Wasn't that an odd thing?

Odder still that she was humming in the kitchen of an annoyed, smelly, hungover man who'd snapped at her. Out of character, Lena. Just what's going on here?

She'd been so intrigued by Effie's cheerful amusement over Remy's condition. And here she was, feeling the same thing over Declan's.

She peered out the window at the garden that had been wild and abandoned only months before. It bloomed now, beautifully, with new sprigs, fresh green spearing out.

She'd gone and done it after all. Gone and let him sneak into her, right through the locks and bolts.

She was in love with him. And oh God, she didn't want to be-as much for his sake as for her own.

He'd blown the dust off those young dreams she'd so rigidly put away. The ones colored with love and hope and trust. They were so shiny now that they were staring her in the face. So shiny they blinded her.

And terrified her.

Marriage. The man wanted marriage, and she didn't believe in making promises unless you'd shed blood to keep them.

Would she? Could she?

"I think I'd want to," she said quietly. "I think I'd want to, for him.”

As she spoke, a cupboard door flew open. A thick blue mug shot out and smashed at her feet.

She leaped back, heart hammering as shards rained over her ankles. Grimly, she stared down at the blood seeping out of tiny nicks.

"Seems I already have. You don't want that, do you?" Bowl still clutched in her hand, she spun a circle. "You want anything but our being together. We'll see who wins in the end, won't we? We'll just see.”

Deliberately she reached down for one of the shards, then ran it over her thumb. As the blood welled, she held her hand up, let it drip. "I'm not weak, as he was. If I take love, if I promise love, I'll keep it.”

The sound of chimes had her bolting straight up. It was Declan's tune. The first ringing notes of it. Fear and wonder closed her throat, had her bobbling the bowl.

"Goddamn it, answer the door, will you?" His voice blasted downstairs, full of bitter annoyance. "Then murder whoever rang that idiot doorbell.”

Doorbell? She pushed her free hand through her hair. He'd installed a doorbell that played "After the Ball." Wasn't that just like him?

"You keep shouting at me," she called as she marched down the hall, "you're going to have worse than a hangover to deal with.”

"If you'd go away and let me die in peace, I wouldn't have to shout.”

"In about two shakes, I'm coming up there and wringing your neck. And after I wring your neck, I'm going to kick your ass.”

She wrenched open the door on the final threat, and found herself glaring at a very handsome couple. It took only one blink to clear the temper for her to see Declan's eyes looking curiously back at her out of the woman's face.

"I'm Colleen Fitzgerald." The woman, tidy, blond and lovely, held out an elegant hand. "And who are you? If that's my son's ass you're intending to kick, I'd like to know your name.”

"Mom?" Dripping from the shower, wearing nothing but ripped sweatpants, Declan rushed to the top of the stairs. "Hey! Mom, Dad." Despite the ravages of the hangover, he bolted down, threw one arm around each of them and squeezed. "I thought you were flying down tomorrow.”

"Change of plans. Are you just getting up?" Colleen demanded. "It's after one in the afternoon.”

"Bachelor party last night. Hard liquor, loose women.”

"Really?" Colleen said and eyed Lena.

"Oh, not this one. She came over to play Florence Nightingale. Colleen and Patrick Fitzgerald, Angelina Simone.”

"Good to meet you." Patrick, long, lanky, with his dark hair gorgeously silvered at the temples, sent Lena a generous smile. His blue eyes were bright and bold as he held out a hand.

Then they narrowed in concern as he saw her thumb. "You've hurt yourself.”

"It's nothing.”

"What'd you do? You're bleeding. Jesus, Lena." Panicked, Declan grabbed her wrist, all but plucked her off her feet and rushed her toward the kitchen.

"It's just a scratch. Stop it, Declan. Your parents. You're embarrassing me," she hissed.

"Shut up. Let me see how deep it is.”

Still in the doorway, Patrick turned to his wife. "She's the one?”

"He certainly thinks so." Colleen pursed her lips, stepped into the house. "Let's just see about all this.”

"Hell of a looker.”

"I've got eyes, Patrick." And she used them to take in the house as they followed Declan's hurried path.

It was more, a great deal more than she'd expected. Not that she doubted her son's taste. But she'd been led to believe the house was in serious, perhaps fatal, disrepair. And what she saw now were gracious rooms, charming details, glinting glass and wood.

And in the kitchen she saw her son, hovering over the hand of a very annoyed, very beautiful woman who looked perfectly capable of carrying out her earlier threat.

"I beg your pardon." Lena elbowed Declan aside and smiled coolly at his parents. "I dropped a cup, that's all. It's nice to meet both of you.”

Declan turned to root through cupboards. "You need some antiseptic and a bandage.”

"Oh, stop fussing. You'd think I cut my hand off. And if you don't watch yourself you'll step on the shards and be worse off than I am. I'm sorry your welcome's so disrupted," she said to his parents. "I'm just going to sweep up this mess, then I'll be on my way.”

"Where are you going?" Declan demanded. "You promised food.”

She wondered if he could hear her teeth grinding together. "Pour what's in that bowl into a skillet, turn on the burner and you'll have food." She yanked open the broom closet. "Why aren't you getting your parents coffee or a cold drink after their long trip? They raised you better than that.”

"We certainly did," Colleen agreed.

"Sorry. Seeing the woman I love bleeding all over the floor distracted me.”

"Declan." Though her voice was low, Lena's warning was loud and clear.

"Coffee sounds great," Patrick said cheerfully. "We came here straight from the airport. Wanted to see this place-and you, too, Dec," he added with a wink.

