“I'm not going anywhere,” she began, then gasped when his fingers dug in.

“You're going back to your quiet life, away from here. There will be no rumors, no tearful interviews with reporters. If you try to undermine me, to implicate me in any way, I'll ruin you. When I've finished—and believe me, with the Dumont money I can hire plenty of willing men who'll swear they've enjoyed you—when I've finished,” he repeated, “you'll be nothing more than an opportunistic slut with a bastard son.”

Her vision hazed. It wasn't the threat that frightened her, or even infuriated her so very much. It was the term bastard in connection with her little boy.

Before she fully realized her intent, her hand was swinging up and slapping hard across his face. “Don't you ever speak about my son that way.”

When his hand cracked across her cheek, it wasn't pain she felt, or even shock, but rage.

“Don't push me, Megan,” he said, breathing hard. “Don't push me, because you'll be the one to take the fall. You, and the boy.”

As crazed as any mother protecting her cub, she lunged at him. The power of the attack rammed them both against the wall. She landed two solid blows before he threw her off.

“You still have that passionate nature, I see.” He dragged her against him, infuriated, aroused. “I remember how to channel it.”

She struck out again, a glancing blow, before he caught her arms and pinned them against her body. So she used her teeth. Even as Baxter cursed in pain, the door burst in.

Nathaniel plucked him off the floor as he might a flea off a dog. Through the haze of her own vision, Megan saw there was murder in his eye. Hotblooded. Deadly.

“Nathaniel.”

But he didn't look at her. Instead, he rapped Baxter hard against the wall. “Dumont, isn't it?” His voice was viciously quiet, terrifyingly pleasant. “I've heard how you like pushing women around.”

Baxter struggled for dignity, though his feet were inches off the ground. “Who the hell are you?”

“Well, now, it seems only fair you should know the name of the man who's going to rip out your damn heart with his bare hands.” He had the pleasure of seeing Baxter blanch. “If s Fury, Nathaniel Fury. You won't forget it—” he rammed a fist low, into the kidneys “—will you?”

When Baxter could breathe again, his words struggling out weakly, he wheezed, “You'll be in jail before the night's out.”

“I don't think so.” His head snapped around when Megan started forward. “Stay back,” he said between his teeth. The hot leap of fire in his eyes had her coming to a stop.

“Nathaniel.” She swallowed hard. “Don't kill him.” “Any particular reason you want him alive?”

She opened her mouth, shut it again. The answer seemed desperately important, so she offered the truth. “No.”

Baxter drew in his breath to scream. Nathaniel cut it off neatly with a hand over the windpipe. “You're a lucky man, Dumont. The lady doesn't want me to kill you, and I don't like to disappoint her. We'll leave it to fate.” He dragged Baxter outside, hauling him along as if the man were nothing more than a heavily packed seabag.

Megan raced to the door. “Holt.” A shiver of relief worked down her spine when she spotted Suzanna's husband near the pier. “Do something.”

Holt merely shrugged. “Fury beat me to it. You should go back in, you're getting wet.”

“But—he's not really going to kill him, is he?”

Holt considered a moment, narrowing his eyes against the rain as Nathaniel carted Baxter down the pier. “Probably not.”

“I hope to God you can't swim,” Nathaniel muttered, then threw Baxter off the pier. He turned away and was striding to Megan before the sound of the splash. “Come on.”

“But-”

He simply scooped her up in his arms. “I'm knocking off for the day.”

“Fine.” Holt stood, his thumbs in his pockets, a look of unholy glee in his eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

“Nathaniel, you can't—”

“Shut up, Meg.” He dumped her in the car. She craned her neck, and wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed to see Baxter heaving himself back onto the pier.

He needed quiet to pull himself back from violence. He detested the temper that lurked inside him, that made him want to raise his fists and pummel. He could rationalize it, under the circumstances, but it always left him sick inside to know what he was capable of if pushed.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would have come very close to murder if Megan hadn't stopped him.

He'd trained himself to use words and wit to resolve a fight. It usually worked. When it didn't, well, it didn't. But he continued, years after the last blow he'd taken from his father, to remember, and regret.

She was shivering by the time he parked the car in his driveway. It didn't occur to him until that moment that he'd forgotten Dog. Holt would see to him, Nathaniel figured, and plucked Megan from her seat.

“I don't-”

“Just be quiet.” He carried her in, past the bird, who squawked greetings, and up the stairs. Megan was ready to babble in shock by the time he dumped her in a chair in the bedroom. Without a word, he turned away to rummage through his dresser drawers. “Get out of those wet clothes,” he ordered, tossing her a sweatshirt and sweatpants. “I'm going to go down and make you some tea.”

“Nathaniel-”

“Just do it!” he shouted, gritting his teeth. “Just do it,” he repeated quietly, and shut the door.

He didn't slam it; nor, when he was down in the kitchen, did he put his fist through a wall. He thought about it. But instead, he put on the kettle, got out the brandy. After a moment's consideration, he took a pull of the fiery liquid, straight from the bottle. It didn't calm him very much, but it took the edge off his sense of self-disgust.

When he heard Bird whistle and invite Megan to come to the Casbah, he set her spiked tea on the table.

She was pale, he noted, and her eyes were too big. So were the sweats. He nearly smiled at the picture she made, hesitating in the doorway, with the shirt drooping off her shoulders and the pants bagging at her ankles.

“Sit down and have something to drink. You'll feel better.”

