Lisa
by
Ellen James

CAST OF CHARACTERS.

Helene Hardaway--has been married to Merrick for nearly fifty years.
Her three daughters no longer speak to each other. She'll do any
fixing to reunite her family.

Merrick Hardaway--loves his wife more today than he did when he first
married her. He knows how she misses then: children, and he'll do
anything to make her happy.

Megan Hardaway--is the oldest of the Hardaway sisters. Every time she
comes home to Hurricane Beach she's reminded of the tragedy in her own
life. So she stays away.

Amy Hardaway-is the middle daughter, who always played the role of
peacemaker 'when the girls were younger. Now she's done something that
could keep the sisters apart forever.

Jon Costas--he'd married one Hardaway girl when they'd both been too
young to know better. Now he's in love with his ex-sister-'m-law,
Amy.

Lisa Hardaway--is the baby of the family, the one who's always been
protected. But her secret is so painful she is unable--and
unwilling-to share it with her sisters. She's built a life for
her-serf far away from Hurricane Bead: and from Matt Cormell.

Matt Connell--never knew the consequences of his teenage love affair
with Lisa. But his own secret--and his guilt have kept him away from
his family, too. The last thing he expects is to fall in love with the
girl from his past--again.

Deer Reader,

A framed photograph takes pride of place on my writing desk, showing me
surrounded by my two sisters. When it comes to sisters, that's where
I'm to be right smack in the middle.

My big sister has always been my role model. She's smart and
successful, and I admire the way she seeks out new people and new
experiences. She's adventurous, and that inspires me to be sd
venturous My little sister is just discovering what she wants to do
with her life. Mace she'll be a journalist, like our clad. Her
excitement at starting college this year is infectious. Both my
sisters are the best friends I can ever imagine having.

I guess you could say sisters are pretty important to me, and that's
why telling Lisa's story has been a special experience. Like me, Lisa
is one of Three sisters. red like me, she discovers that time and
Megan, simply won't let her forget how important they are in her
life.

I hope you enjoy following the romantic adventures of all three sisters
And I hope lisa, Amy and Megan find a place in

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that
this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and
destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher
has received any payment for this "stripped book."

ISBN 0-373-70738-X

LISA

Copyright 1997 by Ellen James.

All rights reserved. Except for use In any review. the reproduction
or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any
electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written
permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Umited, 225 Duncan
Mill Road,

Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 319.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the Imagination
of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the
same name or names. They are not even distantly Inspired by any
individual known or unknown to the author, and all Incidents are pure
Invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. and TM
are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with are
registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the

Canadian Trade Marks Office and In other countries.

Printed in U.S.A.

PROLOGUE

BARE WALLS, empty rooms. No memories here.

Helene walked through the small apartment. Her apartment, she reminded
herself. Over seventy years old, and she would be living on her own
for the very first time. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at
the thought.

The telephone rang, startling her. It had been hooked up only this
morning; who could be calling? She stared at the phone, letting it
ring several more times. Obviously it was someone stubborn. She
walked over and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" she said, disliking the tentative way she spoke. A woman on
her own should be forceful, decisive.

"Hello," came the gruff voice of her husband. "Merrick... how did you
get this number?" Now she sounded cranky, and she hadn't intended
that, either.

"Amy," Merrick said, terse as ever.

Helene frowned. She'd made her daughter swear not to give him the
number. But Amy was goodhearted and impulsive, and seemed determined
to get her parents back together again. What a supreme irony. Helene
did laugh, bleakly.

"Want to share the joke?" Merrick asked. Helene couldn't say
anything. Certainly she couldn't expose her misery and self-doubt to
him. But all this trouble had started out with the best of intentions,
hadn't it? Helene had been worried about the years of estrangement
between her three daughters--Amy, Lisa and Megan--and a few months ago
she'd concocted what seemed the perfect plan. She and Merrick would
feign marital difficulties, and surely that would give the Hardaway
girls a reason to unite--a joint purpose in setting their parents
straight. But somehow, the plan had succeeded too well. All too soon,
the feigned problems in their marriage had become painfully real.
"Helene," Merrick said.

She gripped the receiver. "Yes ... I'm still here. Why did you
call?"

"I need a reason to call my own wife?" "Merrick," she said on a
warning note, She heard his stifled curse on the other end of the line,
and then he began again.

"I thought you should know that Lisa decided to take a later flight.
She won't arrive until after six tonight?"

"You'll pick her up at the airport?"

"Amy wants to. Something about needing a siSterly chat."

Oh, yes, the plan to unite their daughters had worked well enough.
Since the whole thing began; this was already the second time Lisa--the
youngest--had flown in from Connecticut. The oldest, Megan, too, would
arrive from Nebraska week, and had arranged to stay at Amy's beach
house. Megan, Amy, Lisa ... the three Hardaway girls, together again
in Hurricane Beach.

"At least our daughters are spending more time together," Helene
murmured, almost to herself I "We've accomplished that much."

Merrick gave another grumbled curse. "Turns out the three of them have
some crazy idea about planning an anniversary party for us."

"What on earth makes you think that--"

"I'm good at picking up clues," Merrick said. "And our daughter Amy is
not exactly close-mouthed. Apparently, this anniversary bash is
supposed to convince us we shouldn't throw fifty years out the window.
But I'm not the one who needs convincing--am I, Helene?"

If only she could make him understand! Pretending that their marriage
was in trouble had stirred up so much unexpected resentment and
bitterness in her. So many stifled dreams had begun to haunt her.
Finally, Helene had confronted the truth: she'd spent years loving
Merrick, but years also bending to him, molding herself to whatever he

needed and desired. And she'd known, with terrible clarity, that she
could no longer go on bending. Despite her fears for the future, she
had recognized one irrevocable fact: she could not be the woman her
husband wanted her to be.

"Helene," Merrick said. "We have to talk sooner or later. About
whether or not we're going to sell the property, for one thing."

It had become very much a sore spot between

herself and Merrick--this decision about whether or not to sell their
beachfront property to Silver Sands Development. "I know what you're
really thinking," Helene said quietly. "You're thinking that all you
have to do is convince me to come over to your side. You want me to
agree to the sale ... just as I've always agreed to everything. And
then, as far as you're concerned, all our problems will be over."

"I thought you were happy with me. I thought you had everything you
wanted--"

"This is what I need now, Merrick. A place of my own. Decisions of my
own." She was proud of herself for speaking firmly at last. In spite
of the pain, the sudden loneliness, she needed to be away from him. For
years and years she had loved Merrick Hardaway with all her heart...
but she could no longer be with him.

All the pretending was over.

CHAPTER ONE

IT WaS HIM. Blue-gray eyes, dark hair swept back carelessly from his
forehead, as if the gulf breeze had had its way with him. Just as he'd
had his way with Lisa, some fifteen years ago. Yes ... it was Matt
Connell, all tight.

Lisa ducked behind the magazine rack at Thompson's Drugstore. She felt
an odd, constricted feeling inside, and she had to force herself to
take a steadying breath. This was absurd, she told herself. She was
no longer an insecure, awestruck six-teen-year-old. She was over
thirty. A woman with her own Yfe now, her own career. Her own man.
She tried to conjure up a reassuring image of Pat-tick. Handsome,
good-natured Patrick, waiting for her back at the bed-and-breakfast.
But somehow the image faded. And all Lisa could remember was a
shimmering summer day all those years go, when she'd first looked into
Matt Connell's blue-gray eyes, and known she would do anything to keep
on looking.

Now, with an effort, Lisa reached out and picked up a magazine at
random. She flipped through the pages automatically, pretending to be

engrossed. She was hiding out in her hometown drugstore and
meanwhile, the very first love of her life, Matt Connell, was one aisle
over. Suddenly she was tempted to make her getaway straight out the
door. Or she could stay here behind the magazines until she was
absolutely certain that Matt had left the place. In other words, she
could go on hiding.

She turned and gazed out the window. The view was something that had
often haunted her dreams: the boardwalk stretching all along the curve
of the beach, the sands sparkling silver-white in the sun, the
blue-green of the gulf waters, the old-fashioned cupola of the marina
clubhouse rising on the horizon. And the wharf beyond ... unseen from
this vantage, but Lisa knew it well. That was where Matt had first
kissed her, one magical summer's night.

She grabbed another magazine and headed down the aisle. She'd get what
she had come for. She'd go about her business like a normal, rational
adult, and she would forget Matt Cormell. After all, she'd managed to
forget him once before. She refused to look around as she went along,
refused the possibility that she might catch a glimpse of him again.
She found a certain row of medicines, and surveyed the choices
available. Usually, she didn't have any trouble making up her mind
about things, but even this minor decision seemed too complex at the
moment. She read one label, then another, but not a single word Seemed
to make sense. She could feel Matt's presence in this small store,
even if she couldn't see him. It was almost as if the humid summer air
had bestirred itself, and now vibrated a warning to her.

"Ridiculous," she muttered. She grabbed something in a box, hardly
noticing what it was, then she set off down another aisle. And there
he was, standing in profile before her. Matt Connell, his features
etched in the uncompromising lines she had once known so well.
Uncompromising ... that had been the best word to describe him back
then. Lisa was the one who had yielded, who had given far too much of
herself.

Matt was no longer an eighteen-year-old boy, of course. He was a man.
He had worn well with the passage of time, but he had worn. Subtle
grooves had worked their way into his forehead, as if he'd grown
accustomed to frowning. His hair was still dark and luxuriant, still
curling a bit long over his collar, but the way it swept back from his
face was different, giving him a new sternness. There was something
rigid and aloof in the way he stood, apparently absorbed in his own
thoughts. Obviously he hadn't noticed Lisa yet. She had another
chance to escape. She could just back away a few steps, turn and
leave. This chance encounter at the drugstore wouldn't have to be an
encounter at all.

Lisa actually did take a step backward. It was then Matt glanced up
and saw her. He drew his eyebrows together as he studied her, looking
faintly puzzled. And, with an unpleasant jolt, Lisa realized he didn't

recognize her. Matt Connell, the person who'd once had the power to
tear her life apart, didn't even know who she was.

She could still turn away. She could pretend she didn't know him. But
some reckless pride prevented her from doing that. Instead, she moved
a step toward him.

"Hello, Matt," she said coolly.

The look of puzzlement didn't leave his eyes, but it mixed with what
seemed a flicker of irritation. She sensed that he preferred to be
left alone, and that made her more determined to stay.

"So," she said in on offhand manner. "You're back in town, too."

He didn't answer. She almost had to admire that he made no pretense at
politeness. He didn't try to cover up the fact that he couldn't place
her. He just gazed at her with that slight frown, as if waiting for
her to go elsewhere.

She wouldn't oblige him. "I didn't know you spent the summers here
anymore," she said.

"I don't." He spoke even these few words grudgingly. But she could
tell that his voice had deepened, grown richer.

"I moved away a long time ago," she said, and wondered why she'd
offered the information. He was making it clear that he didn't want a
friendly chat.

He hadn't been like this once. Those many years ago, he'd been fully
aware of his own charm, his own ability to entice. And he had used
that ability to devastating effect. But the Matt Connell before her
now seemed to have lost all tolerance for charm ... his own or anyone
else's.

What was making her linger here? Already he'd gone back to perusing
the shelves of candy before him: gumdrops, licorice, chocolates,
caramels. From the look of him now, Matt hardly seemed the type for
anything sweet.

"Saltwater taffy," she said, the words slipping out before she could
stop them. Matt gave her only a brief glance, not even bothering to
ask what she meant. His very disinterest compelled her to say more.

"You used to like saltwater taffy," she said, managing to keep her tone
offhand. "The stuff you could buy out on Conway's Pier. But they
probably don't sell it anymore."

"I wouldn't know." Again he spoke reluctantly. He leaned down and
picked up a bag of butterscotch candy, jiggling it a little in his
hand. At last he glanced at Lisa again. "They're not for me," he
said.

Lisa understood immediately. The butterscotch was intended for some
woman or other. Perhaps Matt was going to do flowers and candy--the
whole bit. Why should that be a surprise? Even at eighteen, he'd
understood the value of romantic gestures. Lisa despised the emotions
swirling through her. Anger, and a baffling sense of longing she
hadn't experienced in years. But what did it matter to her if Matt
Connell was embarking on yet another summer affair?

She turned to go, only to find herself pausing and examining him once
more. Admittedly, this Matt did not appear the type for countenancing

romantic gestures. He stared broodingly at the butter scotches as if
they had offended him in some way.

"It's interesting," Lisa said. "Women still do fall for that kind of
thing."

Matt gave her another quizzical glance. And Lisa wondered why she
couldn't just leave the drugstore. Why did she have to go on standing
here beside him, saying whatever came to mind?

She went on in spite of herself. "It's true," she said. "Women, for
some silly reason, still go for all the trappings. Valentines, red
roses ... even butterscotch."

He seemed to consider this. "So," he said, hefting the bag of candy
from one hand to the other. "You think these will do the trick?"

"Absolutely. She'll fall for it." Lisa heard the acid sound of her
own voice, and realized she had to stop this conversation. "Well,
goodbye--"

"I take it you don't fall for anything." Again he spoke as if each
word came reluctantly, as if he'd lost all inclination for small
talk.

Lisa hesitated. "I've learned," she said at last. "I'm not as foolish
as I used to be."

When he gazed at her this time, his look was enigmatic. Blue smoke,
that was the color of his eyes. Lisa told herself to glance away, but
she couldn't. She just gazed back at Matt, feeling that odd tightening
inside. And suddenly she remembered exactly how it felt to be sixteen,
aching for something you couldn't even describe, yearning naively for
all your unspoken wishes to come true.

Somehow, she finally did glance away, focusing her gaze on the
magazines and the small box of medicine she clutched. Matt looked at
the box, too.

"It's not for me," she said ironically. "It's for--a friend. Someone
with ... indigestion." How mundane that sounded, how staid. Lisa
tried to remind herself that there wasn't anything staid about Patrick
Dannon, and anyone could get a touch of indigestion.

Once again Matt seemed to give her words grave consideration. "Hope he
feels better."

Lisa felt herself flushing. It hadn't been her intention to inform
Matt that she had a man in her life. That wasn't necessary. She could
very well stand here on her own, and prove to him that she'd gone on,
that what had happened fifteen years ago hadn't defeated her.

It seemed that, just now, she'd forgotten two rather import ant
details. Number one, Matt didn't know the whole, painful truth of that
long-ago summer. Number two, he no longer even remembered her name.

She gave him a smile she knew was tinged with bitterness. That much
she couldn't help.

"Nice talking to you," she said, proud of the negligent tone in her
voice. "Hope the butterscotch does its job." When she turned this
time, she really did walk away. She was almost at the end of the aisle
when he spoke, his own voice quiet.

"Goodbye, Lisa Hardaway."

AMY WAS AT it AGAIN--taking charge, behaving optimistically, as if all
she had to do was whip up

a family meal, and all problems in the Hardaway clan would be
resolved. With a familiar mixture of exasperation and defensiveness,
Lisa sat on a stool at the kitchen counter and Watched her older sister
move around- Amy washed lettuce in the quick, competent way she had,
then began chopping celery. She smiled to herself as she worked. That
was another thing about Amy--she seemed remarkably happy these days.
And why not? She was engaged to be married. Her fiance, in fact, was
none other than Jon Costas ... Lisa's very own ex-husband.

Lisa winced, just thinking about it. Her gaze strayed across the
kitchen and into the living room, where a small group had gathered:
Lisa's mother, Helene, Lisa's current boyfriend, Patrick, and Lisa's
former husband, 3Ion. What a combination. From here, Lisa could see
Jon as he leaned down to pet Sam, Amy's golden retriever. The dog
thumped his tail appreciatively. It appeared that no one in the
Hardaway clan had any problem with Jori and Amy's engagement. No one
but Lisa.

She told herself that she ought to be glad for her sister. How often
did two people find genuine love together? Just because these two
people were Lisa's ex-husband and her sister, that was no reason to
object' Lisa Amy said, her tone earnest. Apparently, she'd caught the
direction of Lisa's gaze. "I wish you would just let me explain, for
once."

Lisa sighed. "I understand. The two of you fell in love. End of
story."

"No--it's not the end. Not as long as there's any chance I'm hurting
my own sister."

"Look, Amy," Lisa said" You shouldn't pay any attention to what I
think. If you and Jon are right for each other, you should grab him
and forget about everything else."

"I can't forget about family," Amy said stubbornly. "I can never
forget about that."

Lisa sighed again, and asked herself why she couldn't just put on a
cheery face about Amy and Jon. That way, at least Amy would stop
plaguing her with questions.

Here came another question---Lisa saw it forming on her sister's very
pretty and very expressive face. "You told me you didn't love Jon
anymore," Amy murmured. "That maybe you never truly had loved him. You
even have a new man in your life. So what is it, Lisa? Why is it that
every time you look at Jon and me, you seem so ... so uncomfortable?"

