“Interesting information," he said, "but you haven't answered the question."

“We do okay," she told him. "Some months are tight, some aren't. I did manage to keep a small life insurance policy up on Marty so when he died there was some money from that. I put it away. If push comes to shove, it's my emergency fund. Fingers crossed I never have to use it." She held up one hand.

“If all goes well," she continued, "I'll use it to pay for the boys' college. So I'm fine. Really." He smiled. "You're more than fine. You're responsible, giving and a great mom." His compliment pleased her, which she told herself was silly. Still, she sat a little straighter and fought the urge to beam.

“I try.

“You succeed." She shifted and, still facing him, leaned against the back of the sofa. "Okay, fair's fair. You got to ask me a very personal question and now I get to do the same."

“All right." She thought about all the possibilities and settled on the one that troubled her the most.

“Tell me about your wife." She watched closely, but Nash's expression didn't change. "What do you want to know?"

“Whatever you want to tell me. Whatever…" Her voice trailed off as a horrifying thought occurred to her. Did he not want to talk about the woman because she still mattered so much? He'd claimed not to be thinking about her when they made love, but what if he'd been lying? What if there were ghosts who

“That's not the reason," he said.

She blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"

“I'm hedging because I don't know what to say about her, not because I'm heartbroken."

“That's a relief." She pressed her lips together. "Wait a minute. How did you know what I was thinking?"

“It was a logical assumption."

“Uh-huh." She didn't buy that for a second. But what other explanation could there be? How strange that Nash knew her so well after just a short period of time, and despite all their years together, Marty had never known her at all. Was Marty's lack of knowledge due to some flaw within him, or had he never found her all that interesting?

“When I started working for the FBI," he said, "I quickly learned that emotional detachment was an asset. Nearly every situation is difficult on some level and leading with your heart is a good way to make the wrong decision. Staying emotionally dis- tant was something I'd learned while I was growing up and it served me well at the bureau." Having heard about his close family, Stephanie couldn't imagine how or why Nash would detach. Sometimes he seemed a little distant with his family, but that could have been shyness or emotional reserve. Nothing about his relationship with her and her kids indicated he was anything but emotionally available, but this wasn't the time to go into that particular subject. She filed the question away to spring on him later.

“I've told you a bit about Tina. She was my opposite. Emotional, disorganized, leading with her heart instead of her head. I wasn't even sure I liked her at first." His gaze narrowed slightly. "I'm talking about after she was an agent. I never considered her as anything but a co-worker during training."

“Of course not," she murmured, believing him. Nash would never break that kind of rule.

“Dating led to more dating. After a while Tina suggested we live together. Marriage seemed like the next logical step." How interesting, she thought. Had Tina been the one guiding the relationship? Nash almost made it sound like he was only along for the ride.

“How old were you when you got married?" she asked.

“Twenty-seven." Okay-the right age for most guys to think about settling down. So had Tina been in the right place at the right time? Not a question she would be asking.

Stephanie resisted the urge to slap herself upside the head. She knew exactly what she was doing. Ifshe could convince herself to believe Nash had married Tina because it was "time" and not because he was wildly in love with her, somehow that would make Stephanie feel better about their relationship. Crazy but true. She told herself to get over it.

“You didn't have a chance to have kids," she said. "I guess she passed away before you got around to that." He shrugged. "We never talked about it. I always wanted children. I guess Tina did, too. Then she was killed."

“How?" she asked before she could stop herself.

“In the line of duty. A bomb exploded." She'd been expecting a lot of answers, just not that one. A bomb sounded so violent. Because it was violent, she thought. Violent and unexpected and shocking.

“I'm sorry," she whispered.

“Thanks." Nash's expression hadn't changed as he talked, but there was something in his eyes that tugged at her heart.

“Want to talk about this more or change the subject?" she asked.

“Let's move on."

“Okay. So how did a guy with a twin brother and close friends learn to disconnect emotionally while he was growing up?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Easier than you might think. My mom married a guy when Kevin and I were twelve. Howard and I never got along." That surprised her. "Still? But he and your mother are expected the day after tomorrow. Is that going to be a problem?" She frowned. "Why on earth did you want them staying here if you two aren't speaking?"

“We're speaking. And we get along." The words sounded right, but she wasn't sure she believed them. "You're not going to be yelling at each other in the foyer, are you?"

“No. If there's any yelling, we'll do it outside where it belongs." She smiled. "Fair enough. So is this emotional detachment you're so fond of the reason you haven't gotten involved with anyone else since your wife's death?"

“No. I've avoided relationships because I loved Tina and I can't ever love anyone else again." Stephanie stared at him for several heartbeats, then burst out. laughing. "Oh, come on. That's ridiculous. You can't love again? Did we move from real life to a TV soap? Are you saying the human heart is capable of only loving once? What about my three kids? Should I send the twins back because I already loved Brett when they arrived?" Nash looked as shocked as if she'd pulled a gun on him. The charged silence between them made her wonder if she'd gone too far. He couldn't be serious about not loving again-people didn't work like that. But did he believe it? Had she just insulted him big-time? She waited anxiously as he stared at her. She couldn't read his expression…not until one corner of his mouth twitched.

“You're not buying my best line?" he asked at last.

Relief swept through her. "Not for a second. Who has?"

