “Doctors laugh at the same things. Maybe that seems tasteless to outsiders, but it's a way for us to vent.” “Explain to me what could possibly be amusing about this officer getting shot in the, er, posterior.” “It was Tooley who got winged. Heard of him?” The state trooper from the grocery store. The one who'd hassled Chase for being out of uniform. Suddenly Leslie couldn't contain a giggle. “It's not funny,” she protested. “No. It's hilarious.” Penny took a sip of coffee and smiled in satisfaction. “He's never going to live it down.” Whatever its source, no matter how inappropriate or politically incorrect it might be, laughter bubbled up inside Leslie. With relief, she let it out, and found the experience both cleansing and cathartic. A moment later Penny joined in. By the time they regained their composure, a tenuous but very real bond had formed between them. Leslie swallowed a long, bracing gulp of coffee. “Are there really only two types of cop wife?” she asked. “I wouldn't know for sure,” Penny admitted, “since I've never been one. But my mother was married to a cop and I've observed a lot of officers’ wives over the years. That's the way it's always seemed to me.” “I don't think I want to know everything that's going on, but I do wish Chase would talk to me more than he does. Even though his cases are confidential, there must be some aspects he can share.” “Maybe he doesn't want you to be tainted by the kinds of things he has to deal with. A lot of it isn't very pleasant, you 173


know.” She gave a dry laugh. “Hell, most of it isn't nice at all.” “But to keep it all inside ... that can't be healthy.” He didn't trust her. She wasn't sure she could ever learn to deal with that. She didn't want him to break confidences, but what of his hopes, his frustrations, his dreams? His danger. “I brought you something,” Penny said. She extracted a rather dog-eared piece of stationery from the breast pocket of her uniform. “I stopped by my mom's place on the way here. This is something she was given back when my father was sheriff. I always thought it was kind of sappy, but it might help.” She shoved it into Leslie's hand, looking embarrassed. Above the lines typed on the page were the words: The Law-Enforcement Officer's Wife's Prayer. “Here's the thing, Leslie,” Penny said. “I care about Chase. And you make him happy. If there's ever anything you need, anything I can do for you, just let me know. Okay?” She sounded all choked up, and Leslie wondered if she was going to cry. That misconception did not last long. “Damn.” Penny swore and abruptly stood. “Allergy pill's wearing off. I've got to get out of here. But I mean it. If you ever need to talk to someone, come talk.” A resounding sneeze made the dishes in the cupboard rattle. Without another word, Penny fled. Leslie waited to read the short piece until she'd locked up and made herself a cup of herbal tea to counteract the caffeine. The verse was kind of sappy, but contained in those lines was some good advice. She read the most significant part again: When a day at work has robbed him emotionally, 174


let me have the patience to be quietly understanding until, together, we can share his problems and likewise, mine. She was still contemplating that bit of wisdom and how to implement it when Chase returned a few hours later. Jeremy and Calico were already home and in bed. “I saw you on television,” she said. He looked done in. “I'm sorry I had to put you through that. It doesn't happen often. I should have had the dispatcher call you right away to let you know I was okay. I'm not used to having someone at home to worry about me. I never even thought of it until I got to the jail and saw Penny leaving.” She went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She tried not to react when her ribs connected with the bottom edge of the vest he still wore. It didn't protect his butt, either. “You must be exhausted,” she whispered. It was over. He was safe. There was no point in having hysterics now. Or in rehashing the stupid way they'd both behaved the night before. With a delicate touch he wiped away tears she hadn't realized she was shedding. “Mostly I think I'm hungry.” “I'll fix you something to eat.” She started to pull away. “Not for food.” His voice was husky, compelling. The kiss that followed thrilled her to her toes, given intensity by the danger he'd faced and the fears she'd endured while waiting for him to come home. She told herself that everything was going to be fine between them from now on. So what if Chase didn't love her? She'd tried a marriage based solely on love and it hadn't worked. This was better. Wasn't it? 175


“Ah, Leslie. You are so perfect for me.” To her unparalleled delight, he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. But when they were in their room, Leslie's resolve slipped a little. She knew the truth now. She loved Chase Forster. And she wanted more than anything to hear him tell her he loved her. Every time she began to hope he might admit tender feelings toward her, he ended up expressing physical desire instead. Once again that night, he seemed intent on speaking to her only with his touch. There was no question that they had a great sex life, but was it enough? She protested feebly as he laid her on the bed. She wanted to tell him how she felt. But he kissed her again, and by the time he let her take another breath, she could no longer remember what was so important that they talk about it now. Truth be told, she was no longer coherent enough to speak. Their lovemaking was intense in the aftermath of his safe return. Only much later did her sense that something was missing in their marriage return to haunt her.

