“I can't think of anything he'd rather do. And it would make up for having to wear a tie the other night.”

Suzanna's eyes lit with humor. “I nearly had to strangle Alex to get him into his. I hope Aunt Coco doesn't plan any more formal dinner parties for some time to come.” She tilted her head. “Speaking of Aunt Coco, have you seen her today?”

“Only for a minute, right after breakfast. Why?”

“Was she singing?”

“As a matter of fact, she was.” Megan touched her tongue to her top Up. “She's been singing in the morning for several days now.”

“She was singing just now, too. And wearing her best perfume.” Uneasy, Suzanna nibbled her Up. “I was wondering if Trent's father... Of course, he's gone back to Boston now, so I thought there was nothing to worry about. He's a lovely man, and we're all very fond of him, but, well, he's been married four times, and he doesn't seem able to keep his eye from roving.”

“I noticed.” After a quick debate on privacy versus disclosure, Megan cleared her throat. “Actually, I don't think Coco's looking in that direction.”

“No?”

“Dutch,” Megan said, and watched Suzanna's eyes go blank. “Excuse me?”

“I think she and Dutch are... infatuated.”

“Dutch? Our Dutch? But she's always complaining about him, and he's snarling at her every chance he gets. They're always fighting, and...” She trailed off, pressed her hands to her lips. “Oh...” she said, While her eyes danced over them. “Oh, oh, oh...”

They stared at each other, struggled dutifully for perhaps three seconds before bursting into laughter. Megan fell easily into the sisterly pleasure of discussing a family member. After she told Suzanna about walking in on Coco and Dutch in the kitchen, she followed it up with the scene on the terrace.

“There were sparks flying, Suzanna. At first I thought they were going to come to blows, then I realized it was more of a—well, a mating ritual.”

“A mating ritual,” Suzanna repeated in a shaky voice. “Do you really think they—?”

“Well.” Megan wriggled her eyebrows. “She's been doing a lot of singing lately.”

“She certainly has.” Suzanna let the idea stew for a moment, found it simmered nicely. “I think I'll drop by the kitchen before I go. Check out the atmosphere.”

“I hope I can count on a full report.”

“Absolutely.” Still chuckling, Suzanna rose to go to the door. “I guess that was some moon the other night.”

“It was,” Megan murmured. “Some moon.”

Suzanna paused with her hand on the knob. “And Nathaniel's some man.” “I thought we were talking about Dutch.”

“We were talking about romance,” Suzanna corrected. “I'll see you later.”

Megan frowned at the closed door. Good Lord, she thought, was she that obvious?

After spending the rest of the morning and the first part of the afternoon on The Retreat's accounts, Megan gave herself the small reward of an hour with Fergus's book. She enjoyed tallying up the costs of stabling horses, maintaining carriages. It was an eye-opener to see how much expense was involved in giving a ball at The Towers in 1913. And, by reading Fergus's margin notes, to come to understand his motives.

Invitations all accepted. No one dare decline. B. ordered flowers—argued about ostentation. Told her big display equals success and wife must never question husband. She will wear emeralds, not pearl choker as she suggested, show society my taste and means, remind her of her place.

Her place, Megan thought with pity for Bianca, had been with Christian. How sad that it had taken death to unite them.

Wanting to dispel the gloom, she flipped to the back pages. The numbers simply didn't make sense. Not expenses, she mused. Not dates. Account numbers, perhaps. Stock-market prices, lot numbers?

Perhaps it would be worth a trip to the library to see if she could unearth any information from 1913 that correlated. And on the way she could stop by Shipshape to drop off the completed spreadsheet for April and pick up any more receipts.

If she happened to run into Nathaniel, it would be purely coincidental.

It was a pleasure to drive in the rain. The slow, steady stream of drops had most of the summer people seeking indoor entertainment. A few pedestrians wandered the sidewalks, window-shopping under umbrellas. The water in Frenchman Bay was gray and misted, with the masts and sails of ships spearing through the heavy air.

She could hear the ring of bell buoys, the drone of foghorns. It was as if the entire island were tucked under a blanket, snug and safe and solitary. She was tempted to keep driving, to take the twisting road to Acadia National Park, or the meandering one along the shore.

Maybe she would, she thought. After she completed the day's business, she would take that drive, explore her new home. And maybe she would ask Nathaniel to join her.

But she didn't see his car outside Shipshape. Ridiculous to say it didn't matter whether she saw him or not, she realized. Because it did matter. She wanted to see him, to watch the way his eyes deepened and locked on hers. The way his lips curved.

Maybe he'd parked around the corner, out of sight. Snagging her briefcase, she dashed from her car into the office. It was empty.

The first slap of disappointment was stunning. She hadn't realized just how much she'd counted on him being there until he wasn't. Then she heard, faintly, through the rear wall, the throb of bass from a radio. Someone was in the shop attached to the back of the building, she concluded. Probably working on repairs as the seas were too rough for tours.

She wasn't going to check out who was back there, she told herself firmly. She'd come on legitimate business and she took out the latest spreadsheet and set it on the overburdened desk. But on a purely practical level, she would need to go over, with at least one of them, the second quarter and the projections for the rest of the year. But she supposed it could wait.

A long look around snowed her a disorder she couldn't comprehend. How could anyone work, or hope to concentrate, in such a mess?

She was tempted to organize, but turned her back on the chaos and walked to the filing cabinets. She'd take what she needed and leave the rest. Then she would, casually, wander around back, to the shop.