Why, indeed? Lisa glanced across at the living room again. She
studied her ex-husband from afar. If anything, Jon had grown more
attractive over the years, the premature silver of his hair only

emphasizing his strong, clear-cut features. Amazing what love could do
for a man, giving him an air of contentment he'd never possessed
before. Certainly not when he'd been with Lisa.

Failure. That was what Jon and Amy made Lisa feel---a sense that she
had been failing at love for a very long time now. It had no doubt

been a mistake to marry Jon in the first place. But the mistakes went
back even further ... to the summer Lisa was sixteen, when she had
looked into the smoky-blue eyes of a boy named Matt Cormell, and known
that nothing about her life would ever be the same again.

Lisa realized that she was gripping her hands tightly on top of the
kitchen counter, and that her sister was observing her with concern.

"Leave it, Amy," she said. "For once, just leave it alone."

Amy started to speak, but then, surprisingly, she let the subject go.
She went to peer into a pot that simmered on the stove.

"The sauce is almost done," she announced. "Lisa, find out what
everybody wants to drink. I have sodas in the fridge--lime, cherry,
orange--but don't forget the wine Patrick brought over last night. A
nice man, your Patrick."

Lisa clenched her teeth. She didn't know why it bothered her so much
to hear Patrick referred to as "hers." He was hers, the first steady
man in her life in quite some time. And he was, admittedly, a good
man. Maybe she finally had a chance to be successful at a
relationship. So why did she feel annoyed?

Despite Amy's instructions, she remained where she was, perched on her
stool by the counter. It was time to discuss something besides her own
love life. "It's no use," she told her sister. "You can go through
all the motions, gather us around the table--the works. You can even
go on planning that big anniversary party of yours. But none of it
will convince Mom to move back in with Dad."

Amy paused in the middle of slicing a tomato, and gazed at Lisa. "Lisa,
I wish you wouldn't give up on this. I thought we agreed that at least
we were going to try--"

"No, Amy. You decided you were going to solve all Mom and Dad's
problems. The rest of us are just along for the ride."

Amy's knife attacked the tomato with rather more vigor than Lisa
thought necessary. "I wish Megan were here," she muttered. "I wish
she didn't have to delay her visit till next week. Because she'll come
round to my side---"

"Don't get your hopes up," Lisa cautioned. "Megan is just as realistic
as I am."

Amy ignored this last comment. She began rummaging through one of the
kitchen cabinets, turning away from Lisa purposely, it seemed. As
always, Lisa was struck by her sister's vibrancy. Amy's long,
strawberry-blond hair rippled down her back. She was gracefully
tall--had been since junior high--and Lisa had never once known her to

slouch. She always moved confidently, with her head up, as if she
expected to see something wonderful off in the distance somewhere. And,
wherever she went, she seemed to create a stir of color and warmth.
Just look at her kitchen, brimming with such cozy disorder. Red and
yellow and green peppers spilled across the counter, pans jostled each
other for room in the sink and a Chinese hibiscus flowered
extravagantly on the windowsill.

The old sensations came over Lisa--wanting to retreat from her
sister's all-encompassing vitality, yet secretly admiring it. Lisa
stood restlessly. She went to look inside the refrigerator and saw
that Amy had indeed stocked lime, cherry and orange sodas. That was
Amy, all right, never content with only one choice. She seemed
determined to gather the world into her arms, refusing to admit there
might be just a few limitations on how much she could hold. Lisa
firmly closed the refrigerator door.

"I 'never should have let you convince me," she told Amy now. "I never
should have let you talk me into coming back to Hurricane Beach." The
very name of her hometown evoked unease, turmoil.

Amy started chopping the bell peppers. "Maybe, deep down, you're as
concerned about Mom and Dad as I any--and that's why you're here. You
won't admit it, that's all. Besides, it's not like I drag you here
kicking and screaming all the time. Before last spring, you hadn't
been back in ages. Doesn't that tell you something?" It told Lisa a
great deal.

It told her that she'd made a new life for herself in Connecfcut,
building a career where she'd found some genuine meaning at last. It
was only when she returned to Florida that the old discontents and
longings threatened to overwhelm her. But how could she explain any of
that to Amy?

"You'd never have come back at all," her sister went on, "if Mom and
Dad weren't making these ridiculous noises about a divorce---oh, damn."
The knife clattered down and Lisa could see blood forming around a
small cut on Amy's finger. Amy cranked on the faucet and stuck her
hand underneath the stream of water.

Lisa went to her sister and pressed a paper towel over the cut. "It's
a miracle you didn't do worse damage, the way you had that knife flying
around. Here--hold it like that. The bleeding will stop in a second
or two."

Amy gave her a considering glance. "You've developed a very reassuring
tone. Are you like this with those teenage girls of yours?"

Lisa gave a small smile, feeling the tug of "her" girls in Connecticut.
Young pregnant teenagers--defiant and difficult to the last one. But
they were, after all, kids. And that meant occasionally they could
surprise you with laughter, no matter how scared and lonely--and, yes,
difficult--they might be.

"You know, Lisa," Amy said, "I really think it's great how you founded
that home for girls. It's so worthwhile--"

"Oh, I'm a regular model of virtue," Lisa said caustically. No sense
in telling Amy what a struggle it was to keep the girls' shelter open.

It wasn't intended as a moneymaking endeavor by any means--and that
meant Lisa and the partner who'd helped her found the home were
constantly scrounging for donations. Lately, finances had become more
precarious. Patrick had offered to help, but so far Lisa had turned
him down. She didn't like the thought of complicating their
relationship

with money matters. She knew, of course, that she could go to her
father for money, but she'd always hesitated. Whenever her father got
a financial foothold in anything, he had a way of taking over.
Somehow, Lisa would just have to come up with the solutions on her
own.

"It is admirable," Amy insisted. "All the good work you're do'
rag--"

"Yes, I'm just a real whiz at saving the world," Lisa remarked.

Amy shook her head. "You always do this. Someone tries to pay you a
compliment, and you get sarcastic. Nothing's wrong with just saying
thank-you."

"TII keep that in mind." Lisa knew she was doing it again, heard the
bite in her own voice. But she couldn't seem to help herself whenever
she was around family.

Amy blotted her finger with the paper towel, then gave Lisa a hard
stare. "Doesn, t it drive you crazy, too? The way Mom and Dad are
acting about each other... Surely you don't want them to divorce any
more than I do."

The truth was, the whole thing bothered Lisa a great deal. Her parents
had been married almost fifty years. That was something solid,
something irrevocable ... at least, it was supposed to be. Maybe Lisa
disliked coming home to Florida, but in a strange way it had always
comforted her knowing that her parents were together. Merrick and
Helene Hardaway--even their names sounded like a venerable institution.
But a few months ago they had suddenly started arguing with each other.
At first the reasons for their discord had been close and murky. Then
Merrick had shown interest in selling the Hardaway beachfront property
to a developer, and Helene had balked at the idea. The disagreement
had escalated. Helene had moved out of the family home, and now
Merrick scowled when anyone so much as mentioned his wife's name. What
on earth was going on with them? They'd hardly disagreed about
anything before. It was very disturbing, as if a foundation Lisa had
trusted all her life was slipping beneath her feet.

She didn't know how to share any of this with her sister. So she
merely sat down on one of the kitchen stools again, propping her elbows
on the counter.

"Morn and Dad are kicking up their heels a little," she said
flippantly. "Why not let them--what's all the fuss?"

Amy muttered something that Lisa couldn't quite catch.

"You know what?" Amy said, louder now. "I'll go ask everybody what
they want to drink." She went toward the kitchen door, wrapping the

paper towel around her finger. But then she paused and glanced back at
Lisa. "It wouldn't kill you. Now and then you could actually admit
you have feelings. Would it really be so difficult?" With that, Amy
vanished into the living room.

Lisa wearily rubbed her temples. Whether she was talking to Amy on the
phone, or discussing something face-to-face, she invariably ended up
at

odds with her sister. It seemed to be a special talent she had. And
like everything else regarding her family, Lisa had no idea what to do
about it.

She sat and listened to the simmering of the spaghetti sauce on the
stove. Left to herself at last, the thoughts she'd tried to submerge
popped up again. Matt Cormell... It turned out he had recognized her,
Oddly enough, the knowledge gave her no satisfaction. All she could do
was wonder who would be the lucky recipient of those butterscotch
candies.

A woman ... was that why he'd come back to Hurricane Beach? But the
way Lisa had understood it all those years ago, Matt had known few
people in town. He'd come from New Mexico to spend summers in
Hurricane Beach with his grandparents, but he'd always been vague about
even that much. Lisa had known so little of his personal life, which
had made him seem all the more exciting and mysterious. The summer
she'd turned fifteen--that was when she'd first seen him, walking along
the beach. She'd been too shy to approach him. She'd just stood and
watched how his dark hair lifted in the breeze, and how golden-brown
his shoulders looked in the sun. He had seemed so unattainable, a boy
you only dreamed about. But then he had coo me back to town the next
summer, too, the summer Lisa turned sixteen.

She went to check on the spaghetti sauce. It ought to simmer a bit
longer; she supposed she could finish the salad. She scattered fresh
mushroom slices over the lettuce, but then she ran out of inspiration.
Once again, she looked into the living room. Amy had knelt down beside
their mother's chair, and was talking earnestly to Helene. Their
voices were low, and Lisa couldn't catch what they were saying, but the
conversation seemed too intense to be simply about lime or cherry soda.
Couldn't Amy let up a little? No matter how much she wanted it, she
couldn't force Mom and Dad to get back together.

Lisa's gaze flickered to the opposite side of the room. Patrick
lounged on the sofa, regaling Jon with stores of the flight from
Connecticut. Lisa could all too plainly catch his voice.

"Lisa's certain it must have been the airplane food," Patrick said.
"But I told her that airplane food never disagrees with me. I'm used
to traveling everywhere." He gave a self-deprecating laugh.
"Everywhere but Florida, I suppose."

Patrick looked pleasingly handsome as he sprawled on the sofa, his fair
complexion perfectly complemented by his white cotton shirt. White was
his best color, something he seemed to know well. It made him appear
so clean. Lisa had never realized that before. Patrick always looked
as if he had just stepped out of the shower. And he always smelled
fresh, as if he had just patted shaving lotion on his cheeks. Why did
that suddenly make Lisa grimace?

Jon sat on the other side of the sofa, listening to Patrick with an air
of resigned patience. Then his gaze drifted toward Amy, and Lisa saw
the unmistakable love in his eyes. She felt like a voyeur, witnessing
a moment not meant to include her.

Swiftly she went to the opposite side of the counter so that her back
was to the living room. She began slicing carrots for the salad,
trying to concentrate on this one, simple task. Instead, she almost
cut her finger with the knife. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't
she just accept seeing Jori and Amy together? It wasn't that she
begrudged their love. It wasn't that she still wanted Jon for herself.
Whatever had existed between the two of them had died a long time ago.
Maybe, if she were honest, what disturbed her most was that Jori and
Amy were so right for each other. They were so happy, and it was the
kind of happiness you couldn't help envying. It seemed something
special, unique, the kind of emotion you believed in only when you were
very young. Sixteen, perhaps... "I told Amy I'd help with lunch.
She's treating me with kid gloves, but I am perfectly capable of
handling spaghetti."

Lisa was startled by the sound of her mother's voice behind her.

"Mom ... hi," she said lamely. She and Helene had already exchanged
rather awkward greetings today, but nothing they'd said had dispelled
the long-standing tensions between them. Lisa had never experienced
outright arguments or differences of opinion with her mother. No, it
was something more subtle than that, an inability to go below the
surface with each other. Even as a child, Lisa had checked any
extremes of emotion around her mother, knowing instinctively to
restrain herself.

Perhaps she'd simply wanted to please Helene. After all, Helene
herself had always been so calm and gracious. Lisa had tried to
emulate her, perfecting her role as the quiet, obedient daughter. But
then she'd turned sixteen, and done something no obedient daughter ever
should. She'd gone too far with Matt Connell--so far that a
frightening new world had opened before her. If only she could have
confided in her mother about it! But the training of her childhood had
been too strong. Lisa had gone on pretending to be the quiet one, the
one who didn't cause any trouble. No one had known her fear. Not her
mother, not her father, not her sisters. Lisa had been alone in the
midst of her own family, but that had seemed far better than risking
the loss of her family's love. Back then, she couldn't imagine any of
them loving her if they ever learned the truth.

She was an adult now, not the vulnerable kid she'd once been. What had
happened to her at sixteen was something long buried----no need to
bring it up after all this time. Nonetheless, the careful politeness
she and her mother had observed for years was starting to show the
strain. It manifested itself in 'uncomfortable pauses, sentences left
dangling. Lisa wondered what would happen if she ever did try to have
a real conversation with her mother. Not about Lisa's own personal
life, of course---that would be just a little too real. But there were
plenty of other topics that might take them below the surface. Would
Helene be horrified at the possibility? Did she ever talk about

emotions with anyone? Or was the problem simply one between her and
Lisa, the youngest of her daughters? Lisa had grown so distant from
all the family that she couldn't answer any of these questions.

Helene went to the stove and stirred the sauce. "Imagine," she said.
"Amy makes this from scratch. She stews the tomatoes, everything. It
would be much more convenient just to open a bottle."

Lisa almost had to smile at that. Amy's recipe for homemade spaghetti
sauce had been handed down from Helene herself. All during the time
Lisa and her two sisters had been growing up, Helene had taken pride in
providing the family with home-cooked meals. Now, however, Helene took
pride in tossing frozen dinners into the microwave. It seemed to be
one of the many small rebellions she'd embarked upon lately.

Helene took another pot, filled it with water and placed it on the
stove. She cranked the heat on high. "I told Amy you and I would
finish up in here. She needs to spend more time with Jon."

Lisa glanced into the living room yet again. Jon and Amy now sat
together snugly at one end of the sofa, chatting with Patrick.
Correction: Jon and Amy were gazing into each other's eyes while
Patrick chatted.

"Your Patrick seems to be a very nice man," Helene said. Those were
exactly the words Amy had used--"your Patrick." And the phrase was
still annoying. Lisa reminded herself how lucky she was to have
Patrick.

"He is very nice," she said. She tried to ignore what a bland word
that was. "Nice." It was the type of word people used when they
couldn't think of anything else to say about someone. It was a word
that they hid behind.

Lisa elaborated. "He's not just nice. It's more than that. He's ...
considerate. After all, he didn't really have to come on this trip
with me. It took some rearranging of his schedule to do it. Which
means he's supportive. And responsible."

"I'm glad for you, dear. He sounds like a fine person, exactly the
kind of man you deserve." Helene uttered these statements in a formal
manner, as if congratulating an acquaintance. Her expression carefully
portrayed nothing more than benign interest. Lisa experienced a spark
of irritation that surprised her with its intensity. Again she
wondered what it would be like to have a real conversation with her
mother.

Maybe it was time to find out.

CHAPTER TWO

THE GROUNDS APPEARED as fussy as ever to Matt Connell. Clipped lawns,
dressed gardens, manicured shrubs--the place looked as if it had just
got the full treatment at the local beauty parlor. A fence cut its way
along the perimeter--a whimsical half-moon fence, pickets a dazzling
white. At the center of this fussbudgetry stood a house like a chamber
of commerce postcard--the abode of Matt's grandmother, one Bea
Connell.

Ignoring the pain in his knees, lower back and right shoulder, Matt
walked up the bright brick pathway to his grandmother's front door,
wondering, not for the first time today, what the hell he was doing
here. Sure, he had received a telegram from the old gal, imploring him
to "forgo his self-imposed exile long enough to help her put her
affairs in order." Grandma Connell, it seemed, was preparing to call
it quits at the tender age of eighty-one not an entirely unsympathetic
situation, unless you considered that she had been threatening such a
demise as regularly as clockwork for the last decade and a half.

Bea, Bea, busy as a bee. Growing up, Matt had spent many a summer here
along the gulf helping

"Busy-as-a-bee Cormell" tend her ostentatious grounds. Looking back
reluctantly, Matt supposed he had not been the easiest of teenagers to
raise, and it had, no doubt, been a respite for his parents to ship him
off to Florida for the hot months of summer. To Matt, they had been
months from hell, toiling away under the callused green thumb of
Grandma Connell.

Then, however, Matt had discovered the girls of Hurricane Beach. And
one of the girls he'd discovered had been Lisa Hardaway.

As a teenager, Lisa had been pretty but tentative. She'd seemed
uncertain about everything she did, as if waiting for someone to give
her permission to enjoy herself. Yet there'd been nothing tentative
about her in the drugstore this morning. She'd been cool and very much
in control. Her vague prettiness had deepened into genuine beauty. She
reminded him of a pale, irresolute sketch that had gained contour and
color over the years, resulting in a vivid portrait. The new
confidence in her eyes made them seem a darker brown. Her hair had
turned from flaxen to gold, her girl's body had become a woman's.