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Chapter Eleven The day after the shoot-out, Chase sat at the dinner table and regarded his family with a sense of deep satisfaction. He and Leslie hadn't really talked about events of the last two evenings, but they had promised each other never to go to bed angry again. He'd realized quickly enough that her reaction to seeing him in the Kevlar vest was a sign she cared deeply about him. That filled him with hope for the future. She might not love him yet, but in time... Meanwhile he'd tried to show her how he felt last night. If the sated smile she'd been wearing when they woke that morning was anything to go by, he'd succeeded. “Thanksgiving is less than a month away,” Leslie announced as she served up another of her homemade apple pies. “Christmas isn't far off, either.” Chase searched the three faces at the supper table. Neither Jeremy nor Calico reacted, but Leslie's expression was both hopeful and wary. There were times, like this one, when her emotions were transparent. He found himself wishing she was always this easy to read. Sometimes, in spite of the everincreasing closeness between them, he couldn't guess what she was thinking at all. “What do you want to do Thanksgiving weekend?” he asked. They'd all have four days off. They could do almost anything ... as long as he “forgot” his beeper and left it buried at the bottom of his sock drawer. 177


“Well, you've never met my nephew, Tyler, and holidays are times when family should be together.” All appetite gone, he pushed his plate away. “Leslie, there's something you should know about law enforcement and holidays. Christmas is probably the worst time of year. Thanksgiving isn't far behind. All that pressure to play happy families ... well, sometimes it backfires.” Very few holidays passed without at least one murder, usually committed by the victim's nearest and dearest. The last place he wanted to go eat turkey was Carole's house. He'd probably end up killing her himself. “Have you spoken to your sister lately?” he asked. “No, but what better reason than this to call her? I've had enough of being estranged from my family.” “At least you still see Beth.” For his money, she was the only one of the Salisburys worth cultivating. “Not since that dinner party.” “I could have sworn... “What?” Leslie looked perplexed. “I must have been mistaken. I thought I caught a glimpse of Beth driving away from this area as I was coming home the other day. I just assumed she'd been here to visit.” “Maybe she stopped by and no one was home.” Leslie sounded wistful. It really hit Chase then. Leslie hadn't seen anyone in her family since that disastrous Sunday dinner. Until this moment he hadn't given the rift much thought. But what had his wife been going through? He knew how much she loved Beth and Tyler. 178


“I suppose Thanksgiving is as good a time as any for making peace,” he said, resigned. “Jeremy, do you have Beth's e-mail address? That might be a good place to start.” Jeremy looked startled. Then his gaze shifted away, as if he was reluctant to meet Chase's eyes. “She hasn't got one,” he mumbled. Chase stared at his nephew. The boy was lying. He tried to tell himself teenage boys always looked that way, just as they automatically responded with “I didn't do nothing!” the moment any adult spoke to them. He didn't believe the rationalization. “How do you know Beth doesn't have an e-mail address?” Leslie apparently accepted Jeremy's statement at face value. She sounded curious but not at all suspicious. “She told me so the day we were at your sister's place. The old bat won't allow her little innocent to log on to the big bad Internet. She bought Beth this big old expensive computer, but that's just to do schoolwork on. Beth said her mother is shocked"—he gave the word the exact intonation Carole would have—"that her sister met a man on-line.” “Well, that's typical Carole.” Leslie managed a small, humorless laugh. “But she's still family. If you three can stand spending a little more time with her, I'd like to try again. Maybe we could invite them here for Thanksgiving. Would that make things easier?” No one looked enthusiastic. “I vote we ask,” Chase said. “Democracy in action here. Give me a show of hands.”

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Calico added her support. Jeremy scowled more fiercely than before. “Does this mean we get to vote on other things?” he wanted to know. “And does the majority always rule?” “What is it you want to do?” Chase regarded his nephew warily. “Visit my mother.” With a nervous jab of one finger, Leslie pushed her glasses back up her nose and sighed softly. “I don't think you should count on being able to do that, Jeremy.” “So much for democracy! Your family is okay, but mine isn't. Why not? Why are you trying to keep us away from her?” “Jeremy! That's enough!” Chase jerked his napkin off his lap, flung it down on the table, and stood. “You can't keep us apart. She's our mother! Tell them, Cal.” But Jeremy's sister kept her eyes on her plate and refused to cooperate. Chase studied her bent head, more worried about his niece than he liked to admit. Calico was still clinging to Gwen's possessions. He'd been sure that once she had only Leslie's influence in her life, she'd stop fretting about not having Gwen around. He'd hoped, in time, she'd work out for herself that she was happier here with them. “Why can't we go visit Mom?” Jeremy demanded. The hard stare Chase was getting from Leslie decided him. This was only going to drag on if he didn't confess. “Your mother refuses to allow any of us to visit.” “Bull. You're making that up.” 180


“Jeremy...” At a loss, Chase tugged on his mustache and glanced beseechingly at Leslie. “Do you really want to force her to see you?” Leslie asked quietly. “She wants us to come,” Jeremy insisted. “You're jealous. That's all it is. You don't want us to see our mother. You don't have kids of your own, so you're trying to take over someone else's!” A flash of pain briefly contorted Leslie's face. Chase circled the table to her side. He was bending down, searching for the right words to comfort her, when she whispered, “Wait.” At the other end of the table, Calico looked as if she was about to explode. “Stop it. Just stop it!” she hissed at her brother. “What?” All innocence, he shrugged with hands held high. Calico flew out of her chair, fists flailing. Too shocked to move, Chase watched her pummel her brother until they both toppled to the floor. Jeremy was bigger and stronger. It took him only a moment to subdue Calico physically. Panting, he sat on her, holding her fisted hands flat on either side of her head. But he could do nothing to stem her anger or halt the flow of accusatory words. “You jerk!” she shouted, squirming to try to throw him off her. “Mom told us before she got arrested that she didn't want us visiting! We're not going to see her again for years and years. I don't even think you want to see her.” The accusation, accompanied by a move that caught her brother off guard and almost allowed her to kick him where it hurt, propelled Chase into action. Grabbing Jeremy by the 181