“I'm all right, really.” But she sat, and lifted the mug in both hands, because they tended to shake. The first sip had her sucking in her breath. “I thought this was tea.”

“It is. I just gave it a little help.” He sat across from her, waited until she sipped again. “Did he hurt you?”

She stared down at the table. The wood was polished so brightly she could see her own face in it. “Yes.”

She said it calmly. She thought she was calm, until Nathaniel put his hand over hers. Her breath hitched once, twice, and then she put her head on the table and wept.

So much washed out with the tears—the hopes she'd once had, the dreams, the betrayal and the disillusionment, the fears and the bitterness. He didn't try to stop her, only waited it out.

“I'm sorry.” She let her cheek rest against the table a moment, comforted by the cool, smooth feel of the wood on her skin and Nathaniel's hand on her hair. “It all seemed to happen so fast, and I wasn't prepared.” She straightened, started to wipe the tears away, when a new fear glazed her eyes. “Kevin. Oh, God, if Bax-”

“Holt will take care of Kevin. Dumont won't get near him.”

“You're right.” She gave a shuddering sigh. “Of course, you're right. Holt would see to Suzanna and all the children right away. And all Baxter wanted to do in any case was frighten me.”

“Did he?”

Her eyes were still wet, but they were steady. “No. He hurt me, and he infuriated me, and he made me sick that I'd ever let him touch me. But he didn't frighten me. He can't.”

“Atta girl.”

She sniffled, smiled weakly. “But I frightened him. That's why he came here today, after all this time. Because he's frightened.”

“Of what?”

“Of the past, the consequences.” She drew another, deeper breath and smelted Nathaniel—tobacco and salt spray. How oddly comforting it was. “He thinks our coming here is some sort of plot against him. He's been keeping track of me all this time. I didn't know.”

“He's never contacted you until today?”

“No, never. I suppose he felt safe when I was in Oklahoma and hadn't any connection with Suzanna. Now, not only is there a connection, but I'm living here. And Kevin and Alex and Jenny... Well, he doesn't seem to understand it has nothing to do with him.”

She picked up her tea again. Nathaniel hadn't asked anything, he'd simply sat and held her hand. Perhaps that was why she felt compelled to tell him.

“I met him in New York. I was seventeen, and it was my first real trip away from home. It was during the winter break, and several of us went. One of my friends had relatives there. I guess you've been to New York.”

“A time or two.”

“I'd never experienced anything like it. The people, the buildings. The city was so exciting, and so unlike the West. Everything crowded in and colorful. I loved it—rushing along Fifth Avenue, having coffee in some hole-in-the wall in Greenwich Village. Gawking. It sounds silly.”

“ No, it sounds normal.”

“I guess it was,” she said with a sigh. “Everything was normal, and simple, before... It was at this party, and he looked so handsome and romantic, I suppose. A young girl's dream, with those movie-star looks and that sheen of sophistication. And he was older—just enough older to be fascinating. He'd been to Europe.” She stopped herself, squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God, how pathetic.”

“You know you don't have to do this now, Meg.”

“No, I think I do.” Steadying herself, she opened her eyes again. “If you can stand listening to it.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” He gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “Go ahead, then, get rid of it.”

“He said all the right things, made all the right moves. He sent a dozen roses the next day, and an invitation to dinner.”

She paused to choose her words and pushed absently at a pin that had loosened in her hair. It wasn't so horrible, she realized, to look back. It seemed almost like a play, with her as both actor and audience. Vitally involved and breezily detached.

“So I went. There was candlelight, and we danced. I felt so grown-up. I think you only really feel that way when you're seventeen. We went to museums and window-shopping and to shows. He told me he loved me, and he bought me a ring. It had two little diamond hearts, interconnected. It was very romantic. He slipped it on my finger, and I slipped into his bed.”

She stopped, waited for Nathaniel to comment. When he didn't, she worked up the courage to continue.

“He said he would come to Oklahoma, and we'd make our plans for the future. But, of course, he didn't come. At first, when I called, he said he'd been delayed. Then he stopped answering my calls altogether. I found out I was pregnant, and I called, I wrote. Then I heard that he was engaged, that he'd been engaged all along. At first I didn't believe it, then I just went numb. It took me a while before I made myself believe it, made myself understand and deal with it. My family was wonderful. I never would have gotten through it without them. When Kevin was born, I realized I couldn't just feel grown-up. I had to be grown-up. Later on, I tried to contact Bax one last time. I thought he should know about Kevin, and that Kevin should have some sort of relationship with his father. But...” She trailed off. “When there was absolutely no interest, only anger and hostility, I began to understand that it was best that that didn't happen. Today, maybe for the first time, I was absolutely sure of it.”

“He doesn't deserve either of you.”

“No, he doesn't.” She managed a small smile. Now - that she'd said it all, for the first time in so very long, she felt hollowed out. Not limp, she realized. Just free. “I want to thank you for charging to the rescue.”

“My pleasure. He won't touch you again, Meg.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “You or Kevin. Trust me.”

“I do.” She turned her hand in his, gripped. “I do trust you.” Her pulse was starting to skip, but she kept her eyes on his. “I thought, when you carried me in and upstairs... Well, I didn't think you were going to make me tea.”

“Neither did I. But you were trembling, and I knew if I touched you before I cooled off, I'd be rough. That it wouldn't be right, for either of us.”

Her heart stuttered, then picked up its pace. “Ace you cooled off now?”

His eyes darkened. “Mostly.” Slowly, he rose, drew her to her feet. “Is that an invitation, Megan?”