Matt felt a stirring of some long-ago emotion, but he kept it at a
distance. His summers in Hurricane Beach belonged to another life.
Lisa Hardaway belonged to another life. The stirring of emotion inside
him flickered, then died, just as it should.

Ignoring his grandmother's doorbell, Matt

rapped twice on the brass knocker--an elaborate affair depicting two
lovers kissing.

"Bea," he called. "Bea, it's me." Without waiting for a response, he
opened the door, which was never kept locked, and stepped inside. The
house was as hot as ever ... stiflingly hot. For some reason, Grandma
Connell preferred to take her fresh air only out in her gardens. In
her house, windows were never opened, air conditioners never switched
on, and over the long Florida summers the place built up heat like a
furnace, baking the furniture and people inside.

"Bea ... it's only Matt. No need to relinquish your deathbed just to
answer the door."

He walked across the living room and down a short hall. By the time he
reached the kitchen, he already had beads of perspiration on his
forehead, and he could feel his shirt begin to liquify.

"Lord, it's hot in here," he grumbled as he headed straight for the
refrigerator, popped open the door and leaned his head and shoulders
inside. "Mathias T. Connell. You'll foul the ricotta!" Matt turned
his head enough to observe Grandma Connell striding into the kitchen.
For a woman threatening death, she had the gait of an Olympic distance
walker. "It's good to see you, too, Bea," he said. "Oh, and by the
way, you're welcome."

Despite her trademark scowl, Grandma Connell almost gave Matt a little
smile. "Butterscotch?" He held the bag of candy out to her.

"Now, Matt," she said as she snatched the bag from his hand, "you
shouldn't have. You know I won't eat them. They'll just go stale in
the cupboard."

Matt didn't bother answering this. Grandma Connell's penchant for
butterscotch was almost legendary. "So," he Said, opening the freezer
compartment and fishing out a handful of ice. "What's got into you
this time, Bea? All this talk about putting your affairs in order...
Did old lady Waverly's roses outshine yours again? Or did Mr. Potts
neglect to be first on your dance card?"

Busy-as-a-bee Connell had already busied a butterscotch out of its
wrapper and into her mouth.

"Mathias, don't be rude. Janet Waverly is over three years younger
than me. If she's an 'old lady," then I'm a dinosaur."

Matt put the ice on the back of his neck and closed the refrigerator.
"Tyrannosaurus ... Tyrannosaurus Connell. Except you're too stubborn
to be extinct."

Grandma Connell did smile this time, although Matt thought there was

something vacant in her usually bright eyes.

"You are okay, aren't you, Bea?"

"Mathias. My sweet Mathias." Grandma Con-nell moved to the counter
and dumped her butterscotch candy into a tulip-shaped dish. The sly
old gal had had a bowl out and waiting. "You know, Matt, your Grandpa
Mathias was always so very proud. "Such a fine namesake," he was fond
of saying. "Such a fine boy.""

"You must be joking," Matt said. "Grandpa

Connell hardly ever said two words to me besides telling me what a
slacker I was down at the foundry. "Pick up your feet, Matt. I never
saw anyone move so slow in my life. Are you sure you're alive in
there, Matt? Pick up your feet.""

Grandma Connell turned to give him a stern look. "That was just his
way, Matt. Being hard on the ones he loved most was just his way.
First your father ... and then you. He loved you both dearly."

At the mention of his father, Matt felt a stillness inside. It was
dangerous, for into the stillness the memories could come. If he
started thinking about his father, then he'd think about the rest of
them, too. He couldn't allow that.

He did what he always did at such times--with a force of will, he took
himself from the past and centered himself firmly in the present. He
didn't look back, he didn't look forward. He was here in his
grandmother's house, that was all.

Despite the ice at the back of his neck, despite having just extracted
himself from the fridge, Matt was sweating profusely now. Grandma
Connell's skin, on the other hand, was as dry as sunbaked
leather--except for around her eyes. Matt thought he detected some
beads of moisture around Bea Connell's eyes.

"What's happened, BeaT' Matt stepped closer and placed his non-iced
hand on his grandmother's shoulder. "Everything is all right, isn't
it?"

But the only answer Matt received was a hug--a frail and tender hug
from his grandma Connell.

LIsA WATCHED as Helene dumped the pasta into the pot of boiling water.
Helene didn't speak, just hummed a little under her breath. Lisa
realized that was a sound she'd heard often while growing up--her
mother's quiet humming. It had seemed comforting, something you could
count on, like the whisper of the wind or the lapping of waves against
the shore. Now Lisa wondered if her mother's humming wasn't just a way
to avoid uncomfortable conversations

Lisa began slicing mushrooms. "You know, Mom," she said in a casual
tone, "it isn't very often that all of us have a chance to get
together."

"I realize that, believe me," Helene said, looking genuinely wistful.
"I've wished so many times to have all three of you here. You and Amy
and Meg."

"Meg will be flying in next week," Lisa reminded her. "You'll have
your wish."

"Not really. It would be so much better if all three of you could live
nearby. We could be a family again."

"I guess that's what we all want," Lisa said. "To be a family again."
She hoped that she sounded sincere. Truth was, she'd spent the last
decade trying to get as far away from her family as possible. That,
however, was not germane to the discussion.

"I think about it a lot," Helene murmured, absentmindedly stirring the
spaghetti. "How the three of you came along when I'd just about given
up hope. You were my lovely, unexpected gifts. First

one happy surprise, then later another ... and another. I couldn't
get over how lucky I was. Not just one beautiful little girl, but
three, as if to make up for all the years without."

Lisa had heard these words often; they were part of the Hardaway lore,
as familiar as the bedtime stories Helene had once read to her three
young children. But usually Helene said, "You were our gifts," making
clear that both she and Dad had been delighted with such an unexpected
bounty of daughters. Today, however, any reference to Merrick Hardaway
seemed pointedly left out.

Lisa scattered the sliced mushrooms on top of the lettuce. "Morn," she
said. "You know what I meant. We can't be a family again without him.
Without Dad." There. She'd actually broached the subject. No more
pretending that her father had simply disappeared.

"I think we could use some olives in that salad, don't you?" Helene
said, completely ignoring Lisa's remark. She poked her head in the
refrigerator. "I saw a jar of olives in here the other day. Yes ...
here we are. Why don't you slice a few of them, dear? It's a nice
touch, olives in a salad."

Lisa tried again. "More," she said. "If you'd just talk about it,
maybe it would help."

Helene paused. "There's nothing to talk about," she said. "Except for
the fact that we're all starving, I'm sure?" She checked the spaghetti
sauce. "Mmm ... almost done. Why don't you taste it?" She smiled too
brightly.

Helene had lost none of her soft beauty over the years. Her skin,
despite the fine wrinkles, had a pretty rose color. Lisa remembered so
well being a child, climbing into her mother's lap and touching her
face. Helene had always been one for hugging and kissing her children.
If the words had never come easily between her and Lisa, there had
always been the hugs and kisses.

Lisa remembered other things, such as the way her mother had always
seemed to be listening for something no one else could hear. She would
hold her head ever so slightly cocked, as if expecting some private
summons. Then Merrick would call out to her from another room in the
house, and that seemed to be what she'd been waiting for.

Lisa tried slicing a few of the olives, but they kept skittering away
from her on the cutting board. She set down her knife with a clatter.
"More, it's just not right. I know he wants to be with you. I mean,
this whole argument has gotten out of hand! If the property is causing
you so much trouble--just sell it. Get rid of it. Then maybe you and
Dad could ... I don't know, travel together. See a few of the sights
you've always talked about." Even as she spoke, Lisa realized how
hollow the words sounded. And now Helene gazed at her almost with

haughtiness.

"Lisa," she said, "do you truly believe this is only about whether or
not we're going to sell the property? Is that what you think?"

The question took Lisa by surprise, for she'd expected another evasion.
And she really didn't know what to think. Last spring, Amy was the one
who'd

called her in Connecticut and informed her that their parents were in
the midst of a marital crisis. Over the next few months, the crux of
the matter had emerged: a land developer from Atlanta by the name of
Palmer Boyce wanted to buy the Hardaways' extensive beachfront
property, including the home where Helene and Merrick had raised their
three daughters. The two senior Hardaways couldn't seem to reach a
joint decision on the matter.

Admittedly, Lisa had speculated whether or not this disagreement was
the only trouble between her parents. But Helene and Merrick had
always seemed so devoted to each other--and they'd been married almost
fifty years, after all. What else could be the trouble?

"I'm a good listener," Lisa said now, purposely keeping her tone
nonchalant. "That's what I've been told, anyway. Maybe you could give
me a

For a moment she sensed a wavering in her mother, and was certain she
even saw a flash of pain in Helene's eyes. But then Helene resolutely
shook her head. "I told you. There's nothing to talk about. Now,
what else do you think we can do with this salad? I'm positive we can
liven it up a bit."

Lisa saw the moment slipping from her, but she didn't know how to reach
her mother. There was something new about Helene these days, a certain
implacability that showed itself now and then. Always Lisa remembered
her mother's softness--but there was no evidence of it today.

Lisa gazed at the salad, wondering what could be more enlivening than
mushrooms and olives. She also wondered why she couldn't seem to talk
to anyone in her family. Talking--and listening--to people in trouble
had become her specialty. Her master's in psychology gave her the
credentials she needed, but it was also something intuitive with her,
knowing when to prod a reluctant teenager into speech, or when to let
silence do its work. She was even adept at mediating between kids and
their frantic parents. Why, then, couldn't she talk to a single person
in her own family?

"Sure smells good in here," said Patrick as he strolled into the
kitchen. "I'm actually starting to feel hungry again."

"I knew you'd he better in no time," Helene said, clearly relieved at
the intrusion. "With all this lovely sunshine, no one can feel bad for
long. Well, let me go tell Amy and Jon we're almost ready. We'll have
a delightful lunch together." Murmuring these superficial remarks,
Helene hurried from the kitchen.

Lisa stared after her in frustration. She felt a completely immature
urge to yank at her mother's skirts and demand that she come back here.
But then Patrick distracted her, wrapping his arms around her from
behind and giving her a squeeze.

"I really do feel better," he said. "Whatever you got me this morning
did the trick."

Lisa felt engulfed. She slipped away from him and pulled open the
refrigerator door. "Mom says

the salad needs spicing up, but I don't see anything in here that'll
help."

"Nuts," Patrick said.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "What's wrong now--"

"Put nuts on the salad," he said with a grin. "Cashews, walnuts,
whatever. That always does the trick."

Lisa found herself gritting her 'teeth again. Patrick had a habit of
saying that something or other "did the trick." It had never bothered
her until now, and she supposed she was just on edge. It had not been
a restful day so far.

She rummaged through a cabinet and found some pecans. "I don't really
think so," she began.

"Sure." Patrick took the nuts from her, and sprinkled a generous
amount on the salad. "Didn't I tell you I worked as a chef's helper
once? I was only fifteen, but I was out there slaving away in a
restaurant six nights a week."

Lisa had heard about every one of Patrick's jobs as a boy. He could
justifiably gloat over the fact that he'd worked his way all through
high school and college, and then gone on to establish his own
business. He now had three safe and lock shops in Connecticut, with
plans to open a fourth. If he wanted to explain for the hundredth time
how he'd been a chef's assistant, or a bag boy, or a hardware clerk, or
how he'd once juggled two paper routes--certainly he had a right

He went to stir the spaghetti sauce, tasting a little from the spoon,
and Lisa told herself that she'd better earn how to relax her clenched
jaw.

"Your sister's a good cook," he said. "Too bad you didn't pick up a
few tricks from her."

"Amy has all kinds of talents," she said. "Maybe you'll find out you
picked the wrong sister--except that Amy is most definitely taken."

Patrick instantly looked penitent. He came over to Lisa and put his
arm around her. "Sweetheart, I was only kidding," he said. "I like
doing all the cooking. You have more important things to do."

Patrick was simultaneously demonstrating several of his best qualities:
he was a man who didn't mind taking over in the kitchen; he respected
Lisa's immersion in her career; and he never complained about the many
hours she put into it. He was also very, very perceptive.

"You know," he said, "you've been acting funny ever since this morning.

Like something's bothering you."

Patrick's arm felt heavy around her shoulders, but she forced herself
to stay motionless. "I warned you this trip wouldn't be pleasant," she
said. "My family and I--let's just say we don't know what to do with
each other."

Patrick gave her a shrewd glance. "Nah ... it's more than that. You've
been acting strange ever since you got back to the bed-and-breakfast
this morning. You resent the fact that I got sick, and made you run
errands."

"Don't be silly," Lisa said. "You weren't even sick. You just had a
much of indigestion, and--"

"My point exactly. You figured I was making too big a deal about my
stomach,"

Was it Lisa's imagination, or had she discerned just a bit of
self-righteous innocence in Patrick's voice? One way or another, she
was never going to hear the end of his confounded stomach problems.

"Look," she said. "I know you didn't feel well. And I was more than
happy to go out and get you something. I'm glad you're doing better."
She slipped away from him once more and studied the salad. If only she
could get rid of all those pecans.

Patrick leaned against the counter, practically taking it over.
"Something else is bothering you," he said. "Fess up."

There he went again---dissecting her emotions. "It's nothing," she
muttered.

"What happened this morning?" he persisted. "Don't be ridiculous--"

Patrick had that look on his face, the one that said he was on the
trail of discovery. This was when he became his most persistent--when
he was probing Lisa's emotions. If he sensed that anything in the
least was troubling her, he seemed to consider it his duty to get it
out in the open and resolve 'it. If he made her life miserable in the
process, well, he seemed to consider that an unfortunate side effect.

"This is how I see it," Patrick said. "This morning we were relaxing
at the B&B, having a good time. Except for my stomach, of course. Then
you went out to get me something at the drugstore.

Ever since you got back, you've been ... different. Tense.
Wound-up."

"Patrick, would you give it a rest? I just don't like being in this
town."

"Here. I'll show you." He put his arm around her shoulders again.
"Aha," he said with satisfaction. "Look at that--the minute I touch
you, there it is. You stiffen right up. And, if I'm not mistaken, in
the next few seconds you'll find an excuse to pull away from me."

It took quite some effort for Lisa not to pull away. She reminded
herself that this was one of the main qualities that had drawn her to
Patrick in the first place: his sensitivity to her emotional needs.
How many men could claim the same talent?

"You're making too big a deal out of this," she said.

Patrick appeared thoughtful. "If it was only the town that bothered
you, you would've been acting strange since the plane landed yesterday.

But you weren't. It only started this morning--"

"For crying out loud!" Too late, Lisa realized she'd raised her voice.
The occupants of the living room--Amy, Jon, Helene--all turned their
heads to glance curiously toward the kitchen. Lisa took a deep breath,
and when she spoke next her voice was almost a whisper. "You know what
your problem is, Patrick? You don't understand how to take a vacation.
When you're not working, you just don't have enough to occupy your
mind."

"You know there's something you want to tell me," he whispered back in

a conspiratorial manner "You send out these little signals, and it's
up to me to interpret them. For some reason, you can't seem to tell me
straight out how you feel. You want me to take the responsibility for
worming it out of you. It's an assertiveness problem."

That did it. Lisa pulled away, then turned to confront him. "I ran
into someone at the drugstore, all right? A... friend. From a long
time ago. It got me to thinking about a few things. It's that simple,
that ordinary." Only the last part was a lie. Nothing about her
memories of Matt Connell was simple or ordinary.

"Male or female?" asked Patrick.

"What are you talking about--"

"This friend of yours," he said with exaggerated patience. "Man or
woman?"

"Man," she said tightly.

Patrick grinned. "Ah ... so now we're at the bottom of it. You, Lisa,
ran into an old boyfriend. And it's bugging you no end."

CHAPTER THREE

THE CON NELL BRASS WORKS was only a five-minute drive from Hurricane
Beach. It sat on a small point of land across a ribbon of languid
water, the Alligator Creek, a tributary known more for its colorful
name than for the actual presence of any overgrown lizards. Half-hidden
among the pines, the brass works consisted of three buildings: an
ancient schoolhouse, which had been transplanted from
no-one-knew-where-for-certain, and transformed into the company's
offices; a large barracks, also of dubious lineage, which doubled as
finishing room and pattern storage; and the foundry itself, a faded
brick monstrosity with all the architectural charm of a Victorian
brothel. A wooden pier extended well out into the creek, while the
creek itself flowed toward the gulf and the main beachfront of the
town.

