"Your next swimming lesson." His voice felt furry in his throat. "This evening, same time, same station- right?"

"Oh. Right." She cleared her throat nervously. Good grief, he thought. Was she still afraid of him? "I'll see you later, I guess…"

"Yeah, you will."

"Okay then, "bye."

" 'Bye."

Scintillating conversations they had, the two of them, Zack thought sourly as he watched her make her way carefully across the courtyard's uneven tile paving. It frustrated him that he wasn't getting to know her as fast as he wanted to. He'd thought if he could just get her away from her puppets…

It occurred to him that Theresa might have somehow gotten in the way. He didn't know why, but ever since last night, something had definitely come between him and Maddy.

Theresa. Thirty days. Damn! He had just thirty days in which to find the stomach and the self-control to go to those people-the Sotos-and persuade them to relinquish custody directly to him. Either that, he thought with amusement, or he had thirty days in which to get married and move himself up in the county adoption board's eligibility ratings.

A short, ironic laugh escaped him. The only woman he'd even thought of in those terms in two years was just escaping around a hibiscus hedge, dashing for the parking lot for all the world as if she were escaping from him. He had a feeling it would take a lot more than thirty days to bring her around to thinking along the same lines!

It sure looked as if his best bet were the aunt and uncle.

"Hey! You."

Zack looked around and muttered, "Speak of the devil," under his breath. Theresa's uncle was bulldozing his way across the courtyard toward him, with his wife clinging to his arm like a sea anchor.

"You're the guy from the pool, aren't you?" Soto said. "The swimming teacher." He managed to make the identification sound like an insult.

"Yes, I am," Zack said, proud of his calm. "And as a matter of fact, I'd like to talk to you. It's about-"

"Well, buddy, I've got a few things I'd like to say to you too. You're the guy who started this whole thing, aren't you?"

"Joe-"

"Shut up, Carleen!"

The man had shaken his wife off and was facing Zack across a few feet of tiled courtyard. His face was dark and angry, and his arms hung at his sides at the ready, like a gunfighter's.

Zack knew very well that at this point, discretion dictated a strategic withdrawal. So what did he do? He folded his arms across his chest and said very politely, "I reported it, if that's what you are making reference to."

"Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, butting into a man's private business. I got a right to discipline a kid who smart-mouths me in my own home, you got that? You made a lot of trouble for me, you know that? I got cops hassling me, I could lose my job… Hey, I really oughta let you have it!"

"Joe!"

"Oh, now, I don't think you'd do that," Zack drawled. "I'm not a little kid."

He'd almost expected it. Hell, he'd probably invited it. But it was a shock to him anyway. He hadn't been hit in anger since fourth grade, when a kid named Hank Plunkett had bloodied his nose and given him a fat lip with one punch. It had come as a shock to him then, too, and he'd reacted reflexively. His instinctive response had left poor old Hank sitting in a puddle of water, clutching his middle and gasping like a netted fish. At that point Zack had touched his face, discovered blood, and had run for home, howling his head off.

It was interesting to discover how little had changed in twenty years.

His reflexes were still good, and his instincts for self-defense about the same. This time his assailant wound up in a fountain rather than a rain puddle, but his posture and facial expression reminded Zack a lot of Hank Plunkett. So did the sounds he was making.

At that point Zack touched his own lip, discovered blood, and decided it was time he headed on home.

The only difference twenty years made, as far as he could see, was that he wasn't howling his head off.

He did stop to mutter an apology to Theresa's aunt, who was standing frozen with shock, her mouth hanging open. He felt genuinely sorry for her. She had a tough time ahead of her if she stayed with that guy-As Zack walked to his car he wasn't feeling particularly proud of himself, but he wasn't ashamed, either. He told himself he hadn't been spoiling for a fight, and in fact had behaved with remarkable restraint. He just couldn't decide whether he was glad or sorry Maddy hadn't been there to see it.

Then it occurred to him. Damn! he thought. There went his chance for a private deal!

He gave a sardonic laugh that hurt his swelling lip, winced, and muttered, "Ouch!" And he thought, I guess this means I'll have to get married after all____________________

Zack didn't really mean that. Even if Maddy-or any other woman-had been willing, he'd never have done a thing like that to her. As far as he was concerned, there was only one good reason to marry, and that was love. He'd loved Carol, and she'd loved him, and they'd both loved Josh. He'd never marry again unless he could give that kind of wholehearted, unselfish love. A woman had a right to expect that much.

He knew why Larry Whitlaw had asked how long it had been since Carol's accident. The psychologist was telling him it was high time he stopped mourning and got on with his life. The thing was, he didn't feel as if he were still mourning, and he had an idea his life was moving right along whether he was ready for it to do so or not. Just because he wasn't actively looking for someone didn't mean he was avoiding relationships. When and if the right person came along, he was pretty sure he'd know it.

Just as he'd known that Theresa was the child for him. Not to take Josh's place-you couldn't ever replace one child with another. Kids weren't interchangeable. Until that day at the pool, when he'd squatted down in front of that tiny little girl and come face to face with those dark saucer eyes, he hadn't even realized how much he'd missed having somebody to love. Somebody who really needed him. When he met the woman he could love, maybe not exactly the same way he'd loved Carol but at least as deeply, he'd recognize her too.