scruff of the neck, he hauled him off his sister, swung him around, and pushed him up against the nearest wall. “Is that true?” he demanded. “We don't want to see her any more than she wants to see us,” Calico sobbed as Leslie helped her to her feet. Chase didn't know why he should be surprised. They had all but raised themselves. “Why?” He gave Jeremy a shake. “You've been lobbying to see Gwen from the first. Why push for something you knew wasn't going to happen?” When Jeremy didn't answer, there was only one conclusion Chase could draw. The boy had been out to cause trouble. Leslie tugged at his arm. “Let him go, Chase. You'll hurt him.” “I'd like to hurt him.” In fact, his grip on Jeremy's shirtfront was rigidly controlled. Jeremy couldn't break free, but he wasn't being damaged in any way. For all his quick temper, Chase had never hit a child or a woman, and even the few fights he'd had with men his own size had been years in the past. “Didn't want her to think she could just step in and play mama,” Jeremy muttered. “You call her Aunt Leslie and you show a little respect.” “Chase, I can fight my own battles.” Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. “This isn't a battle. And Jeremy's my responsibility.” Wrong thing to say. He knew it the moment the words were out. Abruptly, he released Jeremy and caught hold of his wife, pulling her over to the window alcove for a whispered word. “Dammit, Leslie. He's been lying to us.” 182


“Give him the benefit of the doubt, Chase. He's—” “He's been conning you. Don't you get it?” Just as Jake used to con people. Just as Chase himself had once delighted in trying to play his parents against each other. “That's no excuse for losing your temper,” she shot back, relinquishing a shaky grasp on her own. God, she was glorious when her eyes blazed behind her glasses! She drew in a calming breath and tried again to reason with him. “Think about what it must have been like for Jeremy. He had a new mother sprung on him when he expected only an uncle. I know he's lied. I'm not the easy mark you seem to think I am.” She told him quickly about the incident with the answering machine, but didn't give him a chance to express his outrage over it before she renewed her plea for clemency. “What else can that have been but a cry for help? When children are disruptive, it's because they want to be caught and stopped. Talk to him, Chase.” “What the hell am I supposed to say?” “That you care about him. We both know a lot of his behavior is bluster. You've seen the gentle way he has with Dewey, when he doesn't think anyone is looking. He needs you, Chase. All he's really been doing is trying to get your attention.” “This is the wrong way to go about it,” Chase grumbled. He stalked back to the waiting teenagers. “You're grounded,” he told his nephew. “For fighting at the table.” He shifted his 183


glare to Calico. “You too. Both of you go to your rooms and stay there.” Leslie waited only until Jeremy and Calico were out of earshot before she turned on him. “What on earth did that accomplish?” “I'll discuss things with him later. When I cool down.” The patent disbelief in her gaze made him wince. “And when I figure out what to say.” “When you do, try talking to him rather than at him. Meanwhile I'm going to have a little chat with Calico.” Deeply troubled, Chase watched her walk away from him and belatedly considered the implications of his niece's behavior. The attack on Jeremy revealed that Calico might have some problems of her own to resolve. Maybe more serious ones than they'd realized. Damn, he thought. How had his perfect dinnertime tableau deteriorated so completely? This wasn't the way he'd imagined “family life” would be. He hadn't a clue how to reach Jeremy or Calico, and even communication with Leslie seemed to be eluding him. He was really beginning to miss the long e-mails they'd once sent each other. There had been no barriers between them then. Neither had there been anything at stake more important than casual friendship. **** Ordinarily, Leslie avoided Jeremy's room. The decor depressed her, even though she suspected he'd chosen the posters, one of Marilyn Manson and the other showing an enlargement of a single marijuana leaf, solely to irritate the 184


adults in the household. She had a strong sense of how important his own space was to a teenage boy. That morning, however, she had a mission. Everyone was supposed to do his or her own laundry, but she knew Jeremy had fallen behind. Rather than let him continue to wear the same grubby clothes for another week, she was willing this once to collect the debris and throw it in the wash. Unlike his uncle, Jeremy was a slob. The floor was littered with discarded clothing. Stifling a sigh and balancing an empty laundry basket on one hip, Leslie blazed a trail, ending up in the corner where a computer held the place of honor on Jeremy's desk. She didn't mean to snoop. She had no intention of invading Jeremy's privacy. But when a quick search for stray socks took her past a printout propped up on the keyboard, awaiting an answer via e-mail, she could not help noticing the signature line. It said Pookey. Coincidence, she told herself. Yes, Pookey was what Carole had called Beth when she was younger. But less than a week ago, during that disastrous dinner, Jeremy had maintained that Beth couldn't send e-mail. Carole had forbidden her to use the Internet. But Jeremy had told other lies. And why, Leslie wondered, did she think anyone listened to what Carole said? Reluctantly, she reached for the piece of paper and read the entire message, then wished she hadn't. Beth, and she was now sure it was her Beth, made references to both Leslie and Chase—as Aunt Pollyanna and Uncle Grinch. 185