Matt supposed the age of the buildings alone gave the brass works a
certain rustic charm--"quaint" is what the guidebooks called it--and
the Connell tour was always given five stars. And when you factored in
the manual processing, along with the allure of its age-old reputation
for a small but high-quality production of door knockers,

knobs and hinges, bedposts, drawer pulls, cane heads, decorative water
spigots, latches and whatnots, Matt supposed the place was more than a
bit impressive.

Matt parked his Alpha Spider next to the only other car in the lot--a
bleached yellow T'bird, sixties vintage. This being Sunday, the brass
works were closed, but he'd heard that wouldn't stop his cousin Joanne
from being here. According to Bea Connell, Joanne had recently made
running Grandpa Connell's company into the ground her life's work. Matt
had been asked to intercede. He didn't expect it to be a pleasant
task--certainly he didn't look forward to the confrontation ahead.

The sun was high and hot, but there was enough of a breeze to keep the
perspiration off his forehead. After his little sojourn inside Grandma
Con-nell's furnace of a house this morning, Matt relished any respite
from perspiration. He climbed out of his Alpha and took a quick turn
around the yellow Bird, noting the oxidized paint, cracked up-hoist cry
and balding tires. The family brass works it appeared, was not the
only thing Joanne was attempting to run into the ground.

Matt walked along the path to the front offices. He took the stairs up
onto the porch slowly, one step at a time--would his damn knees ever
recover? He pulled on the bell cord and knocked several times, but
there was no answer. Cupping his hands over the glass front, he peered
inside. Everything looked familiar: the faded wallpaper, the rack of
time cards in the hall, the banistered stair well leading up to
Grandpa's private office. Everything looked the same, even the old rag
rugs looked the same.

He rapped on the glass. "Joanne ... Jo, you in there?"

Still no answer. Matt navigated the porch steps once again and headed
for one of the molding bays. Then he noticed someone in the distance,
standing on the pier--someone thin, with long brown hair. He walked
onto the pier reluctantly.

The breeze seemed stronger out over the water, yet not strong enough to
bother the gulls. Several of them were hovering to Matt's left,
shadowing him, no doubt hoping for a scrap of bait or a discarded catch
of the day. That was one of the fond memories of this place for
Matt--fishing off the end of the pier with his grandpa Cormell, when
the last of the sun had gilded the water, and the long, hard hours of
work at the foundry were softened in retrospection.

Joanne saw him now. Although she didn't say anything, he could tell
she wasn't exactly surprised by his presence. Matt continued his slow
progress to her side, cursing the circumstances which had brought him
here, and silently wishing he were anyplace else.

"Cousin Joanne... Fancy meeting you here."-Joanne didn't bother hiding
her displeasure. She ignored his attempt to break the ice.

"You don't really expect me to be happy about this, do you, Matt?"

He shifted his weight from one painful knee to

another. "There is no 'this," Jo. Bea is just concerned, that's all.
Concerned about the brass works She asked me to look into--"

"Cut the bull, Matt. She asked you to take over."

Joanne was facing him squarely, and Matt was struck by how very much
like Grandma Connell his cousin looked: same determined bearing, same
lean features, same flint-brown hair and dark gray eyes--except that
Grandma Connell's eyes always softened when Matt was around. Joanne's
had turned to uncompromising stone.

"You've made a lot of people uncomfortable, Jo," said Matt. "The way I
hear it, you've been alienating employees, distributors--just about
anybody who crosses your path. Production is down. Morale is gone.
The company's running in the red for the first time in five decades."

For just a moment,. Joanne's face got a pinched look, as if she had to
protect herself from this litany of facts. But then her expression
grew stubborn again.

"Bea asked me to take charge after Grandpa died. No one else was
willing to do it. And later--after the crash--" Joanne's voice caught
for a second, although she lost none of her belligerent attitude.
"Even then I kept the company going. You weren't around to do it. So
now I'll run the brass-works as I damn well please." She paused, swept
a derogatory gaze over him. "What's the matter, Matt? After all this
time, does Bea expect you to come in here and start throwing your money
all over the place? Your father did leave you quite an inheritance,
didn't he?"

It wasn't just Joanne's mocking tone that got under Matt's skin. It
was the mention of his inheritance-something else he'd never felt
comfortable with.

"You've suddenly started running the place into the ground, Jo. Why?
You're not stupid."

The breeze snarled Joanne's hair, and she brushed it out of her face in
disgust. "What does Bea think, Matt? That you're going to ride in on
a white horse and save the place for her? But coming to the rescue
isn't really your strong point, is it?"

Matt saw the sorrow and anger in his cousin's eyes, heard the
accusation in her voice. But he'd accused himself a hundred times
over. "There wasn't anything Joanne could say that would make it any
worse.

"Leave, Matt. Just get the hell out, before you destroy the rest of
this family, too." Her voice was cold.

Matt would like nothing better than to leave. But for Bea's sake, he

would stay. At least for now.

TWICE IN ONE DAY. Unfortunately, in a small town like Hurricane Beach,
running into Matt Connell again shouldn't have taken Lisa by surprise.
But it did.

This time she was with Patrick, and they had just entered the Oyster
Palace. Matt was there ahead of them, waiting to be seated.

Lisa stared at his back, at the dark hair curling

over his collar. For a moment she felt almost disoriented, as if time
had shifted and she was sixteen again, praying that Matt would notice
her. Then, perhaps sensing her gaze, he turned. His eyes flickered
over her impassively, scarcely seeming to acknowledge her. Once more,
she sensed the aloofness in him, the separateness. Even in this
crowded restaurant, he seemed someone apart, unmindful of the bustle
and chatter that surrounded him.

He made no effort to speak to Lisa, as if he considered their one
encounter this morning sufficient. His indifference goaded her.

"Hello, Matt," she said deliberately.

"Hello, Lisa." The faintest irony tinged his voice. He gazed at her,
his manner as reticent as before.

"Hi, there. I'm Patrick Dannon."

Lisa realized guiltily that she'd actually forgotten about Patrick for
a few moments. "This is Matt Cormell," she said, although she wondered
why she'd even bothered to intrOduce him. He was making it clear he
didn't care for social amenities of any kind. He shook Patrick's hand
briefly, giving a slight nod.

Patrick, of course, was not deterred. "Nice town you have here," he
said magnanimously. "It's my first visit."

It was a respectable conversation opener, but Matt didn't take
it--didn't say a word.

"Matt isn't from Hurricane Beach," she said, hearing the sharpness in
her own voice.

Patrick looked intrigued. "No? I thought maybe the two of you went to
school together, something like that."

"We didn't." She said the words with a finality that she hoped would
discourage Patrick. But it was Matt who spoke.

"I never went to school here," he said. "I was only down for the
summers."

"Ah ... a summer person," Patrick remarked. "How about that. But it's
the same up in Danfield. Danfield, Connecticut--that's where Lisa and
I live. As soon as June hits, the town fills. Tourists, workers
trying to escape the city. Too bad there's always resentment between
the newcomers and the townspeople."

"Too bad," Matt agreed. And his gaze flickered over Lisa again. She
couldn't think of a word to say, but thankfully the hostess came up to
tell Matt his table was ready. Lisa watched as he moved away without

so much as a backward glance.

"That's him, isn't it?" Patrick said sotto voce. "Him ... what?"
Lisa knew she wasn't listening very well. But she didn't like feeling
this way. Seeing Matt a second time had shaken her. Under ordinary
circumstances, she wasn't easily rattled by anything.

"The old boyfriend," Patrick said, still conspiratorial. "The one
that's had you in a tizz all day."

She gave Patrick an aggravated glance. "It really is true. Without
your stores to manage, you don't have enough to occupy your mind. And
I haven't been in a 'tizz," as you so adroitly put it."

Patrick offered his good-natured smile and laced

his fingers through hers. "You must've really had a thing for the
guy. Why not just admit it? What's the big deal?"

Patrick's hand was warm and dry in Lisa's. He never suffered from
sweaty palms, even in this Florida heat. That was another of his good
qualities, Lisa told herself.

"You're the one who's making a big deal," she said. "Just let it
go."

"If we ran into an old girlfriend of mine, I'd expect you to be
curious. I'd figure you'd want to know every detail."

"Fine," Lisa said quickly. "Let's talk about your girlfriends. You
can tell me about the first one you ever had."

Patrick gave her a careful perusal. "So ... this Matt Connell was the
first, eh? That's always the one who gets to you. No wonder you're in
a fizz."

Lisa clamped her mouth shut before she could say something rude and
unflattering about Patrick minding his own business. It wouldn't do
any good, anyway. With Patrick, the more she protested, the more he'd
try to wring the truth from her.

But no one--not even Matt--knew the truth about that summer sixteen
years ago. And Lisa intended to keep it that way.

She felt a heaviness deep inside. Every now and then an ache of
sadness would come over her like this, as if she were a soldier who had
never quite recovered from battle wounds. But somehow, she always
managed to push the ache aside, and go on with her life.

At last the hostess came to seat Lisa and Patrick at their own table.
Lisa was glad they were some distance from Matt, who sat in one of the
booths by the window, staring at his menu. Lisa concentrated on a
menu, too, debating whether to have the crab cakes, or the shrimp.

"The guy's not the friendliest type, is he?" Patrick said, leaning
back' comfortably in his chair.

"If you're talking about Matt--I wouldn't really know." Her tone was
carefully neutral. "I haven't exactly kept in touch With him over the
years."

"A first love never does end well," Patrick remarked sagely. "Regrets,
recriminations--"

Lisa realized she was clenching the menu. "Okay, Patrick," she said.
"Go ahead and tell me about your first love. That's what you've wanted
to talk about all along, isn't it?"

"Nah.."I figure yours is probably a whole lot more interesting."
Patrick gave her a wink and disappeared behind his menu.

Lisa reminded herself that Patrick had been like this before ... aware
of the subjects that rankle the most, and taking advantage of them.
Teasing her. If he didn't push it too far, it was actually an
endearing quality.

Again, she reminded herself of his many other good qualities. Look at
him now--being polite and pleasant to the waiter as he ordered a bottle
of wine. Lisa had dated men who treated waiters with hardly any

civility. It was something that had al ways made her cringe. But
Patrick was unfailingly cordial to everyone, as if he wanted the world
at large to share his contentment. That was another of his admirable
traits--Patrick was a happy person. He'd fought hard to achieve
something in his life, and he was pleased with the results. So why did
she feel so unsatisfied around him, so easily annoyed by his
idiosyncrasies.

Lisa's gaze strayed unwillingly across the res-tau tant toward Matt.
From the grim outline of his features, he did not appear to be a
satisfied person. She couldn't help wondering what his life had been
like all this time.

"You're right," Patrick said. "The guy looks lonely, sitting over
there all by himself. Shame, isn't it? You know, Lisa ... maybe he's
thinking about you, as much as you're thinking about him."

Lisa snapped her menu shut. "Patrick," she said. "What game are you
trying to play? You might as well tell me now, so we can get it over
with."

Patrick looked serious all of a sudden. "Game ... it's not exactly a
game, is it, Lisa? Let me tell you how I see it. These past few
months we've started to get serious about each other. At least, I've
started to get serious about you. But you know how I've been feeling?
Like I'm in one of those romantic movies, only I can't figure out if
I'm the lead, or an extra. The setting's right, everything's conducive
to a love affair ... but perhaps I'm not the hero."

All Lisa could do was stare at him. He didn't seem quite so contented
anymore. He seemed puzzled, maybe even a little hurt.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "You and I have a perfectly good
relationship going here."

"I guess I'd like to know that for sure. I'd like to know exactly how
you feel about me." For once, Patrick wasn't putting on a genial
front. The gravity of his expression disconcerted Lisa.

"We agreed we'd take things one step at a time," she reminded him. "And
I thought we were doing pretty well--"

"Something's holding you back from me, Lisa. Something deep and
buried. Something from your past. Maybe it's even this guy, Matt
Connell. If it is, I'd like to find out."

She was starting to feel angry, not to mention indignant. "We're
talking about someone I knew fifteen years ago," she said. "I was only
a kid. Just forget about it, Patrick."

"Afraid I can't do that. But don't worry--I'll be right back." He'd

left his chair and was moving across the room before Lisa had a chance
to react. With a feeling akin to horror, she watched as he went
straight toward Matt Cormell.

He stood beside Matt, talking and gesturing back at Lisa. It was all
too obvious what he was doing: inviting Matt to join them.

"No, "Lisa whispered, and the sixteen-year-old she'd been overtook her
again, agonizing that she might come off to some disadvantage in Matt
Con-nell's eyes.

She wasn't sixteen anymore. She was thirty-one.

But the sensations were exactly the same: the dread and the hope
colliding with each other until she had the crazy urge to stand up and
walk straight out of the restaurant.

No. She would sit right here, calm and in control. She would not
allow Matt Connell to come between her and any chance she had for a
good, stable relationship. She would prove that to Patrick, no matter
what it took.

Meanwhile, she saw Matt listen to Patrick, then give a plain shrug. The
gesture seemed to imply that it made no difference to him where he
sat... so why not accept Patrick's invitation? A few seconds later,
both men walked toward Lisa.

Seeing them side by side, comparisons became inevitable. They were
both roughly the same height, but Patrick's lankiness contrasted with
Matt's more muscular build. Patrick wore one of his crisp white shirts
and khaki shorts; Matt wore jeans and a blue shirt that was a tad
rumpled. Patrick had an inquiring, interested look on his face; Matt's
expression was reserved. He gave the impression he'd traveled to some
dark place which had left its shadow upon him. Lisa felt a strange
foreboding. What had happened with Matt during all these years?

Both men reached the table and sat down, one to either side of Lisa.

"This is much better," Patrick said. "As I was telling Matt, the two
of you haven't seen each other in a while, so why not take the
opportunity to catch up?"

Lisa gave Patrick a warning glance, then turned to Matt. "How have you
been?" she asked dryly.

"Fine. And you?" The sardonic edge to his voice matched her own.

"Fine."

Patrick raised his eyebrows expressively. He seemed about to say
something, but the waiter came back just then to take their orders.
Lisa said a silent thank-you for that; she didn't trust Patrick right
now. Although she didn't feel particularly hungry, she ordered the
avocado salad and the shrimp.

"You go ahead--you're next," Patrick said expansively to Matt. "I have
to think about it a little."

Matt ordered the smoked salmon, and Patrick, meanwhile, was still
thinking about it a little.

"I guess I could risk the oysters," Patrick said. "What do you think,
sweetheart?"

Lisa felt like crawling under the table. Patrick was laying it on
thick with the "sweetheart" business--what was he up to now? "Don't
have the oysters," she answered. "Remember... you weren't feeling well
earlier." She glanced at Matt, silently defying him to say anything at
all.

Matt simply looked back at her, the expression in his blue-gray eyes
unreadable.

"Everybody should live dangerously once in a while," Patrick said; and
proceeded to order the oysters. when the waiter went off, he settled
back in his chair.

"Oysters for dinner," he pronounced. "A perfect way to follow
spaghetti for lunch. Lisa's sister makes great spaghetti, but you
probably already know that."

"Actually, no," Matt said. "I hardly met any of Lisa's family."

"No kidding. Somehow I got the impression the two of you knew each
other well."

Lisa could feel the strain radiating down into her neck and shoulders.
"No," she said. "We never knew each other well."

Matt's eyes seemed to darken, and his gaze captured hers. She knew,
without a doubt, that he was remembering the one way they had known
each other ... very well. She couldn't look away, and she felt the
blood heating her face.

"Well," Patrick said, his tone speculative, "I guess I've
misunderstood, all around. Tell me how the two of you met, anyway."

To Lisa, his voice seemed to come from a distance. She picked up her
water glass, noted with dismay that her fingers were trembling and
hastily set down the glass again. And still she could not look away
from Matt.

He leaned back in his chair, but he did not appear relaxed like
Patrick. A certain tension never seemed to leave his muscles. "I
joined an aviation club that summer," he said. "So did Lisa."

He didn't mention the fact that Lisa had joined only because she'd
learned he would be there. Of course, how could Matt have known? She'd
never told him.

"Lisa, I didn't know you were interested in air planes and all that,"
Patrick said, making it sound as if she'd concealed some vital piece of
information from him.

"It was a very long time ago," she said. "I never actually learned to
fly." Deep down, she'd been terrified of flying--whether as passenger
or pilot. But it was something that fascinated Matt, and so she'd
pretended to be fascinated, too.

"Well," Patrick said. "You go along, thinking you know somebody, and
then something new pops out. Something you never even suspected."

"It was a very long time ago," Lisa repeated. Matt regarded her
solemnly.

"Yes. It was," he agreed.

Patrick glanced at each of them in turn, a lively look on his face.

Annoyance stirred in Lisa all over again. Matt unsettled her, yes, but
surely that reaction was only a sort of aftershock, an echo of long-ago
tumult. Perhaps that was only natural, something to be expected when
you encountered your first love--adolescent, immature love, she
reminded herself. No doubt the effect would wear off soon, and Lisa
could go back to being her normal, adult self.