"Where's your luggage?”

"Had it sent to the hotel. Son, this place is enormous. A lot of space for one man.”

"Lena and I want four kids.”

She heaved the broken shards into the trash and rounded on him.

"Okay, three," he amended without a hitch in his stride. "But that's my final offer.”

"I've had enough of this." She shoved the broom and dustpan into his hands. "You clean up your own messes. I hope you enjoy your stay," she said stiffly to Colleen and Patrick. "I'm late for work.”

She strode out the back because it was closer, and fought off the towering urge to slam the door until the windows cracked.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Declan said with a huge grin. "Isn't she perfect?”

"You annoyed and embarrassed her," Colleen told him.

"Good. I tend to make more progress that way. Let me get the coffee, then I'll show you around.”

An hour later, Declan sat with his mother on the rear gallery while Patrick– who'd lost the debate-made sandwiches.

The worst of the hangover had receded. Declan imagined he had whatever mysterious potion Lena had given him to thank for it-and the pleasure of seeing her in the same room as his parents.

Jeez, he'd missed them, he thought. He'd had no idea how much he'd missed them until he'd seen them.

"So," he said at length, "are you going to tell me what you think?”

"Yes." But she continued to sit and look out over his gardens. "Warm, isn't it? Early in the year to be so warm, I'd think.”

"Actually, it's cooler today. You should've been here a couple days ago. You could've poached eggs out here.”

She heard the way he said it, with a kind of pride. "You were never a big fan of the cold. Even when we went skiing, you'd prefer rattling around the lodge to charging down the slopes.”

"Skiing's something people invented so they can pretend snow's fun."

"See if we invite you to Vermont this season." But her hand moved over, touched his. "The house is beautiful, Declan. Even what you haven't gotten to yet is beautiful, in its way. I liked to think your fiddling with tools and wood and so on was a nice little hobby. I preferred to think that. As long as you were a lawyer, it was probable you'd stay in Boston. You'd stay close. I dreaded seeing you go, so I made it hard on you. I'm not sorry. You're my baby," she said, and touched him in the deepest chamber of his heart.

"I don't have to be in Boston to be close.”

She shook her head. "You won't come swinging in the house unexpectedly. We won't run into you in restaurants or at parties or the theater. That's a wrench in me, one you'll understand when you have those three or four children.”

"I don't want you to be sad.”

"Well, of course I'm sad. Don't be a boob. I love you, don't I?”

"You keep saying so," he said playfully.

She looked at him, gray eyes steady on gray eyes. "Lucky for both of us, I love you enough to know when to let go. You found your place here. I won't deny I hoped you wouldn't, but since you have, I'm glad for you. Damn it.”

"Thanks." He leaned over, kissed her.

"Now, as for this woman …”

"Lena.”

"I know her name, Declan," Colleen said dryly. "As a potential mother-in-law, I'm entitled to refer to her as `this woman` until I get to know her a little better. As for this woman, she's nothing like what I'd imagined for you. Not when I imagined you climbing up the ranks in the law firm, buying a house close by and within easy access to the country club. Jessica would have suited my requirements as daughter-in-law quite well in that scenario. A good, challenging tennis partner who plays a decent hand of bridge and has the skill to chair the right committees.”

"Maybe you should adopt Jessica.”

"Be quiet, Declan." Colleen's voice was mild-and steel. Lena would have recognized the tone instantly. "I'm not finished. Jessica, however well suited for me, was very obviously not suited for you. You weren't happy, and I'd begun to see, and to worry about that just before you broke it off. I tried to convince myself it was just pre-wedding jitters, but I knew better.”

"It wouldn't have hurt for you to clue me in on that one.”

"Maybe not, but I was annoyed with you.”

"Tell me.”

"Don't sass, young man, especially when I'm about to be sentimental. You were always a happy child. Bright, clever, a smart tongue, but I respect that. You had, I'd call it, a bounce in your heart. And you lost it. I see you've gotten that back today. I saw it in your eyes again when you looked at Lena.”

He took Colleen's hand, rubbed it against his cheek. "You called her Lena.”

"Temporarily. I haven't made up my mind about her. And believe me, boy, she hasn't made hers up about your father and me, either. So, I'd advise you to stay out of it and let us get on with the job of doing so.”

She stretched out her legs. "Patrick? Did you have to hunt down the pig for those ham sandwiches?”

Declan grinned, gave the hand he held a big, noisy kiss. "I love you guys.”

"We love you, too." She squeezed his fingers, hard, then let them go. "God knows why.”

He dreamed of storms and pain. Of fear and joys.

Rain and wind lashed the windows, and the pain that whipped through him erupted in a sobbing scream.

Sweat and tears poured down his face-her face. Her face, her body. His pain.

The room was gold with gaslight and the snap and simmer of the fire in the grate. And as that storm raged outside, another spun through her. Through him.

Agony vised her belly with the next contraction. She was blind with it. Her cry against it was primal, and burned his throat with its passion.

Push, Abby! You have to push! You're almost there.

Tired, she was so tired, so weak. How could she live through such pain? But she grit her teeth. Almost mad. Everything she was, everything she had, focused on this one task, this one miracle.

Her child. Her child, Lucian's child, was fighting to come into the world. She bore down with all the strength she had left. Life depended on it. There's the head! Et la! Such hair! One more, Abby. One more, chhre.

She was laughing now. Better than screaming, even if the laugh was tinged with hysteria. She braced herself on her elbows, threw her head back as fresh, unspeakable pain rolled through her.