“No. You'd be smart to be scared. I won't make things easy on you.” “What I am,” she said with more control, “is uninterested.”

His lips curved. “I could kiss you now and prove you wrong.” “I won't have a scene at my sister's wedding.”

“Fine, then come to my place tomorrow morning.” “No.”

“All right then.” He lowered his head. She turned hers away so that his lips brushed her temple, then nibbled on her ear.

“Stop it. My children –”

“Should hardly be shocked to see a man kiss their mother.” But he did stop, because his knees were going weak. “Tomorrow morning, Suzanna. There's something I need to show you. Something of my grandfather's.”

She looked up again, struggling to steady her pulse. “If this is some sort of game, I don't want to play.”

“No game. I want you, and this time I'll have you. But there is something of my grandfather's you have the right to see. Unless you're afraid to be alone with me.” Her spine stiffened. “I'll be there.”


The next morning, Suzanna stood on the terrace with Megan. They watched their children race across the lawn with Fred.

“I wish you could stay longer.”

With a half laugh, Megan shook her head. “’m surprised to say I wish I could, too. I have to be back at work tomorrow.”

“You and Kevin are welcome here anytime. I want you to know that.”

“I do.” Megan shifted her gaze to meet Suzanna's. There was a sadness there she understood, though she rarely allowed herself to feel it. “If you and the kids decide to visit Oklahoma, you've got a home with us. I don't want to lose touch. Kevin needs to know this part of his family.”

“Then we won't.” She stooped to pick up a rose petal that had drifted from a bouquet to float to the terrace. “It was a beautiful wedding. Sloan and Mandy are going to be happy – and we'll have nieces and nephews in common.”

“God, the world's a strange place.” Megan took Suzanna's hand. “I'd like to think we can be friends, not only for our children's sakes or for Sloan and Amanda.”

Suzanna smiled. “I think we already are.”

“Suzanna!” Coco signaled from the kitchen door. “A phone call for you.” She was chewing her lip when Suzanna reached her. “It's Baxter.”

“Oh.” Suzanna felt the simple pleasure of the morning drain. “I'll take it in the other room.”

She braced herself as she walked down the hallway. He couldn't hurt her any longer, she reminded herself. Not physically, not emotionally. She slipped into the library, took a long, steadying breath, then picked up the phone.

“Hello, Bax.”

“I suppose you considered it sly to keep me waiting on the phone.”

And there it was again, she thought, that clipped, critical tone that had once made her shiver. Now she only sighed. “I'm sorry. I was outside.”

“Digging in the garden, I suppose. Are you still pretending to make a living pruning rosebushes?”

“I'm sure you didn't call to see how my business is going.”

“Your business, as you call it, is nothing to me but a slight embarrassment. Having my ex – wife selling flowers on the street corner –”

“Clouds your image, I know.” She passed a hand over her hair. “We're not going to go through that again, are we?”

“Quite the little shrew these days.” She heard him murmur something to someone else, then laugh. “No, I didn't call to remind you you're making a fool of yourself. I want the children.”

Her blood turned to ice. “What?”

The shaky whisper pleased him enormously. “I believe it states quite clearly in the custody agreement that I'm entitled to two weeks during the summer. I'll pick them up on Friday.”

“You...but you haven't –”

“Don't stammer, Suzanna. It's one of your more annoying traits. If you didn't comprehend, I'll repeat. I'm exercising my parental rights. I'll pick the children up on Friday, at noon.”

“You haven't seen them in nearly a year. You can't just pick them up and…”

“I most certainly can. If you don't choose to honor the agreement, I'll simply take you back to court. It isn't legal or wise for you to try to keep the children from me.”

“I've never tried to keep them from you. You haven't bothered with them.”

“I have no intention of rearranging my schedule to suit you. Yvette and I are going to Martha's Vineyard for two weeks, and have decided to take the children. It's time they saw something of the world besides the little corner you hide in.”

Her hands were shaking. She gripped the receiver more tightly. “You didn't even send Alex a card on his birthday.”

“I don't believe there's anything in the agreement about birthday cards,” he said shortly. “But it is very specific on visitation rights. Feel free to check with your lawyer, Suzanna.”

“And if they don't want to go?”

“The choice isn't theirs – or yours.” But his, he thought, which was exactly as he preferred it. “I wouldn't try to poison them against me.”

“I don't have to,” she murmured.

“See that they're packed and ready. Oh, and Suzanna, I've been reading quite a bit about your family lately. Isn't it odd that there wasn't any mention of an emerald necklace in our settlement agreement?”

“I didn't know it existed.”

“I wonder if the courts would believe that.”

She felt tears of frustration and rage fill her eyes. “For God's sake, didn't you take enough?”

“It's never enough, Suzanna, when you consider how very much you disappointed me. Friday,” he said. “Noon.” And hung up.

She was trembling. Even when she lowered carefully into a chair, she couldn't stop. She felt as though she'd been jerked back five years, into that terrible helplessness. She couldn't stop him. She'd read the custody agreement word for word before signing it, and he was within his rights. Oh, technically she could have demanded more notice, but that would only postpone the inevitable. If Bax had made up his mind, she couldn't change it. The more she fought, the more she argued, the harder he would twist the knife.

And the more difficult he would make it on the children.

Her babies. Rocking, she covered her face with her hands. It was only for a short time – she could survive it. But how would they feel when she shipped them off, giving them no choice?