The food arrived, and Lisa was grateful for something to occupy herself
with. Matt, too, seemed to find eating enough of a task. But Patrick,
despite the attention required by the oysters, found plenty of
opportunity to talk.

"So, Matt. Are you back in town to visit the old haunts? That type of
thing?"

"I have some business to wrap up." He ignored

Patrick's inquiring glance, and did not elaborate on what his business
might be.

"I'm in the security game, myself," Patrick said. "Dead-bolt Dannon,
that's me, of Dannon Safes and Locks."

Matt didn't say a word, and again Lisa felt like disappearing under the
table. Another of Patrick's habits he'd poke a bit of fun at himself,
let you know his silly nickname, but at the same time he'd give you the
impression that he took himself very seriously indeed. He was doing
that right now, but to what purpose?

"Lisa's made quite a success of herself," he went on.

"Patrick," she said, cautioning him. He ignored her.

"Single-handedly, she started Up a foundation for pregnant teenagers.
Nothing impersonal about it, either. It's a group home. Psychological
counseling, job training, the works. Lisa never tackles any project by
half measures."

"It hasn't been single-handed," Lisa said. "I have a partner. We work
together on everything." She didn't go on, because she hated talk' rag
about this in front of Matt. What interest could he possibly have in
her life now? But he was gazing at her again, thoughtfully this
time.

"Lisa doesn't like it when I brag about her. But I'm proud of her."
Patrick placed his hand over hers on the table. It was the type of
gesture you'd expect from the man in your life. And suddenly Lisa
understood what Patrick was up to. He didn't just want to analyze the
interaction between herself and Matt. He also wanted to make clear to
Matt his own claim on Lisa. She's mine, he seemed to be saying. If
you want her, you'll have to fight for her. There was something
touching about Patrick's attitude. Nonetheless, it took all of Lisa's
willpower not to yank her hand away from his.

Patrick was going on, "If you want to know the truth, Lisa's stubborn
about her work. Sure, she has a partner, and she'll let volunteers
take up some of the slack--but forget it when it comes to money. She's
dangling from a financial shoestring, but she won't let me or anyone
else help her out."

Lisa stared at Patrick. Now she did pull her hand away from his.
"Patrick, this is personal. I'm sure Matt doesn't want to hear about
it."

Matt, however, was watching Lisa and Patrick as if he found both of
them amusing, but not worth a great deal of his attention. It was his
disinterest that piqued her the most. One or two sarcastic remarks
came to mind, but she checked them in time. The worst thing she could

do right now would be to let Matt know he'd gotten to her.

"You should hear how Lisa and I met," Patrick said.

"I'm sure Matt doesn't want to--"

"She came into my shop--the one in Danfield proper--saying she needed
the locks changed at her house. Usually I have one of my technicians
do the job, but this time I handled it. Installed the locks for her
personally... and then I asked her out. You know what impressed me the
most? The fact

that she said yes, even though she really thought I was just a
technician. She didn't know yet that I owned the business." Once
again, Patrick took her hand and squeezed it affectionately. She had
always hated it when couples shared intimate, personal details of their
courtship with any passing acquaintance, yet now it seemed she and
Patrick were doing just that. Before she knew it, they'd be showing
vacation photos and home movies to a somnolent audience.

She glanced at Matt. He showed no outward reaction of any kind, but
somehow she sensed that he knew exactly what she was feeling. She
couldn't explain it, but some unspoken recognition passed between
them.

Confusion swirled through her. For that second alone, she'd felt
pulled back into the intense, private world she and Matt had once
shared. But that world had been a treacherous place.

Gradually she became aware once more of Patrick's hand covering hers.
Suddenly she felt disloyal to him. They'd been dating almost six
months. And recently they had become much more serious about each
other. They were a couple. And so, if they did all the silly,
obnoxious couple sort of things... fine. Good. Who cared what Matt
Con-nell thought? He was no longer a part of her life. This encounter
with him was something chance, something fleeting. What she had with
Patrick was meant to last.

She squeezed Patrick's hand in return. She might have been a bit too
forceful about it, though, because he gave her another speculative
look.

Matt continued to watch the two of them with that detached expression.
Then he nudged away his plate of half-eaten food. "I have to be
going," he said.

"I hear they have great desserts here," Patrick said. "Stick around a
while."

Matt simply pulled out his wallet and extracted some cash.

"Hey, dinner's on me," Patrick said.

"I'll handle it." Matt spoke with quiet authority. He left the cash
on the table, then rose to his feet. He shook hands briefly with
Patrick, and then he gazed at Lisa.

"Goodbye," he murmured. The word had a finality about it, implying no
"see you around," no "catch you later." Then Matt turned and walked
away. Lisa stared after him, knowing there was no reason to feel this
turmoil inside, this unnamed yearning.

After all, Matt Connell had walked out of her life years ago.

CHAPTER FOUR

PATRICK SAT IN BED, wearing a pair of cotton pajamas, looking--as he
always did--fresh and clean. No matter that he'd been sleeping in
those pajamas all night; they didn't even look rumpled. Lisa, on the
other hand, felt rumpled and frazzled and bleary-eyed. She hadn't
slept well at all, her dreams filled with dark, restless images of Matt
Cormell. She slid out of bed, grabbed her robe and headed toward the
bathroom. Maybe she'd feel better once she brushed her teeth and
splashed water on her face.

"Lisa, wait," Patrick said. "Come here."

Patrick was using his amorous voice. Lisa remained where she was,
hovering by the door. "We can't possibly," she said. "Why not?" he
asked reasonably.

"This place is so small. There's not enough privacy." The
bed-and-breakfast they were staying at was a trim clapboard house run
by Constance Valentine; the few rooms for let were all occupied, and
situated snugly next to each other,

"We'll be quiet," Patrick said with a roguish smile. An endearing
smile, actually.

"We just ... can't," she said lamely. "I told Amy I'd meet her this
morning down at her shop."

Patrick's smile faded, only to be replaced by his astute look. "That's
not the real reason you won't come to bed. Why not admit it?"

"Don't start," she warned.

"Let's face it. There's someone else in this room with us. Your old
flame Matt?"

Lisa winced. All she wanted was her toothbrush, and a little time to
herself. "You're letting your imagination run away with you" she
said.

"Then tell me why we haven't made love since landing in this town."

"It's only been two days, Patrick--"

"That's a long time for us, and you know it," he said, perhaps a bit
smugly. Since they'd become serious in the past few months, their sex
life had been ... active. Patrick could justifiably commend himself on
a certain expertise, as well as a certain enthusiasm. Lisa reminded
herself how lucky she was to have a man so attentive and
affectionate.

"Look," she said. "You can understand, can't you? This town puts me
off balance. Being around my family is distracting, at the very least.
As soon as we're back in Connecticut, everything will be different--"

"At least you could be honest with me," Patrick said. "Is the reason
this town unsettles you because of your old boyfriend?"

Lisa almost groaned out loud. Why couldn't Patrick just let it be?
"Matt Cormell was never my

boyfriend. Not officially, anyway. And it was all so long ago."

"Then come to bed, Lisa."

All she had to do was take a few short steps, and allow Patrick's arms
to engulf her. The rest would proceed naturally enough. Perhaps if
they did make love, she would finally be able to erase the stark image
of Matt Connell from her mind Lisa turned and escaped into the small
adjoining bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. She leaned
against the sink, feeling her heart pound absurdly. After a moment she
stared into the mirror, as if her reflection would give some clue to
the turmoil inside her. She looked as awful as she felt--hair sticking
out this way and that, skin pale, eyes watery. Yes, she looked rotten,
but on the other side of the door was a man ready and willing to make
love to her, nonetheless. She couldn't deny it--Patrick was a special
person, an all-around great guy. And she knew she'd hurt him just now.
He might put on the appearance of confidence and self-satisfaction, but
she could tell he was genuinely worried about Matt Connell's effect on
her. Which was why he kept testing that effect, as if to find out how
serious it really was.

Patrick appeared to have forgotten one thing, however. Matt had made
it clear he was no longer even remotely interested in Lisa.

She glanced at the closed door. All she had to do was open it and go
to Patrick. It wasn't too late---not yet. She even reached out her
hand, started to twist the knob.

But then she grabbed her toothbrush, put on a good dollop of
toothpaste, and went after her teeth with a vengeance.

AMY'S SHOP, Rve Rags, was a lot like Amy her-self--full of color,
vibrancy and life. Weavings in a rainbow of hues were scattered about.
Bright chunky jewelry adorned the counters, and racks of clothing made
their own splashes of color. Amy's considerable artistic talents were
also in evidence: all along one wall was the mural she'd painted with
the enthusiastic help of the young students in one of the art classes
she taught at the YMCA. The mural vividly captured the tropical beauty
of the town's pier and waterfront.

This morning, as soon as Lisa entered the store, Amy commandeered her.
"I have just the thing for you," she said, taking a gauzy turquoise
dress from one of the displays. The next thing Lisa knew, she was in a
dressing room, trying to make the turquoise gown behave. It seemed to
have straps in all the wrong places. She gave up attempting to
organize them and emerged from the dressing room.

"Amy," she began, but her sister was already beside her.

"Let me do it. There's a trick to it." Amy turned Lisa around,
gathering up a wayward strap here, a sash there, and ended by adeptly

tying a knot at Lisa's waist. Then she stood back and regarded her
sister with a pleased expression. "Perfect," she pronounced.

"Any dress that needs instructions ought to be banned," Lisa
grumbled.

"I don't believe in censorship," Amy said cheerfully. "But take a look
at yourself."

Lisa glanced into the full-length mirror nearby. This time her
reflection was more presentable--her hair neatly combed, mascara and
lip gloss doing their part. As for the dress... Lisa didn't know quite
what to think. It was striking, she could say that much for it. All
those straps seemed strategically placed---showing off her shoulders,
accenting her waist, even giving her cleavage.

"You'll have to wear it for Patrick--it's a very sexy dress," Amy
declared.

"That wouldn't be a help right now," Lisa said in a dour tone.
Instantly, Amy looked perturbed.

"You and Patrick, you're not having trouble, are you?"

Lisa tried to picture telling her sister about the little episode at
the bed-and-breakfast: as a matter of fact, I couldn't make love with
Patrick this morning, and he seems to think it's because I still have a
crush on the boy of my teenage dreams... Lisa had never breathed a word
about Matt Con-nell to either of her sisters, because the way she'd
felt about him had seemed too fragile, too shattering to put into mere
words. She'd guarded the knowledge of him, kept it to herself. Then,
when the worst had happened, she hadn't known how to talk about it. Her
silent burden had just grown more and more frightening, until she
thought it would destroy her completely.

"Lisa--what's wrong?" Amy asked. "I thought you and Patrick were
getting along so well."

With an effort, Lisa brought herself back to the present. She glanced
across the shop. Amy's partner, Grace, was out running errands, but
her young assistant, Kieran, was working away at the computer. Kieran
bent her head studiously over the keyboard, but she was probably
listening to Amy and Lisa. Any self-respecting teenage girl would perk
up her ears when the topic of conversation turned to men and love.

Kieran was Jon's fifteen-year-old niece. She had been a small child
during the time Lisa and Jori were married, but now she was turning
into a lovely young woman. Not that the road had been smooth for
Kieran. Her mother had died some four years ago. And then, early last
spring, her father, Nick--Jon's brother--had walked away from a drug
rehabilitation program and hadn't been heard from since. Kieran had
rebelled. Under the influence of an unsavory young man she'd met while
cruising the Internet, she'd tampered with her school records and then
pilfered money from the bank accounts of several local merchants, Amy

amongst them. But this brief computer-crime spree had frightened
Kieran, and the tight-knit community of Hurricane Beach had decided to
give her a second chance. All the money had been recovered, Kieran's
so-called friend run out of town--and Kieran herself placed on strict
probation under her uncle Jon's careful supervision. So far, Kieran
actually seemed to be flourishing under these new

circumstances. Certainly she seemed fond of Amy, who would be her new
aunt, just as soon as Amy and Jon managed to set a wedding date.

Lisa wondered what was keeping them from choosing a date. Did Amy
still feel guilty about snagging Lisa's ex-husband? Maybe that was why
she seemed so anxious for Lisa and Patrick to be a happy couple. Maybe
she couldn't truly enjoy her own happiness until she was convinced her
little sister's love life was all taken care of. If only it were that
simple.

"Amy," Lisa said. "Patrick and I are ... fine. Don't be concerned
about us. And instead of trying to reform my wardrobe, you should be
thinking about your own wedding dress."

Kieran no longer even made a pretense of not listening. She raised her
head. "Yeah, Amy, when are we going to start shopping for your dress?
You said we could do it together."

"I don't know. Sometime." Amy, usually so ebullient, suddenly seemed
downright evasive. She started rummaging through another rack of
clothes, pulling out a pair of billowy pants in an exotic print. "You
should try these on, Lisa You're always too conservative in what you
wear."

Lisa saw the anxious look on young Kieran's face. Obviously the girl
realized that something was wrong, too. Lisa took Amy's arm and
propelled her toward the back of the store. There were some things
Kieran shouldn't overhear.

"Amy," Lisa said in a low voice once they were in the back room. "Tell
me you and Jon aren't delaying the wedding because, well, because you
think I'm upset about it."

"You are upset, aren't you?" Amy challenged. Lisa didn't know how to
answer that question. She still couldn't deny that the thought of Amy
and Jon together sent a peculiar shaft of pain through her. Lisa had
failed miserably in her marriage to Jon ... while Amy and Jon together
represented what love should be. None of that was easy to take.

"It doesn't matter what I think or feel," Lisa said, "and you know it,
Amy. If there's something else going on with you and Jon, you'd better
figure out what it is and do Something about it."

Amy didn't say anything for a long moment. Then she gave a shrug that
almost seemed weary.

"There is something else," she said. "It's ... I can't talk about it.
I really can't." Amy headed abruptly for the front of the store. Lisa
stood where she was for a second or two. Her sister routinely accused
her of being too closemouthed, but now Amy was doing the same thing.
What could be the matter between her and Jori?

Lisa didn't think she would find the answer lurking back here. She
followed Amy, who was now holding up a scarf.

"Orchid rose is a wonderful color for you, Lisa, but stay away from
mauve. Do you remember when we were kids, and I used to pick out all
the clothes for you and Meg? I don't think you ever complained, but
Meg did. She said I wanted her to look like a fluorescent lamppost"
Amy paused. "Do you remember, Lisa?" she asked softly.

"There was a time, way back when ... the three of us were close. We
shared so much."

Lisa did remember. As a kid she'd worshiped her two older sisters.
She'd let Amy, who was three years older than Lisa, choose any number
of fanciful outfits for her, and she'd always wished she could be as
smart as Meg--two years older than Amymwho'd been one of the best
students in school. Lisa had tagged after Amy and Meg, sometimes
feeling like the awkward baby of the family, but always delighted to be
let in on her sisters' adventures. All that, of course, was before
she'd seen Matt Connell walking along the beach one summer's day.

Now Lisa observed the wistful expression on Amy's face. Lisa knew Amy
wanted to recapture the closeness she and her sisters had known so long
ago. But so much had happened since those days. Lisa had made a
completely new life for herself in Connecticut. Meg had made a new
life, too, far away in Nebraska--far away from Florida, where her young
son, Derek, had disappeared some twelve years ago. On what should have
been a routine, ordinary excursion to the shopping mall, four-year-old
Derek had simply vanished. The police had conducted a thorough
investigation, but no trace of the little boy had been found. Meg,
understandably, had a difficult time when she came back for visits, and
always left as soon as possible. She, perhaps even more than Lisa, had
reason to stay away. How could all the bad memories ever be
forgotten?

Now several customers came into the shop at once, and both Amy and
Kieran were instantly busy. That left Lisa to her own devices. She
wandered to the window, gazing into the street. Gulf-view Lane was
three blocks long and ran parallel to the beach. The usual summer
tourists were out and about, along with townspeople Lisa had known
since she was a child. Maida, the owner of the art gallery, walked
past, her little dog poking his nose from a patchwork tote bag. Lisa
waved, Maida waved back. Lisa supposed there was something comforting
about living in a place where you'd known everyone forever. She had
just never stayed in Hurricane Beach long enough to find out.

She was turning away from the window, when she saw him. Matt Cormell,
carrying a bag from the Costas Family Bakery, and just about to pass
right in front of her.

Lisa glanced wildly around the shop, seeking a place to hide. She
considered diving under one of the clothes racks, but fortunately
stopped before she could make an idiot of herself. When she glanced
back at the window, she saw Matt gazing in at her.