He had a sudden, discomfitting vision, a memory, that was as clear as a video-taped replay: a pair of long legs, not deeply tanned, but creamy smooth; an absolutely spectacular body that looked as if it had been dipped in India ink; a face so frozen, it had lost all expression, except for the fear in the eyes…

It struck him that it would really be funny, wouldn't it, if it turned out he'd found both loves in the same moment?

Dahlia looked up suspiciously as he invaded her kitchen in search of a snack. "What are you grinning about, Zachary?" she asked.

With maturity and originality he singsonged, "I'll never tell." Still grinning, he snagged a handful of the cheese she was grating into a bowl and deftly evaded her attempt to slap his hand. "What's this for?"

"Dinner," Dahlia muttered darkly, "unless you stick that hand in here again, in which case you're going to be wearing it."

"Hmm. What's for dinner?"

"Why are you asking?"

He leaned against the counter and nibbled cheese with studied nonchalance. "Just wondered. Maddy's coming for a lesson after a while. Thought I'd ask her to stay for dinner, if there's going to be plenty…"

Dahlia threw him a look. "It's lasagne. And you know I always make enough for an army." She went back to grating cheese. "Pretty girl," she said with a sniff, giving him a sidelong glance.

"Who? Maddy?" His expression, he hoped, was one of complete innocence.

"Don't 'Who? Maddy?' me, Zachary London." Dahlia lifted an elbow in a halfhearted effort to dodge the kiss he planted on her cheek, and threatened to break into a smile. The smile vanished as she got a close look at him. "Zachary! What happened to your face? Son, what did you do?"

"Oops," Zack muttered, and put his hand over his mouth-too late. "It's nothing. Ran into a door."

"Sure, and I'm Snow White! Come here and let me look at you!"

"Come on, Dahl-"

"I said come on over here! You've been in a fight!" She put her hands on his shoulders and peered sternly into his face. "Don't you lie to me, Zachary. I raised five boys. I know a fat lip when I see one!"

"Would I lie?" Zack mumbled without conviction.

"Humph. Door, my eye! What you ran into was a fist. Now, you tell me who hit you, and why!"

Zack chuckled, then winced. "What are you going to do, go get him? As a matter of fact, it was Theresa's uncle."

"Theresa's uncle? I'm surprised he'd take a chance on hitting anything that could hit 'im back. You did hit him back, didn't you?"

"Thought you didn't approve of fighting."

"For that man I'll make an exception. You better tell me you gave him what he had coming!"

"I put him in the courthouse fountain," Zack muttered darkly.

Dahlia nodded, as if it were no more than justice. "Get along out of here and let me get my dinner made. Maddy's welcome. And you go put something on that lip."

Zack went obediently to the bathroom first, decided there wasn't much he could do about his lip, then went out to check on the pool chemicals. He tried to whistle, found it impossible to do with a fat lip, and switched to off-key humming. The gloom he'd felt earlier, during and after the hearing, had cleared away completely. So had most of the vague sense of shame he'd felt at having behaved so childishly, though he'd definitely decided punching somebody in the stomach was nothing to be proud of and was glad Maddy hadn't seen it. But in spite of all that, right now he couldn't remember having felt happier in ages.

With a small sense of shock, he realized it was because Maddy was coming.

He didn't know why that should shock him, so he leaned his arm across one knee and thought about it while pool water and chemicals dribbled out of the plastic pH tester onto his pants leg.

Of course he'd known he found her damned attractive physically. To put it bluntly, he wanted her so badly, he could taste it, and probably had ever since the day she'd fainted into his arms. And he'd already been honest enough with himself to admit that this whole swimming-lesson business was nothing more than a way to get her away from her puppets and into his bed. Not the noblest motive in the world, true, but nothing to be ashamed of, either. They were both over twenty-one. and if she liked the idea as much as he did, why not?

This thing with Theresa was confusing what should have been a simple matter of chemistry, that was the problem. It was fogging up his judgment. Since he'd become so obsessed with the idea of adopting that little girl, he'd been thinking of everything in terms of her needs, not his. If he wasn't careful, he'd be judging Maddy according to how she might fit into his plans for Theresa, and lose touch with his own feelings. He could overestimate his attraction to her just because he knew she was good with kids.

Put more bluntly, he'd actually been thinking- only half in jest-of marriage to a woman he barely knew, because he figured she'd be a good mother for Theresa, and would therefore make him more acceptable to the adoption board!

Zack blew a silent whistle and shook his head. The thing to do, he thought as he packed up the test kit and got to his feet, was to make darn sure that from now on he separated the two. Theresa was important to him, but she was only one part of his life. Maddy-or any other woman he might happen to be interested in-was another. He didn't know yet just how important Maddy was going to become to him, but he intended to give himself a chance to find out. Starting tonight.

He finished cleaning the pool, and even swept a few stray leaves off the deck before going back inside. The smell of baking lasagne was already beginning to drift down to the basement room. Zack paused to frown at the clutter on the coffee table. Sure didn't look very inviting, and not at all romantic. Dahlia wouldn't touch this room, and he didn't blame her. The housecleaning service gave it a good going-over once a week, and he wasn't a kid, that he should have to be picked up after.

He glanced at his watch. Maddy would be here any minute. He didn't have time to do much, but he did what he could, gathering up newspapers and stuffing them into the overflowing trash, putting all the magazines in the closet, where they cascaded into and over Carol's golf bag and onto the pile of towels and bathing suits on the floor. He gave the tabletop a hasty wipe with a sweatshirt he found behind a couch cushion, and stood back to survey the setting dubiously.