When she heard the door open, she turned, ready with a smile. It faded a tittle when she saw a stranger in the doorway. “May I help you?”

The man stepped fully inside and shut the door behind him. When he smiled, something jittered inside Megan's brain. “Hello, Megan.”

For an instant, time froze, and then it rewound. Slow motion for five years, six, then back a decade, to a time when she'd been young and careless and ready to believe in love at first sight.

“Baxter,” she whispered. How odd, she thought dully, that she hadn't recognized him. He'd hardly changed in ten years. He was as handsome, as smooth and polished, as he'd been when she first saw him. A trim, Savile Row-suited Prince Charming with lies on his lips.

Baxter smiled down at Megan. For days he'd been trying to catch her alone. Frustration had pushed him to approach her here and now. Because he was a man concerned with his image, he'd checked the office thoroughly before he stepped through the door. It was easy to see she was alone in the small space. There were things he intended to settle with her once and for all. Calmly, of course, he thought as she stared at him. Reasonably. Privately.

“Pretty as ever, aren't you?” It pleased him to see her eyes go blank with shock. The advantage was with him, as he preferred it. After all, he'd been planning this reunion for several weeks now. “The years have improved your looks, Megan. You've lost that charming baby fat, and you've become almost elegant. My compliments.”

When he stepped closer, she didn't move, couldn't make her legs or her brain respond. Not even when he lifted a finger and trailed it down her cheek, under her chin, to tip it up in an old habit she'd made herself forget.

“You were always a beauty, Megan, with that wide-eyed innocence that makes a man want to corrupt.”

She shuddered. He smiled.

“What are you doing here?” Kevin was all she could think. Thank God Kevin wasn't with her.

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same. Just what are you doing here, Megan?”

“I live here.” She hated hearing the hesitancy in her voice, like the throb of an old scar. “I work here.”

“Tired of Oklahoma, were you? Wanted a change of scene?” He leaned closer, until she backed into the filing cabinet. Bribery, he knew, wouldn't work with her. Not with the O'Riley money behind her. Intimidation was the next logical choice. “Don't take me for a fool, Megan. It would be a terrible, costly mistake.”

When her back hit the filing cabinet, she realized she was cringing, and her shock melted away, her spine stiffening. She wasn't a child now, she reminded herself, but a woman. Aware, responsible. “It's none of your business why I moved here.”

“Oh, but it is.” His voice was silky, quiet, reasonable. “I prefer you in Oklahoma, Megan. Working at your nice, steady job, in the midst of your loving family. I really much prefer it.”

His eyes were so cold, she thought with dull wonder. Odd, she'd never seen that, didn't remember that. “Your preferences mean nothing to me, Baxter.”

“Did you think I wouldn't find out that you'd thrown your lot in with my ex-wife and her family?” he continued, in that same reasonable tone. “That I haven't kept tabs on you over the years?”

With an effort, she steadied her breathing, but when she tried to shift away, he blocked her. She wasn't afraid, yet, but the temper she'd worked so hard to erase from her character was beginning to bubble up toward the surface.

“I never gave a thought to what you'd find out. And no, I wasn't aware you were keeping tabs. Why should you? Neither Kevin nor I ever meant anything to you.”

“You've waited a long time to make your move.” Baxter paused, struggling to control the fury that had clawed its way into his throat. He'd worked too hard, done too much, to see some old, forgotten mistake rear up and slap him down. “Clever of you, Megan, more clever than I gave you credit for.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Do you seriously want me to believe you know nothing about my campaign? I'm not going to tolerate this pathetic stab at revenge.”

Her voice was cooler now, despite the fact that she could feel her skin start to tremble with an intense mixture of emotions. “At the risk of repeating myself, I don't know what you're talking about. My life is of no concern to you, Baxter, and yours none of mine. You made that clear a long time ago, when you refused to acknowledge me or Kevin.”

“Is that the tack you're going to take?” He'd wanted to be calm, but rage was working through him. Intimidation, he realized, simply wouldn't be enough. “The young, innocent girl, seduced, betrayed, abandoned? Left behind, pregnant and brokenhearted? Please, spare me.”

“That's not a tack, it's truth.”

“You were young, Megan, but innocent?” His teeth flashed. “Now, that's a different matter. You were willing enough, even eager.”

“I believed you!” She shouted it—a mistake, as her own voice tore her composure to pieces. “I believed you loved me, that you wanted to marry me. And you played on that. You never had any intention of making a future with me. You were already engaged. I was just an easy mark.”

“You certainly were easy.” He pushed her back against the cabinet, kept his hands hard on her shoulders. “And very, very tempting. Sweet, Megan. Very sweet.”

“Take your hands off me.”

“Not quite yet. You're going to listen to me, carefully. I know why you've come here, linked yourself with the Calhouns. First there'll be whispers, rumors, then a sad story to a sympathetic reporter. The old lady put pressure on me about Suzanna.” He thought of Colleen with loathing. “But I've made that work for me. In the interest of the children,” be murmured. “Letting Bradford adopt them, selflessly giving up my rights, so the children could be secure in a traditional family.”

“You never cared about them, either, did you?” Megan said in a husky Voice. “Alex and Jenny never mattered to you, any more than Kevin.”

“The point is,” he continued, “the old woman has no reason to bother about you. So, Megan, you'd better mind your step and listen to me. Things aren't working out for you here, so you're going to move back to Oklahoma.”