“Everyone but you."

“I see. Are these `everyones' women?"

“For the most part."

“Then you need to start dating women with slightly higher IQs." He laughed and grabbed her around the waist, then hauled her onto his lap. "I prefer my women to have a little more respect than you do, Missy." She settled her hands on his shoulders and brushed his mouth with hers. "That so isn't going to happen as long as you talk like an idiot."

“Idiot, huh? I'm one idiot you can't resist." She leaned in to kiss him again. "You're right about that," she whispered and gave herself up to him.

Chapter Twelve

“Batter up," Brett called, as he tossed the baseball in the air and caught it. "Adam, it's your turn." Adam walked to the square marked on the grass in front of the house and clutched his bat. From what Nash could tell, Adam might be the quieter twin, but he was the better athlete. So far he'd been the one to hit the ball every time Brett pitched it.

Brett pitched a slow ball and Adam swung. There was a crack as the bat connected, then the ball flew directly back to Brett who had to jump to catch it.

“Good hit," he called to his brother.

Nash stood at the end of the porch, leaning against the house. The boys were playing in the side yard to, as Stephanie put it, "Avoid as many windows as possible." The late-morning was warm and clear-the perfect weather for the start of summer vacation.

The boys had tumbled out of bed surprisingly early, apparently too excited by the thought of no school to sleep late. Stephanie had predicted their behavior, which meant she'd left his bed around four in the morning. He'd slept until he'd heard not-soquiet footsteps on the stairs about quarter to seven. He was tired and his eyes felt gritty, but lack of sleep was a small price to pay for spending the night with a woman who defined female beauty and sexuality.

He quickly checked his thoughts, knowing that if he dwelled on all they'd done together while in bed, he would end up in a very uncomfortable state. It didn't seem to matter how many times they made love; he always wanted her more. Last night had been no different.

He heard the front door open, then the sound of footsteps on the porch.

“They should be here any minute," Stephanie said as she stopped beside him and leaned against the railing. She glanced at him. "Are you sure you're going to be okay with your mom and stepfather staying here?" He smiled. "I'm more than fine. I'm actually looking forward to their visit." She didn't look convinced. "I would buy that a lot more easily if you hadn't told me you and your stepfather didn't get along."

“The problem's all on my side," Nash admitted, for the first time feeling comfortable with the truth. "Don't worry."

“I'll try not to." She turned toward the street, as if watching for cars. "If they're going to be staying here, we're going to have to be more careful about our sneaking around."

“Good point." One he hadn't considered.

She turned back to smile at him. "It will make things more exciting."

“I don't think that's possible. Not without one of us having a heart attack from the stress." Her smile broadened. "Are you saying your affair with me is stressful?"

“I'm saying it's already more exciting than I thought possible. More excitement could be dangerous."

“But you're a big tough guy. Don't you live for danger?" Her teasing words produced a predictable reaction. He ignored the sense of heat and heaviness flooding south. Good thing, too, because about eight seconds later a four-door sedan pulled up behind his rental car.

“They're here," he said.

Stephanie straightened. The humor faded from her eyes, replaced by worry. "Do I look okay?" Despite the potential for an interested onlooker, he leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her mouth. "You look perfect." Her expression cleared. "Excellent answer." They walked to the porch steps, then onto the pathway. As they approached, the car doors opened. Nash's mother, Vivian, stepped out onto the sidewalk and smiled.

“What a lovely town. It's so charming. Nash, I swear, you're still getting taller." He chuckled at the familiar claim, then folded her into his arms. "Hey, Mom. How was the trip?"

“Great." She kissed his cheek, then smoothed back his hair and rested her hands on his shoulders. "How are you?" The question was about more than his state of being that day. He knew she wanted him to move on with his life, to let go of the past. To find someone else and settle down. He figured it was a "mom" thing.

“I'm good."

“Really?" Her gaze searched his face. "I hope so." The car door slammed and she turned toward her husband. "Doesn't Nash look taller, Howard?"

“Viv, I'm going to guess our boy stopped growing a few years back," Howard said affectionately. He circled around the car and offered Nash his hand. As they shook, he patted Nash on the shoulder. "Good to see you. Life treating you well?"

“Always." Nash stepped back and introduced Stephanie. "She owns Serenity House," he said. "You haven't lived until you've had her breakfasts."

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Harmon," she said. "I hope you'll enjoy your stay."

“Please call us Vivian and Howard," his mother said.

“Thank you." There were a couple of yells from around the side of the house. Stephanie glanced in that direction. "I have three sons you'll meet later. While we live on the floor above your room, please don't worry. We're not directly overhead."

“We're going to have a lovely time," Vivian said, then tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "How long have you had the bed and breakfast?" she asked.

“Almost four years. Would you like to see your room?"

“That would be nice." Vivian turned to her husband. "Do you need me to carry anything in? I don't want you doing all the work." Howard smiled at his wife. "I like taking care of you. Go on in and register. I'm sure Nash is going to insist on carrying the heaviest bag. We'll be fine." Vivian nodded and touched Howard's arm. The contact wasn't anything special, just a brief brush of fingers, something Nash could remember having seen his mother do hundreds of times before. Yet for the first time, he saw the affection between the couple, the expression of happiness and contentment on his mother's face. She loved this man-she had for nearly twenty years.