Leslie could well imagine Carole's reaction if she heard about this correspondence. She'd be certain Jeremy had lived up to her worst expectations, seducing an innocent over the Internet. Well, she wouldn't hear of it from any of the Forsters. Leslie finished collecting Jeremy's dirty clothes and left the e-mail where she'd found it. Less than an hour later Carole phoned. At first, Leslie thought her sister was calling with some new suggestion for Thanksgiving. They were still negotiating having dinner together. Instead Carole launched into a diatribe against bad influences and juvenile delinquents. Oh-oh, Leslie thought. But although she had a feeling she knew what had her sister so riled, she pretended innocence. “What on earth are you talking about?” “As if you didn't know!” Carole was all but shouting. “Just tell me one thing. Has that good-for-nothing nephew of Chase's been seeing my daughter?” “Of course not.” As far as Leslie knew, they'd only been in touch electronically. “I don't believe you!” Carole slammed the phone down hard enough to make Leslie's ears ring. She stared at the instrument, puzzled and concerned. What was going on here? Carole's anger seemed excessive. Was there more behind it than an innocent e-mail correspondence between two teenagers? **** Later that same day Fallstown's juvenile caseworker for the department of probation/parole appropriated an empty meeting room at the courthouse and gave Chase news he did 186


not want to hear. When he had all the facts, and had his temper under control, he headed home. With luck, he'd be able to talk to Jeremy before the cops did. “Family meeting,” he announced as he strode into the house. “Calico isn't home yet.” Leslie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a small towel. If he'd been in a mood to appreciate it, he'd have been amused at the way she fit the stereotype of a 1950s TV mom. “Just as well,” he said brusquely. “Is Jeremy in his room?” She nodded, frowning as she tossed the towel onto the hall table. “Chase, I found the oddest thing today.” He didn't let her finish, didn't even bother to pick up the damp towel, just grabbed her arm and towed her along after him as he took the stairs two at a time. He knocked briefly on Jeremy's door, before entering without an invitation. After what he'd been up to, Jeremy didn't deserve much in the way of courtesy. It was unlikely he'd hear less than a battering ram, anyway. As usual, music was blasting from a boom box. “Sit,” he said to Leslie. Jeremy was already seated at the computer. The scene of the crime, Chase thought with wry humor. “Turn that racket down,” he ordered. The volume decreased only a fraction. “What's going on, Chase?” Leslie perched on the edge of Jeremy's unmade bed, looking ill at ease and just a bit guilty. He wondered if, somehow, she already knew what had happened. “What's up, Unc?” Jeremy didn't look like a criminal in the making, but there was sass in the question. No respect for his 187


elders or the law. “You look like you just lost your last friend,” the boy added. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Jeremy, and listen up. I had a little chat with a juvenile caseworker today. She paid me the professional courtesy of warning me of the imminent arrest of a teenage hacker.” The sudden loss of color in Jeremy's face told him all he needed to know about the boy's involvement. He gentled his voice for Leslie's sake. This was going to shock her, but there was no way to soften the blow. “It's Beth, Leslie. She's been using the Internet illegally.” “Beth? My Beth?” “And Jeremy's Beth. Apparently. They were in it together. The police have probably been to Carole's house already.” “Beth's been arrested?” She looked and sounded dazed. “For what?” Jeremy demanded. “The charge is theft of services.” “That's stupid,” Jeremy protested. “What's she supposed to have stolen?” “It's what both of you have stolen,” Chase corrected him. “In spite of the fact that you have a perfectly good, legal email address of your own, you and Beth hacked into the files of an Internet provider and didn't pay for the time you spent on-line.” He glanced at Leslie, who still appeared to be having trouble taking in what he was saying. “Apparently, they managed to get to secure files and find passwords that would work.” Jeremy looked disgusted, not with what they'd done, but with the fact that they'd been found out. “Jeez,” he 188


complained. “It's no big deal. Why are you making a federal case out of it?” Chase clung to his temper. Barely. The boy's attitude was enough to try a saint's patience. “Because it is a federal case, Jeremy. The Internet crosses state lines. Only the fact that you and Beth are both under eighteen is likely to save you from a jail sentence.” “Beth wouldn't...” “Beth did, Leslie.” “But—” “And your charming sister is even now trying her best to shift all the blame to Jeremy.” They both looked at Chase's nephew. “Beth's the one who figured out how to do it,” he said, his voice rising. “If anyone ought to go to jail, it's her.” “Jeremy!” Leslie gasped. Chase couldn't tell what upset her more, the accusation against the two teenagers or Jeremy's attempt to shift the blame to Leslie's niece. “That day at her house, after dinner, she said she wished she could find a way onto the Internet and I told her people did it all the time.” The boy sounded boastful and scared all at once. “Next thing I knew, she'd figured out how.” “Does the concept of right and wrong mean anything to you?” Chase realized he was pacing and forced himself to stand still. He was facing a poster of a rock group, scantily and grotesquely clothed. He had no idea who they were. A new song blared out of the boom box. Chase had had enough. With a jerky movement, he punched the off button. 189


Leslie's murmur of protest sounded overloud in the suddenly silent room. “How could Beth do such a thing?” “She's no innocent.” Jeremy snorted. “I could tell you things that would curl your hair, Aunt Leslie.” Something in Jeremy's words, his attitude, rang a bell. Chase remembered another day, another time when music had been turned up loud and Jeremy had been breaking the rules. “My God,” he whispered. “That was Beth, wasn't it?” “Who was Beth?” Ignoring Leslie, Chase stared Jeremy down. The boy shrugged. “Yeah. That was Beth. We've been seeing each other since we met. I may not have a driver's license or a car, but she does.” “Chase? What are you talking about?” “My nephew and your niece. They've been dating.” “It was all Beth's idea.” Jeremy glared at Leslie as if she was at fault for introducing him to a bad influence. “I'm not taking the blame for something she did.” “It will be up to the law to decide who's guilty and who's innocent.” God, he sounded pompous, Chase thought. Jeremy's behavior brought out the worst in him. “Going to arrest me?” A cocky attitude wasn't quite enough to keep the fear out of Jeremy's eyes or the quaver out of his voice, but Chase was past being able to temper his response. “You break the law, you pay,” he said harshly. He'd lived by that credo for a long time. Silent as a wraith, Leslie moved past him out of the room. “I have to call my sister,” she murmured. 190