She couldn't think of anything more awkward than this: she and Matt
Connell staring at each other through a plate-glass window. Matt
didn't make it any easier. He stood there, studying her without so
much as a smile.

Her heart was doing that ridiculous pounding again. She cursed small
towns, where you were always running into people at the most
inconvenient

times. And she considered, once more, the advisability of diving
under the rack of billowy pants behind her.

Instead, she forced herself to behave rationally. She went to the door
of the shop, stepped outside and caught up with Matt on the sidewalk.
"Hello," she said coolly. "Hello."

She almost wished she could have the plate-glass window between them
again. Now her view of him was too unobstructed. She saw the way his
hair moved over his forehead in the gulf breeze, reminding her of the
boy he'd once been. But his features were no boy's. They were a
man's, hardened by the passage of years. Again Lisa had the disturbing
sense that time had played harshly with Matt--and he had toughened in
response.

Evidently he wasn't going to make small talk. He didn't say a word,
not a single one. He simply went on gazing at her--almost gazing
through her, as if she were something insubstantial in comparison to
the weight of his own thoughts. She realized that she was barefoot,
her shoes left behind in the shop. And she was wearing this flimsy
dress Amy had insisted upon. It fluttered around her in the breeze.
She had to hold on to the skirt to prevent it from doing something
wayward.

The minutes stretched. Finally, Lisa focused on the bag Matt held.

"So," she said, "you've been to the bakery." "Yes."

Strike one for fascinating conversation.

"You should try their almond rolls," Lisa said. "I have." Strike
two.

"I practically grew up on those rolls," she said. "And then I married
into them."

Matt looked faintly quizzical. Strike three---definitely strike three.
Why on earth had she said that? But it was too late now; she had to
explain herself or really look like a fool.

"I married Jon Costas," she said. "His family owns the bakery. We
went to the same university." "I see," Matt said in a noncommittal
tone. Lisa could feel her skin heating, as if the Florida sun had
burned into her. She knew why she'd brought up the pitiful fact of her
marriage. She wanted Matt to know that she hadn't waited around pining
for him. No--she'd gone ahead and married, fresh out of college. Then
she and Jon had moved to New York, far away from Hurricane Beach. Far
away from memories of Matt Connell.

"Anyway," she said, unable to stop herself, "Jon's back in town. He
came to help out his family with the bakery and all, but now it turns

out he's handling finances for a company that's setting up its
headquarters right here in Hurricane Beach." "Impressive," Matt
commented, deadpan, "I'm not trying to impress you. Obviously I'm
divorced now," she said irritably, "or I wouldn't be dating Patrick."

"Obviously."

Just for an instant she saw the humor flickering

in Matt's eyes. But it was gone quickly, as if he had no real
inclination for humor these days.

Matt could leave anytime, of course. He could say goodbye to Lisa and
walk on down Gulfview Road. Why didn't he? Why did he stand here,
allowing her to say one wrong thing after another?

"So, Matt," she found herself saying next, "did you ever get
married?"

"No."

"Never even came close?"

"Never."

"Good for you," she muttered. "At least it's given you the chance to
perfect one-word responses."

Again the amusement, gone so quickly it was barely perceptible. "It's
true. I'm not the greatest conversationalist. Maybe that's why I'm
still single." The edge to his voice conveyed that there were other
reasons. But certainly he couldn't have lacked for opportunity;
females had always flocked to Matt.

"How's your friend?" asked Lisa. "The one who likes butterscotch."

Matt seemed to consider her words carefully. "She's all right," he
said. "But she's already finished the candy. It's difficult to keep
her supplied."

"A woman not afraid to admit she has a sweet tooth, I like that." Lisa
managed to speak in an offhand manner, but she felt it again,
anyway--that spark of jealousy. "Well, have your friend try the like

"Absolutely. Quickest way to a woman's heart.""

Matt shook his head a little. "I don't know. She likes sweets, but
they're not good for her dentures."

Lisa wondered if she'd heard right. "Dentures..."

"Of course, she didn't start losing her teeth until she hit seventy.
Grandma Bea makes very certain I'm clear on that point."

"You're talking about your grandmother?"

"That's right. Grandma Bea, the butterscotch lady."

Lisa felt her skin burn all the more. She hadn't just made a fool of
herself--she'd made a colossal fool. For twenty-four hours she'd been

jealous of Matt Connell's grandmother.

"I suppose I should have remembered," she said. "I knew you came here
all those years ago to spend summers with your grandparents."

"Why should you have remembered?" Maybe she was still imagining
things, but his voice had sounded oddly gentle just then.

She turned to go back into the shop--she'd already done enough damage
for one day. Then, over her shoulder, she said, "We keep bumping into
each other. I suppose we'll see each other some other time."

"Goodbye, Lisa."

And there it was again. A finality to his voice, as if he did not
expect---or care--to see her again.

MATt SAW IT as he drove down the narrow two-lane highway out of
Hurricane Beach. He was on his way to Tallahassee to meet with one of
the Con-nell Brassworks' longtime distributors, but the sign at the
side of the road caught his eye. Plane For Sale, it read in crude
letters, and it was propped up against the side of a weathered but
lofty barn.

Matt pulled over and got out of his car. As always, his knees
protested at the various bendings and un bendings required of them. He
ignored the dull ache that never quite seemed to leave him and walked
to the house a short distance from the barn. It was surrounded by live
oaks, branches festooned with Spanish moss so that the trees looked
like ladies wearing tatters of lace. Matt knocked at the door of the
house a couple of times, but no one answered. Retracing his steps, he
went to look through the wide doors of the barn.

The small plane inside was in a jumble of parts--the engine exposed,
the fuselage stripped down to the frame. But it was an old Stinson
bush plane, a sturdy little machine when in flying form, and Matt knew
a pure, unalloyed moment of pleasure as he entered the barn. He
pressed his hand along the side of the plane. Still solid despite all
the obvious years of neglect. This thing was meant to soar, not molder
away here in the dirt.

Matt had been no more than a kid in New Mexico when the allure of
flight had first possessed him. Later, as a teenager exiled to summers
in Hurricane Beach, membership in the local aviation club had kept him
from going stir-crazy. The same aviation club where he'd met Lisa
Hardaway. She'd seemed to understand what flight could mean back
then--freedom, exhilaration, a cutting loose from every earthbound tie.
That had drawn Matt to her, as much as her shy prettiness.

She wasn't shy anymore. And she was no longer merely pretty. This
morning, when he'd seen her through the window of that shop, her gold
hair had cascaded around her shoulders, and every womanly curve of her
in that turquoise dress had announced that this Lisa was someone to be
reckoned with. A sensual person, but one whose inner strength could
not be ignored. She'd gazed back at him through that window as if
seeing him from a great distance---and he'd had the desire to touch
her.

He had no right to touch her anymore. He'd probably had no right to
touch her in the first place, back when he'd been an arrogant kid, full
of himself... and full of the power flight could bring him.

Matt's brief moment of pleasure vanished. He was still in the barn
with the little plane, but it no longer gave him any feeling of
exhilaration. He hadn't flown Since that day five years ago--the day
his life should have ended.

For him, the freedom was gone.

CHAPTER FIVE

HELENE TOOK her cup of coffee and her sweet roll to a table by the
window. From here she could look 'out onto Gulfview Lane and watch the
passersby. This was starting to become a habit: her solitary,
early-morning breakfast at Java Joe's. Every day this week she had
come into the coffee shop at exactly ten past eight. She always chose
the same table, and she always ate the same kind of sweet roll--glazed.
As she settled into her customary spot this morning, she felt a
peculiar sense of letdown. It disturbed her to realize that already
she was following steady, predictable patterns in her new life. That
had been the problem with her old life--her predictability; her passive
acceptance of long-held patterns in her marriage. Now at last was her
chance to break away from familiar behaviors. Why wasn't she taking
full advantage?

The bell over the door jangled, and Helene glanced up, only to see her
husband enter the shop and approach the counter. Her estranged
husband, Merrick Hardaway. He ordered coffee without noticing Helene,
and she had the opportunity to observe him. Now she was being
predictable all over again--gazing at Merrick, feeling an attraction
she'd known for many, many years now. Just the sight of him could do
this to her... make her catch her breath a little. He was tall and
broad of shoulder, never guilty of a stoop even though he had passed
his own seventieth birthday some years ago. His fringe of hair was as
thick and luxuriant as ever, his silver mustache neatly groomed but
also luxuriant. Secretly, Helene liked his bald head most of all. He
had a very well-shaped head, tanned on top. Helene liked that, too,
even though everybody said to stay out of the sun. Merrick was a man
who never had cared for following rules. He could be unpredictable and
spontaneous when you least expected it.

Helene had met him when she'd been touring as a USO actress, and she'd
immediately fallen in love with the dashing soldier he'd been. After
the war, when they were both still so young, the two of them had gone
off to New York so Helene could have her chance at an acting career.
She'd grown up surrounded by theater--her parents had been in
Vaudeville. Perhaps it was only irony that Merrick had attended one of
her auditions on a lark--and he'd been the one to win a major role in a
TV drama. And, ever since, Helene's life, Helene's dreams had been
swept up in Merrick's wake... Now he paid for his coffee, and headed
for a table of his own. And that was when he saw her. He stopped a
short distance away, his gaze traveling over her. She wondered what he
was thinking. And then she wondered why she was so nervous.

"Hello, Merrick," she said as calmly as possible.

"Good morning, Helene."

Did she detect a slight note of sarcasm in his voice? "I'm surprised
to see you here," she said. "Annie always prepares your breakfast,"
she added, referring to the housekeeper.

"It's a little lonely around the house right now." Helene wasn't
prepared for his directness. "Java Joe's isn't exactly the center of
sociability at this hour." With an effort, she kept her tone light.

"It'll do." He started to put his cup down on the table across from
her, but then stopped. "Hell," he muttered, and then he glanced at
Helene. "Mind if I join you?" he asked gruffly.

Helene found herself gripping her own cup. "You can sit down... on one
condition."

His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Helenera' '

"One condition. We won't get into an argument. And you won't tell me
what I've been doing wrong with my life."

"It sounds to me like those are two conditions." "That's the deal,"
she said. "Take it or leave it." She had never spoken to her husband
in quite this way. Merrick didn't seem to know what to make of it. He
didn't look pleased, that much was for certain. But at last he gave a
brusque nod. He pulled out a chair at her table and sat down next to
her.

They remained in silence for a few tense moments. Then Helene stirred.
"Aren't you having anything to eat?" she asked. "You know what it's
like when all you have is coffee--"

"Helene," he said. "If I can't tell you what you're doing wrong reit
should work the other way around, too."

He had a point. Perhaps, with moving out, Helene had given up the
right to inform Merrick when he'd had too much caffeine. Mayhe she'd
given up a lot of rights. She took a bite of her sweet roll, but it
didn't taste very sweet this morning.

"We should he home together," Merrick said.

"Home at Sea Haven---eating breakfast."

"I asked you not to argue--"

"I'm not arguing," he said. "I'm telling you that we've had a good
life, Helene. Better than most. And now you want to throw it away,

all for some crazy notion about proving your independence. There's
only one problem. I never took away your independence. You've had it
all along." "I lost myself in you--"

"I never asked that, Helene. I never asked you to lose yourself."

It had happened, nonetheless. She'd spent so many years trying to be
the best wife to Merrick Hardaway---the best mother to Megan, Amy and
Lisa. Now, with two of her daughters, Meg and Lisa, so distant from
her in their separate ways, she wondered if she'd been a very good
mother, after all. Helene had never known how to break through her
youngest daughter's reserve. As for Meg ... the guilt went very deep
for Helene there, because she'd been with Meg the day young Derek had

disappeared. Helene knew she shouldn't have glanced away from her own
grandson, not even for a minute. So what did she really have to show
for almost fifty years of her marriage? Perhaps only a desire to
please her husband and children? Somewhere along the way she'd
forgotten who she'd once been: Helene Grayton, the girl who'd loved
theater, the girl who'd once even been a little reckless and daring.

How could she make her husband understand? Being on her own was the
scariest thing she'd ever done. But it was also the most necessary.
Somehow she had to find the girl she'd once been, and the woman she
could become.

What she said next surprised even Helene herself. "I've changed my
mind. I've decided we should sell our property to Silver Sands."

Merrick looked doubtful. "You're agreeing with me on this--"

"I wouldn't call it that." Helene pushed away her coffee cup, her
half-eaten sweet roll. Then she stood up. She felt a cold resolve
deep inside. "I've decided to sell so that we can finally Stop arguing
about the property. So that we can finally put all this behind us and
get on with our lives." She paused. "Our separate lives, Merrick."
The words were very difficult to say ... but yes, they were necessary

TAKING A WALK on the beach with Patrick was not relaxing. He had a
long, loping gait that never seemed to follow any particular rhythm.
Just when

Lisa began to fall in step with him, he'd change his pace and she'd
flounder to keep up.

The sugar-fine sand worked its way into her san-dais, and her hat
threatened to blow off even though the breeze was particularly mild
this afternoon. She was tempted to pitch the hat into the waters of
the gulf. It was another of Amy's additions to Lisa's
wardrobe---exuberantly wide of brim, with a string of chunky beads
wrapped around the crown. This was hardly the type of hat Lisa usually
favored. Come to think of it, she never even wore hats anymore. Why
had she allowed Amy to talk her into this one?

"Hey, wait a second," Patrick said. "Isn't that your boyfriend Matt up
ahead?"

"How many times do I have to tell you he never was my boyfriend." Even
as she spoke, Lisa scanned the distance. Far ahead, she saw a solitary
figure walking along the beach. Even from here, that figure looked
rigid... forbidding.

"I've had enough aerobics for today," Lisa said.

"Let's just turn around."

"Afraid to see him?"

"Of course not. Patrick--"

Already Patrick was loping ahead at a good clip, and she had to hurry
to catch up.

"You're being ridiculous," she said, panting. "You act like you want
to throw me at Matt. Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I happen to care about you a great deal, Lisa. The last thing I want
to do is get rid of you. But I guess I have a little self-interest at
stake, too. If

this guy still means something to you, I'd just as soon find out now.
I'd like to know what I'm up against."

Patrick's logic was infuriating. But it was also... logical. Lisa
held on to her hat as she jogged along beside him. "It's over between
me and Matt.

It's been over a very long time."

"Why aren't I convinced?"

It was no use talking to him, so Lisa subsided. She tried to
concentrate on the scenery--on anything but the solitary figure of Matt
Cormell up ahead. Lisa told herself how picturesque this beach
was--sea oats dancing golden-green on the dunes, palm trees rising up
before the shOreside cottages. Sometimes, deep in the middle of a
ConneCticut winter, she actually missed the Florida heat.

It wasn't working. Lisa couldn't concentrate on the scenery or the
weather. All she could do was stare at Matt Conne ll's back as she
drew nearer to him. He was wearing a navy T~shirt and shorts. He
looked good in them, his frame more powerful than it had been fifteen
years ago. But something was new. Even from here, Lisa could see the
scars on his legs. He hadn't had them as a teenager. Lisa had known
his body very well back then, and there had been no scars Abruptly she
stopped the direction of her thoughts as she noticed Patrick staring at
her. For all his quick pace, he seemed to have managed to peruse Lisa
as he went along.

"You really do have some unfinished business with the guy, don't
you?"

"It's finished," she said tightly.

"I'm still not convinced"

She had no time to argue with him, because they'd finally caught up to
Matt.

"Hey, there," Patrick said jovially. "How's it going?"

Matt turned, and he didn't seem happy to see either Patrick or Lisa. He
gave them a brief nod, and then went on walking at his own
pace--deliberate, somewhat slow, as if he was out here to think, not to
exercise. And it was clear that he didn't like having his thoughts
interrupted.

Patrick adjusted his stride to Matt's. "I was wondering if we'd see
you again," le remarked. "You said you had some business to wrap up in
Hurricane Beach. That could mean you're here today, gone tomorrow."

"So it could," Matt agreed. He didn't elaborate, didn't explain
exactly how long his business would keep him in town. Lisa told
herself it didn't matter. It would be a relief if he did leave soon.

"Lisa and I, we're here through next week," Patrick said. "This is a
regular vacation for us--isn't it, honey?"

Again Patrick was advertising that he had a stake in Lisa. She
reminded herself that this attitude of Patrick's was endearing.
Infuriating, of course, but also endearing. Never mind that he'd
forgotten that one, all-important detail: Matt Connell didn't seem the
least bit interested.

Somehow Lisa and Patrick ended up on either side of Matt.

"How's your grandmother?" she asked.

"At death's door, or so she claims. But she's still popping butter
scotches

Lisa and Matt exchanged a glance. Her gaze skittered away from him,
and she tried to focus on the scenery again--the brilliant sky, the
brilliant gulf.