She would have to make it sound like an adventure. With the right tone, the right words, she could convince them this was something they wanted to do. Pressing her lips together, she rose. But not now. She would never be able to convince them of anything but her own turmoil if she spoke with them now.

“Damn place is like Grand Central Station.” The familiar thump of a cane nearly had Suzanna sinking back into the chair again. “People coming and going, phone ringing. You'd think nobody ever got married before.” Suzanna's Great – Aunt Colleen, her magnificent white hair swept back and diamonds glittering at her ears, stopped in the doorway. “I'll have you know those little monsters of yours tracked dirt up the stairs.”

“I'm sorry.”

Colleen only huffed. She enjoyed complaining about the children, because she had grown so fond of them. “Hooligans. The one blessed day of the week there's not hammering and sawing every minute, and there's packs of children shrieking through the house. Why the hell aren't they in school?”

“Because it's July, Aunt Colleen.”

“Don't see what difference that makes.” Her frown deepened as she studied Suzanna. “What's the matter with you, girl?”

“Nothing. I'm just a little tired.”

“Tired my foot.” She recognized the look. She'd seen it before – the weary desperation and helplessness – in her own mother's eyes. “Who was that on the phone?”

Suzanna's chin came up. “That, Aunt Colleen, is none of your business.”

“Well, you've climbed on your high horse.” And it pleased her. She preferred that her grandniece bite back rather than take a slap. Besides, she'd just badger Coco until she learned what was going on.

“I have an appointment,” Suzanna said as steadily as possible. “Would you mind telling Aunt Coco that I've gone out?”

“So now I'm a messenger boy. I'll tell her, I'll tell her,” Colleen muttered, waving her cane. “It's high time she fixed me some tea.”

“Thank you. I won't be long.”

“Go out and clear your head,” Colleen said as Suzanna started by. “There's nothing a Calhoun can't handle.”

Suzanna sighed and kissed Colleen's thin cheek. “I hope you're right.”

She didn't allow herself to think. She left the house and climbed into her pickup, telling herself she would handle whatever needed to be handled but she would calm herself first.

She had become very skilled at pulling in her emotions. A woman couldn't sit in a courtroom with her children's futures hanging in the balance and not learn control.

It was possible to feel panic or rage or misery and function normally. When she was certain she could, she would speak with the children.

There was an appointment to be kept. Whatever Holt had to show her might distract her enough to help her keep control of her emotions until they leveled.

She thought she was calm when she pulled up at his house. As she got out of the truck, she combed a hand through her windblown hair. When she realized she was gripping her keys too hard she deliberately relaxed her fingers. She slid the keys into her pocket and knocked.

The dog sent up a din. Holt had one hand on Sadie's collar as he opened the door. “You made it. I thought I might have to come after you.”

“I told you I'd be here.” She stepped inside. “What do you have to show me?”

When he was sure Sadie would do no more than sniff and whine for attention, he released her. “Your aunt showed a lot more interest in the cottage.”

“I'm a little pressed for time.” After giving the dog an absent pat, she stuck her hands into the pockets of her baggy cotton slacks. “It's very nice.” She glanced around, took in nothing. “You must be comfortable here.”

“I get by,” he said slowly, his eyes keen on her face. There wasn't a trace of color in her cheeks. Her eyes were too dark. He'd wanted to make her aware of him, maybe uncomfortably aware, but he hadn't wanted to make her sick with fear at the thought of seeing him again.

“You can relax, Suzanna.” His voice was curt and dismissive. “I'm not going to jump you.”

Her nerves stretched taut on the thin wire of control. “Can we just get on with this?”

“Yeah, we can get on with it, as soon as you stop standing there as if you're about to be chained and beaten. I haven't done anything – yet – to make you look at me that way.”

“I'm not looking at you in any way.”

“The hell you're not. Damn it, your hands are shaking.” Furious, he grabbed them. “Stop it,” he demanded. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“It has nothing to do with you.” She yanked her hands away, hating the fact that she couldn't stop them from trembling. “Why should you think that anything I feel, any way I look depends on you? I have my own life, my own feelings. I'm not some weak, terrified woman who falls apart because a man raises his voice. Do you really think I'm afraid of you? Do you really think you could hurt me after –”

She broke off, appalled. She'd been shouting, and the furious tears were still burning her eyes. Her stomach was clenched so tight she could hardly breathe. Sadie had retreated to a corner and sat quivering. Holt stood a foot away, staring at her, eyes narrowed in speculation.

“I have to go,” she managed, and bolted for the door. His hand slapped the wood and held it shut. “Let me go.” When her voice broke, she bit down on her lip. She struggled with the door then whirled on him, eyes blazing. “I said let me go.”

“Go ahead,” he said with surprising calm, “take a punch at me. But you're not going anywhere while you're churned up like this.”

“If I'm churned up, it's my own business. I told you, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Okay, so you're not going to hit me. Let's try another release valve.” He put his hands firmly on either side of her face and covered her mouth with his.

It wasn't a kiss meant to soothe or comfort. It did neither. This was raw and turbulent emotion and matched her own feelings completely.

Her arms were caught between them, her hands still fisted. Her body trembled; her skin heated. At the first flicker of response, he dived into the rough, desperate kiss until he was certain the only thing she was thinking about was him.

Then he took a moment longer, to please himself. She was a volcano waiting to erupt, a storm ready to blow. Her pent – up passion packed a punch more stunning than her fist could have. He intended to be around for the explosion, but he could wait.