Torn, Chase looked after her. He knew he ought to sit down with Jeremy and impress on him just how serious his situation was. But he needed to talk to Leslie. To hold her. To be held in return. “I expect you to stay put,” he told his nephew. “An officer will be coming to talk to you soon. You'd better get your story straight, And it had better be the truth. There's nothing to be gained by lying, or by trying to shift blame.” “Hey, I wasn't planning to go anywhere.” The disrespect was back in Jeremy's voice. “I've got homework to do ... on my trusty computer.” Chase left before he could say anything else he'd regret. He went looking for Leslie and found her in their bedroom. She sat on the bed just staring at the phone on the nightstand, apparently too upset and confused to make the effort to dial Carole's number. Chase thought he had a good idea how she felt. Her niece had disappointed her, just as Jeremy had let him down.

191


Chapter Twelve Leslie heard Chase come in and close and lock the door. She shifted her gaze from the telephone to her hands, surprised to find them clenched in her lap. “Somehow I don't think this is going to help the cause of a reconciliation between our families.” “Probably not.” “What happens next? Legally, I mean.” From close behind her, his voice was soothing and the words conveyed better news than she'd feared she would hear. “Worst-case scenario is probably only something called informal adjustment. The juvenile caseworkers from my department handle everything. Beth and Jeremy will have to do community service, pay restitution to the company.” “No jail?” At last she looked directly at him. The anguish in his eyes reflected her own. “No sentence. Not unless someone makes, as Jeremy said, a federal case of it.” Chase sank down next to her on the bed and took her hand in his. “Leslie, there's more.” In succinct sentences, he told her what else he knew about Jeremy and Beth, all the details of the encounter he'd interrupted on Halloween. For a moment she closed her eyes. Too much was happening too fast. Just when she thought she'd adjusted to one new situation, another cropped up. And each one seemed to be more difficult to deal with than the last. She felt inadequate, as if she'd failed as a mother. 192


“What are we going to do?” she whispered. “For starters, get the kid a lawyer. He's going to have to go downtown, be questioned, be booked.” “No, Chase. Surely you can stop that.” “I don't want to stop it. Jeremy needs a good scare, and I can't think of a better way to give him one.” “But jail?” Horrifying images ran through her head. “There must be another way. Penny told me you were always in trouble when you were Jeremy's age. That her father took you under his wing. Doesn't that give you anything in common with Jeremy, something you can use to relate to him, to make him relate to you?” He went very still at her side. She felt him withdraw from her, both physically and emotionally. “I've got plenty in common with him, but I don't think true confessions are likely to do anything to improve this situation. “Why not? What did you do?” “It hardly matters now.” “It might.” She put one hand over his, but he did not turn it to capture her fingers as she'd hoped he would. He wouldn't even look at her. “You've got to get through to Jeremy, Chase. This could be the way to do it.” “No, it's not.” How could he be so sure of that? Suddenly it seemed vitally important that he share this part of his past with her, that he trust her that much. “I'm beginning to regret that I didn't run that background check before we got married,” she said. Startled, he turned and met her gaze. 193


“I want to know what happened to you because I want you to trust me enough to share something of yourself with me. And because it could help Jeremy. I know it could.” Irritation flashed in his eyes. “You want to know? Fine!” He pulled free of her light grip and stood, looking down at her. “I stole, Leslie. The first time was on a dare from my brother. A full set of hubcaps. Then I lifted two six-packs of beer from a convenience store. I got away with those early crimes too. I didn't get busted until I tried the big one.” He looked disgusted with himself. “I stole a car and got caught redhanded. That could have ruined my life. Should have.” He broke eye contact and began to pace. “Sheriff Lassiter could have pushed for prosecution. If I'd been convicted, I'd have been sent to the Youth Center until I turned eighteen.” “He gave you a break,” she said, proud that her voice sounded steady again. “Can't you handle Jeremy the same way?” “I am handling things the same way. It's called tough love. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. It may not here, but it's the only thing I can think of to try.” “You could talk to Jeremy.” “Not yet. He's not ready to listen. He needs to be scared straight. That's what they call it when they take youthful offenders into a prison and let them see what it's really like. Being booked, spending a night in jail, will cure him quicker than anything I could say.” “Or make him hate you.” Appalled, Leslie rose and went to his side. He allowed her to slip her arms around his waist, but 194


he remained rigid. He did not look at her, did not touch her. Reluctantly, she released him again and stood facing him, braced against the desk for badly needed support. “Chase, you can't do this to him.” “I'm doing it for him.” She saw the stubborn tilt to his jaw and changed tactics. “What if it were me? Would you let me be arrested if you had the power to stop it?” That startled him into meeting her eyes. “I can't imagine you breaking the law.” She drew herself up straighter. “Can't you? Well, let me tell you something, Chase Forster. You don't know everything about me. I'm going to tell you something I've never told another soul.” She took a deep breath. She'd have gone to her death without confessing this if she'd had the choice, but she had to convince Chase he was making a mistake. A young person's future was at stake. Jeremy was confused enough without thinking his uncle had betrayed him. “When I was thirteen, I started shoplifting. I don't know why. I had the money to buy what I wanted. I guess it was the thrill of getting away with something. Or maybe I wanted to be caught, to have the attention being bad would give me. Whatever the reason, I stole.” “Stole what?” “Books.” She blushed. Horse books. She'd been crazy about horses at that age. “That's not important. What is important is that my father found out about it. Probably someone in the store saw me and told him. Anyway, he took 195