"You're not such a stranger to this town if your grandmother lives
here," Patrick observed. "Me, I'm surrounded by too many relatives in
Danfield. All four of my brothers, my mom and dad. Gets a little
claustrophobic."

"Wouldn't complain, if I were you," Matt said shortly. Once again Lisa
heard an edge to his voice.

"Yeah, well, you don't know my family," Patrick rambled on. "When they
need something, they expect you to be at their beck and call. And when
they don't need something ... they pretty much take you for granted."

Lisa knew all about Patrick's difficult family. She'd met his parents
and his brothers. She knew they had a tendency to ignore Patrick, to
dismiss his accomplishments. He managed to maintain a sense of humor
about it, and that was admirable. Deliberately she switched positions.
She moved from Matt's side to Patrick's, and she slipped her hand into
his.

Patrick gave her one of his speculative glances. For goodness' sake,
couldn't he just accept her gesture of affection? How far did this
have to go before he'd believe that she wanted him--not Matt?

"Anyway, Matt," Patrick said, "what sort of business does keep you in
Hurricane Beach? Lisa and I both can't help wondering about it---can
we, sweetheart?"

She snatched her hand away from Patrick's and glared at him. At first,
Matt didn't answer, but eventually he gave a shrug as if realizing that
Patrick and Lisa wouldn't go away anytime soon.

"For one thing, I just bought an old plane," he said. "Looks more like
a junk heap at this point. I'm the only one who sees the
possibilities."

Lisa spoke before she could stop herself. "We talked about it back
then," she said. "At the aviation club ... how we'd find an old plane
someday, and fix it up ourselves. Not that you'd remember-"

"I remember," said Matt.

Lisa couldn't read his expression from here. For that, she'd have to

peer around Patrick. Instead, she kept her gaze straight ahead. She
felt that odd constriction inside, as if she couldn't get enough
breath. Why had she even brought it up---the foolish dream she'd
shared with Matt that long-ago summer?

"Well, now," Patrick said, "this is something, The two of you wanted to
restore an old plane, and the old plane's made its appearance. How
about it, Matt? Are you going to let Lisa in on the fun?"

"Patrick," Lisa said quickly, but already he was going on.

"When can Lisa come take a look at this baby of yours?"

Tension radiated through Lisa's neck, and she realized she was
clenching her teeth again. That

was getting to be a regular habit for her in Hurricane Beach.

"You're both invited, if you want to take a look," Matt said. "It's a
mess, though."

The invitation did not sound wholehearted, but Patrick apparently had
his own ideas. "I'm going to be busy the next day or so," he said
mysteriously. "It'd be a shame to make Lisa wait, though... How about
tomorrow afternoon? We're staying at Constance Valentine's
bed-and-break-fast. Why don't you pick Lisa up around two, take her to
see this plane of yours?"

Lisa felt the urge to throttle Patrick. Before she could make any
protest, however, Matt spoke again.

"Two o'clock is fine," he said.

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Matt arrived at the bed-and-breakfast right on
time--not a few minutes early, not a few minutes late.

Lisa didn't know if she should read any significance into that fact.
She climbed into Matt's two-seater convertible and sat silently while
he pulled away from the curb. The day was very hot, the air heavy and
humid. As the car picked up speed, Lisa's hair began to blow around
her face. She reached into her purse, found a hair clip and soon had
the problem solved.

Matthew glanced at her. "Are you always pre pared for emergencies?"

"I've learned."

That was the extent of their conversation for quite some minutes. Matt
headed from Gulfview onto the county road, and from there to the
highway. Lisa wondered if he felt comfortable with their silence. She
didn't, but she was all out of words. This morning she'd had an
argument with Patrick. She'd told him he was unreasonable and stupid
for pursuing this absurd scheme of his. He'd told her that if Matt
really didn't mean anything to her, the afternoon's venture would be
harmless, so why was she making such an issue of it? And, since she
was making an issue of it, he could only believe. that she did have
something to resolve with Matt Connell.

Now Lisa was tired of arguing. She was also tired of pretending that
she and Matt were off on a perfectly normal out' rag

"You didn't have to agree to this," she said. "All you had to do was
say no,"

"I wanted you to see the plane. I thought of you when I bought it." He
uttered these statements matter-of-factly, betraying no emotion. And so
Lisa was left to wonder once again--what significance should she attach

to them?

"Matt, just tell me one thing. Back then ... how many girls were going
to share your dream of restoring an old plane?"

This time he didn't glance at her. "You think it was a line, Lisa?"

"Wasn't it?"

He didn't say anything for another long moment. He just drove with his
hand resting on the gearshift knob, and the breeze whipping his dark
hair back

from his features... stern features, as always. Oddly enough, this
sports car suited him. With some people, it might suggest frivolity.
With Matt, it just suggested a paring down to essentials: a vintage
two-seater, nothing flashy or new, and providing no more room than
necessary.

"You must have thought I was a real jerk," he said at last.

"No. I didn't think that.".,

"Lisa, I never asked anyone else to restore an old plane with me. It
was no line."

Maybe she could believe that. But surely nothing else she'd shared
with Matt Connell had been special to him. Certainly it hadn't been
unique. More than a few girls in Hurricane Beach could attest to
that.

"You got around," she said.

"Back then, I guess I did." He didn't seem proud of the fact. He
didn't seem ashamed, either. Again there was a lack of emotion in his
voice; he might have been talking about someone else. He made it sound
as if he'd lost interest in his past.

They traveled along the highway, silent once more. Eventually, Matt
pulled off the road, coming to a stop in front of a large barn. Lisa
could tell

"I guess I do. I can imagine it in the air... maybe even someday soon.
The guy I bought it from has agreed to let me work on it here for a
while." He went to run his hand along the body of the plane. Lisa
watched him, and felt an inconvenient wistfulness,

"I remember how much you loved to fly," she said. "Most of us in that
aviation club--we didn't know the first thing about airplanes. But you
were already a pilot."

"My dad was the one who taught me." Matt said these words almost
reluctantly. She stared into his intense blue-gray eyes, and felt the
way she used to feel whenever hurricane season began. Edgy, on alert,
knowing that a storm could sweep in at any moment and devastate her
life.

At last she glanced away from him. Her pulse beating unsteadily, she
walked deeper into the barn. She came across the second wing of the
plane, strewn on the dirt floor like a limb that had been torn away
from a body.

"What happened to this poor thing?" she murmured,

"The owner picked it up for a song at some auction or another--with a
mind to fix it up. But !

that at one time the barn had been painted green, guess once he started
taking it apart, it was a little but the finish had faded, leaving only
patches of i! more than he wanted to handle."

color here and there. She got out of the car with Matt, and together
they walked to the barn. Inside she looked at the scatter of parts and
pieces.

"And you're going to put it all back together again "I'm going to
try."

"You really must have a good imagination,"

Matt's tone puzzled her. A heaviness, as if words

Lisa remarked. took too much effort. He began wandering restlessly
around the plane. More than ever, Lisa felt that it had been a mistake
to come here with him today. She never should have allowed Patrick to
finagle her into it.

"Matt, I have a confession to make. I've never liked flying."

This captured his attention. "Never?"

"Never. In fact, I'm rather terrified of it. I'll fly when I have to,
'but I don't enjoy it. I try to concentrate on something else as much
as possible, and I'm always immensely relieved when the plane lands."

He came back over to her, his expression thoughtful. "You joined the
aviation club, Lisa." "You still haven't figured that one out?"

He didn't say anything, just stood there and waited for her to go on.
She gave a sigh.

"I only joined because I'd found out you'd be there. I pretended to
love flying, but every time Mr. Anderson took us up in that little
plane of his, I'd start to break out in a cold sweat. The only thing
that helped was sitting next to you, and fantasizing about having you
ask me out." There. She'd made her confession, revealed her pathetic
silliness as a teenager. She'd done it purposely, wanting to dispel
the hold of the past. As a girl, she'd had a crush on Matt. They
could examine that fact, maybe even laugh at it a little, and then go
on.

Matt continued to regard her thoughtfully. "I never would have
guessed."

"That's a teenager for you," she said, he tone light. "Pretending to
be something you're not, just so a boy will look at you."

"It worked," he said.

"For a while, anyway. Until the next girl came along, and pretended to
be something she wasn't. Don't you ever wonder, Matt--did you know any
girl for who she really was?" Lisa stopped, realizing that she was
dangerously close to accusing him.

"I didn't think much about those kinds of things back then," he said.
"I was too ... self-absorbed. Somehow I got the idea that the world
revolved around me." Again, there was no sense of apology, just a
distant considering of the boy he'd once been.

"Well, it doesn't really matter," Lisa said. "But the truth is--I just
don't like to fly."

He almost smiled. "Something tells me you don't pretend anymore. You

don't try to be something you're not."

"What you see now--is exactly what you get. Cantankerous single woman
likes living alone... spends too much time at work."

"So you and Patrick don't live together."

Lisa had been congratulating herself on redirecting the conversation.
But, in the process, she'd revealed too much. "Patrick and I haven't
been serious that long," she said quickly.

"But you are serious."

It was amazing how Matt could do that--be so direct--but at the same
time sound so impersonal.

Lisa found herself answering him with a strange reluctance.

"Yes, Patrick and I are headed someplace... serious."

He appeared to think this over for a few moments. "Whenever I pictured
you over the years, Iimagined you married, with a couple of kids."

It had definitely been a mistake to come here. Lisa sensed the danger
in this 'conversation, but didn't know how to stop it. "I can't
believe you ever thought about me."

"You were the one who wanted to restore an old plane with me. That
stuck."

"Well, now you know it was all just a lie. I hated flying." She was
being less than honest now. Because the part about restoring a plane
with Matt had seemed like something wonderful to her. She'd loved
discussing it with him, imagining how someday, just by chance, they'd
stumble on the right plane. They'd pool their money to buy it, and do
all the work on it themselves. And Lisa had imagined how it would be,
the two of them side by side, tinkering away on some old engine each
day. each night, sharing the dark magic they had already discovered...
A girl's fantasy, entirely unrealistic. It had had a chance of coming
true. Something else had happened instead. Matt had found another g
Lisa had found out she was pregnant

She stood where she was, next to the remains the old plane, and it
seemed to her that the of her teenage life threatened to overwhelm over
again. The panic she'd felt, the aloneness, the guilt and shame,

"Lisa, what is it?" Matt stepped closer to her, and she knew that she
was truly in danger now. Tears stung her eyelids, and all the
long-buried emotions seemed to burn inside her, demanding release. She
couldn't let them out, not with Matt. Especially not with Matt.

But then he raised his hand, and his fingers brushed her face, his
touch surprisingly gentle. And, despite all Lisa's efforts, a tear
spilled onto her cheek.

CHAPTER SIX

THE AIR IN THE BARN was very warm. Matt's touch was warm, too, his
hand cupping her cheek. As more tears spilled down Lisa's face, she
knew they would wet his fingers. But she couldn't stop. It seemed she
had been storing up these tears for a very long while, and they would
have their way.

Matt just let her cry, and that surprised her. He seemed to be a man
so drawn inside himself, one who would not easily witness displays of
emotion in others. But he didn't move, didn't try to cover up this
awkward moment. His hand was steady against her cheek.

At last it was over. She didn't seem to have any more tears to spill.
Stepping back, she bent her head and began searching through her purse
for a tissue. She couldn't look at him, but the next thing she knew he
had handed her a large white handkerchief.

She blotted her eyes with it. "Funny, but you don't seem the
handkerchief type," she said. Her voice sounded oddly scratchy to her
own ears.

"They're a new addition to my life--Grandma Bea's idea. She used to
send my grandpa to every day with a fresh handkerchief, and now she
seems to think she'll do the same for me."

Somehow this prosaic bit of information almost set Lisa to crying
again. She clutched the handkerchief, willing the tears to leave her
in peace. "Sorry," she muttered. "I don't usually do this type of
thing."

"Want to talk about it?"

Here was her opportunity, if ever she'd wanted it. She tried to
imagine the words she would use. You never knew it, Matt, but fifteen
years ago you got me pregnant. My worm fell apart, and sometimes I
think I'm still trying to pick up the pieces.

Abruptly she shut her mind to these thoughts. "No," she said. "I
really don't want to talk about it."

He didn't say anything more, didn't urge her to tell him what the
trouble was. It occurred to Lisa that if Patrick were here, he would
behave in exactly the opposite manner. He would needle her. He would
poke and probe at her emotions until finally he'd uncover the problem,
and then he would proceed to resolve it. He'd tell Lisa how she felt,
and how she ought to feel. But Matt... he just took another step away
from her, that shuttered expression coming over his features.

"It's time for me to leave," she murmured. He didn't argue this time,
either.

THE HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD schoolhouse at Cormell Brassworks had been
converted into a series of small offices. The job had been
accomplished with

a great deal of care. All the partitions were fashioned of rich dark
mahogany, the doorjambs and baseboards ornately carved. The place
always made Matt feel as if he had shrunk and landed inside one of
those old-fashioned postal cabinets, the kind with myriad cubbyholes,
nooks and crannies. Although the effect was appropriately quaint, it
didn't make for a whole lot of privacy. The partitions did not reach
all the way to the high ceiling, allowing sound to travel freely.

Matt walked down the narrow corridor to his cousin's office. He
knocked, but didn't wait for an answer. Swinging open the door, he
stepped inside.

Joanne sat hunched at her desk. She didn't appear pleased to see
Matt.

"This is supposed to be a place I call my own," she muttered.

"Jo, let's step outside for a talk." He was offering her the benefit
of privacy, but she shook head.

"If you have anything to say, just get it over with here. I'm busy."
'

His cousin didn't seem busy doing anything nursing a bad mood. In the
past few days, tried to be reasonable. He'd suggested that the two of
them oversee the brass works as a team. would have none of it,
avoiding Matt as much possible. Whenever she was forced to him, she
treated him to a baleful stare, just as was doing now.

He gave it another try. "Jo, we're family. You and Bea and I, we're
all that's left--"

"Well, you saw to that, didn't you, Matt?" Her voice shook, perhaps
from anger or sorrow or both.

He couldn't argue with her. The old refrain still haunted him, echoing
through his mind. I could have saved them--I should have saved my own
family.

He waited a moment for the words to recede. Long practice had taught
him that if he did wait, he would be able to go on--shutting out the
past, and focusing only on the present moment.

"Don't tell me you barged in here to get chummy, Matt. What do you
want?"

"You've gone too far, Jo, trying to fire Pete Martin. He's worked here
over thirty years--"

Jo straightened. "I didn't try to fire him. I did fire him."

"Consider him unfired."

She pushed her chair back and stood. "You can't do that. You can't
undermine my authoritY--"

"I'm in charge now," he said quietly. "You didn't like the idea of
teamwork, so this is the other option."

Bright spots of color mottled Joanne's thin face. "Damn you, Matt. I
know what I'm doing. Pete Martin is a lousy worker--"

"He's slowed down a little, that's all."

"He'll have his pension--"

"He doesn't want a pension. He wants his job, and he's got it. From
now on, all personnel matters go through me. Everything goes through
me. Got

that, Jo?" He didn't wait for an answer. He closed the door and went
back down the hall. He knew that everybody in the office had heard his
exchange with Joanne. He could almost feel the curiosity vibrating
behind the other closed doors. The truth was, Matt had never wanted to
be a manager. He had always preferred solitary endeavors, such as
flying. But he hadn't flown in five years, and now he was the new
manager of Cormell Brassworks... courtesy of Grandma Pea.

He reached his own cramped office and sat down behind the desk. He
tried to concentrate on the latest ad layouts scheduled for printing in
the Victorian Quarterly Magazine. But Matt had never much cared for
advertising, either, and eventually he set the layouts aside. All
morning he had been holding a thought at bay. It had become too
persistent, however, and now it broke through. It was the thought of
Lisa Hardaway, standing with him in that barn yesterday, tears
trickling down her cheeks.

AMY HAD ORCHESTRATED another of her infamous sleep overs the three
Hardaway sisters, bunking t get her supposedly just like old times. But
course, it wasn't like old times. Amy wanted reunion so the three of
them could plan an anniversary party for their parents. She still
celebration would bring Helene and Merrick to their senses.

Meg had flown in from Nebraska only this afternoon. She possessed
neither Amy's nor Lisa's tendency to sarcasm. Instead, she seemed
wrapped in her own intense concentration, everything about her turned
protectively inward. Now she sat curled in a chair on the deck of
Amy's beach house. Lisa occupied another chair, while Amy sprawled in
the hammock, her faithful dog, Sam, lounging beside her;

The nighttime sky was a deep indigo, stars glittering like a thousand
diamond earrings. As far as Lisa was concerned, this was the best hour
on the gulf--the breeze cooled, all the bustle of the day over, nothing
but the sound of the waves lapping on the shore. All evening Amy had
kept up a determined chatter, reminding her sisters of "the way it used
to be' '--the closeness they had all supposedly shared long ago when
they were kids. But neither Amy's effort, nor the beauty of the
surroundings, seemed to do anything to foster closeness among the three
sisters.