me aside one day and talked to me very seriously about how wrong it was not to pay for things. Without ever accusing me of theft, he impressed on me how many people were hurt by the actions of a shoplifter. ‘I'm sure you'd never do something like that,’ he said to me. And I assured him that I never would. I lied to my father, Chase. But I never stole again.” “If you're asking me how I'd have handled it, I'd have done the same to you that I'm going to do to Jeremy.” “Jail wouldn't have made half the impression on me that my father's quiet talk did.” “I have to handle this my way, Leslie. He's my nephew.” Stung by his words, Leslie could not control her voice. It came out much more sharply than she intended. “I thought he was our nephew.” “He's my brother's son, and Gwen's. They never had the benefit of Lassiter's tough love when they were teenagers. I did. I know what I'm doing.” He was asking her to trust him, Leslie realized. It was difficult, but she tried. “What did Lassiter do?” “He kept me one night in jail. That was the old jail. It's gone now. A brick building attached to the official sheriff's residence, which was an ordinary clapboard house. In those days, the sheriff's wife had the responsibility of cooking for the prisoners.” Somehow his tone conveyed a picture of a homey place, at odds with the glimpses television news reports had given her of modern lockups. Had Chase taken that into consideration? she wondered. There wasn't going to be a Mrs. Lassiter around nowadays. 196


He shook his head, as if banishing irrelevant memories, and she wondered if that “official sheriff's residence” was the house he'd stayed at so often. Was he picturing the kitchen in which he and Penny had eaten waffles? Leslie didn't ask. He seemed about to open up to her at last. She didn't want to distract him. “The next day,” he continued, “after I'd had a chance to find out for myself what being locked up was like, Lassiter and I had a long, serious talk about my options. Then he talked the stolen car's owner into agreeing I'd just borrowed it.” From the front hall, they heard the sound of the doorbell. The police had arrived. “Where will they take him?” Leslie asked. She was not resigned to Jeremy's fate, but she understood that arguing with Chase would do no good. For the first time she saw a flicker of doubt in his expression. “Another county. There are no facilities for juveniles at our jail.” “No Mrs. Lassiter on the other side of a wall, cooking breakfast?” Her words came out with a trace of sarcasm, but she could not regret it. She had to try to get through Chase's thick skull. The grim set to his features only hardened. “Let me handle my nephew my way,” he warned as he unlocked their bedroom door. “You worry about your niece. If Carole hasn't already gotten Beth a lawyer, she should. Call her and tell her that. And tell her that if she has any sense, she'll let Beth 197


discover the consequences of breaking the law, just as Jeremy is about to.” Leslie was hurting for Beth, but what Chase was going through for Jeremy's sake affected her more deeply. She tried again to reason with him. “You can't do this to him. Not this way. You've got to tell him first that you'll help him through this. That you love him.” At her words he turned back, despairing eyes briefly meeting hers. “I'm no good at that.” At loving someone? Or at expressing his feelings? She went after him, clutching his arm. “You're the only one who can get through to him. It's your attention he wants.” “He committed a crime.” “He met a challenge. Okay, it broke the law. But he's fifteen years old and no one in his life has ever taken the trouble to teach him that difference between right and wrong you've been talking about. The lesson shouldn't come from the justice system. It needs to come from you.” “He won't listen to me. It's been like talking to a stone wall these last few days, ever since we found out he knew all along about Gwen's ban on visitors. Why should this time be any different?” He raked one hand through his hair. “Hell, I wouldn't have listened to me at his age, either.” “You listened to Penny's father.” “He was a stranger to me then. I wouldn't have listened to my dad. Or an uncle, if I'd had one.” Abruptly, Chase pulled free. Feeling increasingly helpless, Leslie followed. She could think of no way to prevent him from opening the front door to 198


the uniformed police officer on the other side. No way to convince him to compromise. **** Jeremy was very quiet when he returned home from his night in jail. Chase couldn't tell if he'd been convinced to mend his ways or was nursing a deep resentment. When he'd tried to talk to the boy on the drive home, he'd been met by stony silence. It still continued. Jeremy had yet to say a single word either to him or to Leslie. With Jeremy in his room and Calico keeping to hers, the tension in the house was almost palpable between husband and wife. Chase watched Leslie across the living room, pretending to read a textbook. She was waiting for him to say something, do something, and he didn't have a clue how to begin. He thought now that he should never have told her the truth about his own teenage years. Did she think he was a sham, a fraud, because he'd played the role of a tough lawand-order cop, and all the while had been hiding a past in which he himself had broken the law, had stolen, had committed worse crimes than those Jeremy now stood accused of? That seemed all too likely. What else could explain the chill in the air, a coldness that hadn't been there before? She thought he'd made a mistake in his handling of the boy. Had he? He didn't think so, but only time would tell. Time and counseling. He winced at the thought. There were no Sheriff Lassiters these days. Only paid professionals, too many of whom he'd had dealings with in 199


court. He didn't have much faith in their ability to solve their clients’ emotional problems. “Counseling for the entire family is part of the informaladjustment deal,” he said abruptly. Now was as good a time as any to get it out in the open. His failure. The dismal future ahead of them. Leslie tossed her book onto the end table and turned to face him. “What does that mean?” “Jeremy avoids a jail sentence by agreeing to see a shrink. Some sessions he'll go alone. Others are with you and me and Calico.” “Good.” “Good? You obviously haven't met many counselors. Every one I know has an agenda.” “Jeremy and Calico both need professional help,” Leslie said. “That should be obvious by now. I'm glad they'll be getting it.” “I've always hated letting other people into my private life,” he grumbled. “This is going to be pure hell.” “Unless we find a psychiatrist who can do for Jeremy what Sheriff Lassiter did for you.” “Fat chance.” More likely therapy would increase the strains already present in their cobbled-together family. He could hear it now, some damn quack telling Leslie she never should have tied the knot. And right now Leslie would probably agree. She looked thoroughly disgusted with him. “A positive attitude might help.” “Difficult, under the circumstances.” 200


Was she thinking she'd made a mistake? he wondered. It made sense that she was fed up with the Forsters. Hell, Carole blamed them for all the trouble Beth had gotten into. Why not Leslie? And Leslie had quit her job very easily, he remembered. She'd given up on her first hasty marriage. What if she decided to quit this family too? She'd gotten into it on impulse. Nothing was stopping her from jumping ship just as precipitously. Divorces were easy enough to get. It wasn't as if she loved him. “Damn,” he muttered. Leslie frowned at him. She seemed to be waiting for him to explain the expletive, but no words came. There was too much that needed saying, so he said nothing at all. After a moment she gave up on him and stood. “I'd like to try talking to Jeremy.” ‘'You don't need my permission.'’ “Don't I?” “No. I don't see the point, but go ahead.” He couldn't help adding, “You really are a glutton for punishment.” She glared at him. “He's hurting, Chase! Someone needs to tell him he's loved.” That stung, the more because he knew she was right. He'd always had trouble with those words. Say them to the wrong person and you got nothing but pain. She went upstairs to Jeremy's room. After a moment he followed and stood in the hall, listening at the open door. He wouldn't interfere, he promised himself, but he felt an 201


overwhelming need to be there for her. To protect her. An absurd idea, he supposed, but there it was. “Are you all right?” he heard her ask. “Yeah. Sure.” Surly-voiced, Jeremy mumbled the words. At least he was talking again. “No one harmed you?” What did she think? That they'd taken rubber hoses to him? “I don't need your pity! I don't need you at all! None of us need you. I don't know why Uncle Chase bothered to marry you.” “For the sex?” Shocked, Chase moved a little closer. She was kidding, right? Her humor seemed a little off to him, but it apparently amused Jeremy. “I thought you'd overheard that. Calico said you were on the porch.” “You have a right to your opinions, Jeremy.” “Try this on, then. I don't want a mother. I had one. I didn't need her, either. Go baby someone else.” “I've hardly babied you, though I have let you get away with lying to me. Why did you erase those phone messages from Penny?” “That again.” “Yes, that again. Only this time I'd like an answer.” Chase leaned closer. Jeremy had never bothered to deny the charge to him, but neither had he explained why he'd done it. 202


“I wanted Uncle Chase to blame you, to think you were jealous of Penny. Mom always said men don't like jealous women.” What a stupid, ill-conceived prank, Chase thought. And one that would have backfired. He'd have been flattered to think Leslie felt strongly enough about him to be jealous. “You've hurt your uncle more than you've hurt me,” Leslie said. In the silence that followed, Chase imagined Jeremy shrugging, affecting disinterest. He was probably wearing a sneer too. “Why do you dislike me?” Leslie asked. “If there's something I've done, I'll—” “You're all right.” He sounded peeved. “Maybe it was dumb, okay? But I don't need you feeling sorry for me. I don't need you at all. Just leave me alone.” You may not need her, Chase thought, but I do. Before Jeremy could say another hurtful word, he entered the boy's room and spoke to his wife. “Could I talk to you for a moment?” He thought his voice was level, but something of his agitation must have come through. Both Leslie and Jeremy looked at him strangely. “Chase, this isn't a good time.” He ignored her words, bustling her out of Jeremy's room and into their own while she was still sputtering. “What do you think you're doing?” she demanded when he finally let her go. “Rescuing you. There's no reason you have to put up with my nephew's unforgivable behavior.” 203


“At least he was talking to me.” He couldn't believe he was hearing this. “Some talk! He insults you. He's gone out of his way to cause problems. Hell, for all I know, he deliberately set out to entice Beth into trouble to get at you.” “Beth was responsible for her own actions.” Leslie glared at him, hands on her hips. “Okay. Fine. That's really beside the point, anyway.” “And the point is?” There were several points, but he started with the one his nephew had already touched on. “You can't coddle Jeremy.” “You accuse me of coddling. He thinks I'm babying him. I'm doing nothing of the sort.” “You let him get away with things he shouldn't be doing. You make excuses for his bad behavior.” “I try to understand it. Is that so bad?” He barely heard her. “Women always did that for Jake. Made excuses. Even Gwen did it. Look where that led.” She stared at him, confusion mixed with anger. “You're comparing me to Gwen?” “I'm comparing Jeremy to Jake and hoping to hell he's more like me.” “Tell him that!” she shouted. Chase stared at her. She had a point. He'd never talked to Jeremy about Jake. He'd been afraid of messing with the hero worship a kid would have for a dead father. But what if...” Abruptly, he made a decision. Without a word to Leslie, he left her and entered Jeremy's room. **** 204


When Chase all but slammed his nephew's bedroom door in her face, Leslie felt as if her whole world had just collapsed. Her head was throbbing. Her stomach was twisted in knots. And she was terrified that everything she'd hoped for in this marriage was about to slip away. There had to be some way to put the pieces together again. In desperation, she made a phone call, then got in her car and drove to Penny's place. “I don't know what to say to him,” she confided to the other woman a short time later. “I just ran away from home, like some confused teenager.” “Sounds like a perfectly normal reaction to me,” Penny said. “You needed to get away for a bit so you could think.” “It's not helping.” She gave a strangled laugh. “Our relationship was so much simpler before we met!” “Maybe you need to go back to that. Send him an e-mail.” “And say what?” “That's up to you, but I know one thing. You love him. You wouldn't be this miserable otherwise. And he loves you. Surely you can work things out.” “I'm not sure Chase does love me. You know why we decided to get married. It was primarily to make a home for Jeremy and Calico. And I haven't done too well with that.” “No love at all?” Penny looked skeptical. “He married me as a friend, a companion. And I thought friendship was enough to base a marriage on too. Now I'm not so certain.” “You can't be planning to leave him.” 205


“Maybe we'd all be better off if I did.” She met Penny's direct gaze. “I only want what's best for Chase.” **** Chase came out of a long, grueling session with Jeremy feeling drained but optimistic. They had talked. Made a start. It had been easier than he had expected to share his own experiences, and Jeremy had responded with memories of his father. The boy was no fool. He'd understood Jake's flaws and loved him anyway, just as Chase had. It gave them a tenuous bond. The first thing Chase wanted to do when he left his nephew's room was share his progress with Leslie, but she was nowhere to be found. The house was hardly empty. Like Jeremy, Calico was in her own room. Dewey was curled up in a sunbeam on the kitchen counter, next to the note Leslie had left for him. Gone for a drive, it said. Need to think things through. Without her presence, the place felt deserted. A house, not a home. Chase wandered back to the living room, for the first time really seeing the small touches she'd added, a knickknack here, a framed print there. New wallpaper. He'd barely noticed before, and had never complimented her. Never thanked her. He'd been taking her for granted. Some marriage this had turned out to be. He'd cheated her right from the beginning. Instead of a courtship, romance, a big wedding, he'd made her an instant bride, an instant mother. 206


Worse, he'd never even told her that he loved her. Was it already too late? What if “thinking things through” meant she was reconsidering the whole idea of being married to him? What if she came home and told him it wasn't working, that she wanted out? No, he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't. Hell, he'd even consider more counseling to prevent it. But there was something else he could try first. He glanced at his watch. The stores downtown hadn't closed yet. He had time to purchase the item he'd noticed in one shop window only a few days earlier. Leslie came home to find the note she'd left in the kitchen flipped over and written on. Important! it said. Check your e-mail. She didn't know what to make of that. Full of uncertainty, she climbed the stairs to the room she shared with Chase, booted up the computer, and entered the e-mail program. Then she froze. The only new message was from Chase. She started to shake. She'd come back from Penny's willing to try any compromise to make her marriage work. But what if Chase didn't want her anymore? What if he'd decided they'd made a mistake? Was this e-mail going to say he wanted to end it between them? An e-mail divorce to conclude an e-mail marriage? Taking a deep breath, she opened Chase's message. It was very short. Only four words. Tears blinded her as she read them. “I love you, Leslie,” he had written. “I love you, Leslie,” Chase said from the doorway. 207


She turned, swiping at her damp cheeks, trying to control the quaver in her voice and failing utterly. “I love you too,” she sobbed. “Why the hell didn't you say so before now?” “Why didn't you?” “Because I'm an idiot. An idiot who loves you to distraction.” She was out of the chair and in his arms in an instant, hugging him so tightly that the air whooshed out of him. Then he was crushing her against his chest and kissing her hair, her face. “We can work things out. Everything,” he promised. “Of course we can,” she told him. “We love each other. Nothing is impossible when we have that to build on...’ “Pollyanna,” he said. But there was deep and abiding affection in his use of the nickname. “We'll find a way to get through to Jeremy, and to guide Calico.” “I asked a lot of you. Too much.” “Nothing more than I wanted to give. And now ... now I love you, Chase. And I love them. We're really a family.” Never had the word sounded so wonderful. She thought her joy complete, but Chase wasn't through surprising her. He led her to the desk chair and made her sit. Then he went down on one knee in front of her. “I love you, Leslie,” he said again. She didn't think she'd ever get tired of hearing those three little words. “I think I've loved you from the day we met. But I denied us the chance for a romance. Hell, you've been married twice now in a rush 208


and without a proper courtship. Will you let me make that up to you?” “You want to court me?” He nodded. “I want you to have everything—even a second wedding ceremony, this time with all the trimmings.” He fumbled in his pocket. “And I want you to have an engagement ring, too, if you'll accept it.” Her eyes widened when she saw the cat's-eye stone. “You remembered,” she whispered as tears began to flow once more. When he put the ring on her finger, she felt her heart swell with love for him. “All that was missing before was knowing how you feel about me,” she whispered. “I don't need more.” She smiled to see his relief. He'd been ready to go all out, even give her a big formal wedding, but she could imagine how he'd dreaded that prospect. She loved him all the more for having offered. “How did I ever survive without you?” he wondered aloud. Still on his knees, Chase reached around her, settling his fingers on the computer keyboard to type in another message. “Will you stay my e-mail-order bride?” She let go of him only long enough to type her answer. “Yes,” she wrote. “Yes,” she whispered as he gathered her close, then kissed her to seal all the promises they'd made. This time they both knew their e-mail-order marriage was going to last. This time both the proposal and the acceptance had been written with love. 209


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