Lisa's gaze strayed to Meg. It was impossible to read her expression
in the dark, and Lisa suspected that Meg preferred it that way. It was
true that of the three sisters, Meg appeared to be the most composed,
the most self-sufficient. But Lisa knew better. She knew that
underneath the apparent calm, Meg suffered--would perhaps always
suffer. Meg would never he able to forget that twelve years ago, her
young son, Derek, had disappeared. One four-year-old little
boy--gone.

Lisa felt an ache inside. How did you live with a pain like Meg's? How
did you go forward day by day? Maybe all you could do was immerse

yourself in the small details of your life, stay so

busy that you scarcely had time to think. Perhaps Meg could
accomplish that in Omaha, where she worked as director of nursing at a
retirement center. But here in Hurricane Beach, she would be faced too
often with memories of her four-year-old son.

At last Amy struggled to a sitting position in the hammock. "We have
to think of something!" she exclaimed. "Things are even worse, now
that Mom's decided she wants to sell the property. What if that slimy
Palmer Boyce actually gets his hands on it?"

Lisa stirred. "Aren't you exaggerating a little? This Mr. Boyce
doesn't seem the least ... slimy..."

"All he does is try to manipulate people," Amy said. "Look at the way
he flirts with Morn."

"The way I understand it, she's done some of the flirting herself,"
Lisa said. She spoke mildly, but she was disguising her unease. It
seemed that Palmer Boyce of Silver Sands Development had been wooing
Helene a bit, trying to make her agree to a sale. And Helene, from all
reports, had responded to the man's attentions. Lisa knew she could
feign indifference, but she hated the thought of More with anyone
besides Dad.

"It will be horrible if Silver Sands takes over," Amy said direly.
"Just think of it--they'll tear down Sea Haven. We'd be losing our
childhood home. It would be gone forever."

"You make it sound like a tragedy," Lisa said. "But wouldn't it be for
the best? Sea Haven doesn't seem to make anybody happy anymore. Not
More and Dad, certainly not the rest of us." Lisa thought about the
beautiful home where she had grown up--the rambling,
Mediterranean-style house with its tiled roof and graceful pillars, its
hurricane shutters that could be fastened securely against any outer
storm. But the inner turmoil, that was something else. Sea Haven was
the place where Lisa had silently faced the ordeal of a teenage
pregnancy. It was also the place where Meg had cared for and loved her
son right before he'd disappeared---every room no doubt reminding her
of what she'd lost. Those were reasons enough to leave the family home
behind.

"Well, here's a news flash for you," Amy said. She paused
dramatically, then went on. "When Dad and I were driving in to pick up
Meg at the airport, he confessed something to me. It turns out maybe
he's changed his mind. Now he's not so sure he wants to sell."

This was news indeed. Lisa stood and went to lean against the railing
of the deck. The humid, tropical air of the gulf surrounded her. "It's
like Sea Haven's become a battleground," she murmured. "Where will it
end?"

"We have to do something, that's all." Amy propelled herself out of
the hammock and took up her own post at the railing. Meg joined them.
The three sisters ranged side by side... but there seemed no unity
between them. Sam whined a little. He got to his feet and padded over
to his mistress. Amy reached down to scratch him behind the ears.
"Don't worry. We'll think of something," she told him.

"Amy, I'm not sure it's any of our business," Meg said, a current of
tension in her voice. "Maybe if Palmer Boyce buys the place, everybody
will adjust and get on with their lives. All this arguing and
criticizing isn't good for anybody. And I'm not sure the anniversary
celebration is a good idea. If Mom and Dad want--"

"Listen to the way you're talking. With that kind of attitude, how
will it ever be a success?"

"We can decorate Sea Haven with a hundred balloons and party
streamers," Meg said. "We can hire a band and bring in the caterers,
and all the rest of it. But it still won't get Mom and Dad back
together again. Don't you see that? Miracles don't happen. Impossible
dreams don't come true."

How desolate Meg sounded all of a sudden. Usually she kept her pain so
well hidden, but now it threatened to spill out. Meg turned away from
her sisters, and Lisa understood that gesture. She herself had turned
away often enough.

"Amy," Lisa said, "unfortunately Meg's right. We could hire a marching
band, and it still wouldn't do the job, not if Mom and Dad don't really
want to get back together. Look, we've agreed to plan this celebration
with you ... but you just have to know what the odds are, going in."

"My sisters, the defeatists," Amy muttered. She bent her head, staring
at her clasped hands. 'cept that maybe you're both right. Maybe
dreams really don't come true."

It was one thing for Lisa and Meg to be cynical, but to hear Amy
express doubt didn't seem

Amy was the eternal, incorrigible optimist of the family. She had
always been that way, and certainly the world could not go on turning
if she gave up.

Lisa and Meg glanced at each other in the darkness. For the first time
in a long while, the two of them seemed to understand each other, even
without speaking. Lisa turned to Amy.

"Okay, out with it," she said. "You wouldn't be talking this way
unless something bad was bothering you. Something besides Mom and Dad.
And I'm willing to bet it's something to do with Jon."

Amy gave an explosive sigh. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't have any choice," Meg said. "We're your sisters. You have
to talk to us."

Now Amy made a sound of disbelief. "Right. Like that's really counted
for a lot in the last few years."

Lisa and Meg exchanged another meaningful glance. It really was bad if
Amy was starting to be snide about family.

"What's wrong?" Lisa asked. "Has Jon done something to hurt you?"

"Of course not. He's wonderful, really wonderful." At least this
sounded like Amy--overly fervent. But maybe that was just a hazard of
being in love. You praised the beloved to excess. You were drizzled
by him. Lisa had never felt that way about Jon. She wondered if she
could feel that way about Patrick. So far, the only man who'd had the
capacity to dazzle her was Matt Connell.

No, she told herself fiercely. Don't think about him. A useless
admonition, of course. Since yesterday, when she'd made an absolute
fool of herself crying in that barn, Matt had shadowed every one of her
thoughts.

Amy, tell us what's wrong, Meg said, making it sound like a command.
And at last Amy spoke.

"It's Jon's family," she said miserably. "His parents. They used to
be so warm and friendly toward me. They accepted me ... they embraced
me. They treated me just like family. Until I decided to marry their
son, that is. Now Jon's mother will hardly even look at me when I go
into the bakery."

"If it's any consolation," Lisa said, "they didn't accept me, either.
Jon and I went ahead and got married, anyway." Too late she realized
that these words were not the most reassuring to offer. "The Costas
are a very tight-knit clan," she added hastily. "They tend to get set
ideas about who their kids should marry. You shouldn't take it
personally, and you shouldn't let it stop you from doing What you
want."

Amy's head came up. "Lisa, can you honestly tell me that Jon's family
wasn't a problem in your marriage? Can you really say that?"

It struck Lisa that she had maneuvered into a humiliating position. She
was attempting give romantic advice about her ex-husband. situation
really isn't the same," she hedged.

"Same man, same tight-knit family," Amy "Only the bride is changing,
and maybe enough. After all, I am your sister." Her voice've red That
drew both Lisa and Meg a little closer to her. Neither one, however,
seemed to know how to offer comfort to Amy. All three sisters now
stood in an awkward little circle, not touching, and for a long moment
not speaking. The light cascading from the kitchen window onto the
deck did not reach them, making it too easy to continue hiding -their
expressions from one another.

"Oh, beck," Lisa said a bit desperately. "You may be right. Perhaps
Jon's parents are afraid he's already had enough grief, being married
to one Hardaway girl. Amy, all you have to do is prove that you'll do
the job better than I ever did. Prove to the Costas that you're the
right Hardaway for Jon. And if they still can't accept you, then it's
just too bad! You're not marrying his family."

Again Lisa hadn't said the right words, and she knew it. Amy reached
out and gripped the railing in front of her. Now Meg spoke.

"I never had a chance to find out if my in-laws were interfering. After
all, Noah never knew his own parents. It was just the two of us,
and... it was just the two of us, trying to make things work."

Lisa couldn't remember the last time she'd heard Meg utter the name of
her husband. "Technically, Noah Carson was still Meg's husband,
although the two of them had lived apart for years. Their marriage
simply hadn't been able to survive the strain of their son's
disappearance.

"Anyway," Meg went on softly to Amy, "I guess I'm just trying to tell
you that any marriage is a gamble, whether you have in-laws to worry

about or--whatever. I think you're scared because you know it's a
risk. But you can't let that stop you. Take the risk, Amy. Be the
one Hardaway who proves that love can endure." Hopeful words, perhaps,
but they seemed to carry the weight of all the Hardaways who hadn't
endured. They conjured up Lisa's failed marriage, as well as the
husband Meg hadn't spoken to in years ... and the problems that
threatened to tear Helene and Merrick apart.

Amy bent her head once more. "I don't know," she whispered. "Oh,
Meg--Lisa. I just don't know what to do."

MATt WALKED into the barn, carrying the bulky tool chest that 'had once
belonged to his grandfather. He'd unearthed it at the brass works
opened it and found all manner of pliers, wrenches, screwdrivers, nuts
and bolts, gaskets and grommets. He knew that he'd need a whole lot
more tools as he began working on the plane, but his grandfather's tool
chest was a good start. He suspected Grandpa Connell would approve of
the task Matt was undertaking-restoring something, preserving the
past.

Matt set down the chest and surveyed the scattered parts of the plane.
It was going to be quite a job. Rebuilding the engine ... stripping
old paint from the frame ... priming and body work He wasn't going to
rush any of these endeavors. He'd take his time with each step, while
planning the next.

Matt squatted by one of the landing-gear wheels.

His knees didn't like that at all, but he ignored them. He scanned the
underbelly. No corrosion, and the airframe looked sturdy. You had
that beat, and you could pretty much take care of any other problems.

Despite his best efforts, his thoughts drifted back in time. As early
as he could remember, the one thing he'd always been able to share with
his father was the way they both felt about planes. When it came to
anything else, they hadn't seemed to agree. But flying... Matt hadn't
meant to think about his father. He hadn't meant to stir up memories
best left forgotten. The way he and his dad didn't need to talk when
they flew together. The way his mother would pack a big lunch for them
to take on their day-long excursions in the air. The way Matt's young
sister clamored to join them Matt stood abruptly. As if closing a
door, he tried to shut off the memories. It wasn't easy. It was never
easy, but this time it seemed worse. The memories were more
insistent.

"Hello, Matt." It was Lisa's voice, cool and controlled. Feeling
oddly disoriented, he turned and saw her step into the barn. He hadn't
expected to see her again, especially not here. He gazed at her, at
the soft gold hair waving back from her face, the deep brown of her
eyes, the slim yet sensuous curves of her body in the sleeveless dress
she wore. It wouldn't matter What she was wearing--she would look

desirable. She would also look like

someone Matt wasn't supposed to desire. Not anymore.

He rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to ease the stiffness there.
Different parts of him were sore at any given time; he had learned to
accept that, using the methods he had been taught by a string of
physical therapists. Exercise, massage, more exercise. It had all
helped him to stay focused on one moment at a time. Don't look back,
don't look forward.

With Lisa, however, he had a tendency to do both. He looked back on
the brief time they'd spent together, one summer in Hurricane Beach.
And he knew that his future, whatever else it held, would not have
Lisa. He didn't like the way that realization disturbed him.

"I took a chance that I'd find you here," she said "It was a pretty
safe bet. I'm usually here when I'm not at the brass works

"The Connell Brassworks," she said. "I suppose I made the connection,
but I never really thought about it much. I didn't talk about my
family-you didn't talk about yours.,

He understood what she meant. When they were teenagers, they had made
an unspoken agreement to live in a world apart from their ordinary
concerns. They'd shared only two things. The aviation club and sex.

Matt swore to himself for remembering more thing that shouldn't be

"Where's Patrick?" he asked.

"Does it really matter?" she countered.

"I don't suppose so."

Dissatisfaction flickered across her face. "I made it sound as if I
don't care where Patrick is. That's not what I meant."

"I believe you."

"Patrick is... shopping."

Matt nodded. "Shopping," he repeated. He was sorry he'd ever brought
up the subject of Dead-bolt Dannon. He didn't give a damn what the guy
did. All he wanted right now was to take Lisa into his arms.

"He's just browsing," she amended. "It's something he likes to do.
Personally, I think he's more interested in watching other shoppers
than he is in buying something for himself. He likes to make up
stories about people. He tries to figure out what they're thinking."

Matt definitely didn't want to hear any more about Patrick. He stepped
toward Lisa. She stepped back.

"Anyway," she said, sounding rushed, "I borrowed Amy's car, dropped
Patrick off at the store--and then I came here. Just to bring
something." She reached into her purse and pulled out the handkerchief
he'd lent her the other day. It was neatly folded, and she handed it
to him.

He glanced down at the handkerchief. "You didn't have to bring it.
Grandma Bea has plenty more where this came from."

"Nonetheless," Lisa said, "it didn't feel right ... keeping it."

"That's why you came?" he asked.

She drew her eyebrows together. She had pretty eyebrows, slightly
darker than her hair. "I thought

I just explained. I dropped Patrick off, and--" "Does Patrick know
you're here?"

She flushed, a rose color suffusing her skin. "Of course. In case you
hadn't noticed, Patrick is trying to throw the two of us together. He
has the crazy idea that you and I need to resolve ... unfinished
business."

"Do we, Lisa?" he asked quietly, taking another step toward her.

"No." She sounded almost too emphatic. "Maybe you're wrong. Maybe
Patrick's right." She seemed to struggle with her own thoughts, and
then she gave a shrug. "I suppose there is one thing."

His gaze traveled over the delicate curve of her cheek, the gentle
fullness of her lips. He was close enough now that he could touch her
if he wanted.

It. was what he wanted, but he stayed himself. "One thing?" he
asked. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath. "There's something I've always wanted to say
to you. Ever since I was sixteen, in fact."

He waited. She took another deep breath.

"Go to hell, Matt Connell." Her voice was still very cool, very
controlled.

"You could elaborate," he remarked. "No. I think that says it all."
"Maybe you'd better say it again." "Go to hell, Matt." This time her
voice tears shimmering in her eyes all over again. And this time he
did take her in his arms, all the time wondering whether she would pull
away.

But then, with a shuddering breath, she brought herself close to him.
She lifted her face, and Matt covered her lips gently with his. This
moment seemed inevitable, a promise fifteen years in the keeping.

Her mouth was soft and warm and yielding. For just a second or two, he
remembered kissing Lisa the girl. She had been shy back then, letting
him take the lead in their physical relationship. But the Lisa he held
now was no girl--she was a woman who seemed to know exactly what she
wanted. She was the one who deepened the kiss, who demanded more than
gentleness from him. She brought her hands up to his shoulders, then
twined her fingers in his hair. He felt the provocative curves of her

body against his. With a low groan, he tightened his arms around her.
Now they took from each other almost frantically. But this need, this
wanting had no logic. Matt had known other girls---other women--since
Lisa. It was clear, too, that she had gone on to other men. They
hadn't spent the years apart longing for each other... yet it seemed
now as if they had been deprived, and only this was the answer.

He moved his hands along the slim, strong line of her back. Her scent
pervaded him--fresh, womanly, alluring. For just a second longer her
lips remained open, breathless beneath his. But then, all too soon,

she did pull away. She stepped back, al most stumbling, but would not
allow him to catch hold of her. He saw that her eyes had darkened
almost to black, and they held a haunted expression he did not
understand.

"No, Matt," she said, her voice trembling. "Just--no." She turned and
left, and now only an emptiness remained with him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DRIVING UNDER the influence. Lisa hadn't had a drop of alcohol to
drink, but that was exactly how she felt. She was driving under the
influence of Matt Connell's kiss.

As she went back down the highway, her hands rested unsteadily on the
wheel, and she found her foot pressing too hard on the gas. She told
herself to get control, but her admonition didn't do any good. All she
could do was think about being in Matt's arms. His appeal had only
improved with age. That had been no boy who'd kissed her. Matt had
been all man.

Someone behind her honked, and she realized that she'd allowed the car
to weave. She tightened her hands on the steering wheel. Usually she
was a perfectly respectable driver. Usually she remembered how to use
turn signals and pay attention to road signs. But usually she hadn't
just kissed Matt Connell.

It was with a great sense of relief that she pulled into the parking
lot of the store where she'd left Patrick.

She sat where she was for several moments. The air grew hot and
stifling, but she paid no attention.

Somehow she had to get a grip on herself. It had only been a kiss!
Why did her heart still race, why did her lips still seem imprinted
with the taste of him? She gave a moan, and propped her head on the
steering wheel. Since one kiss could affect her like this, what would
happen if Sharply she curbed the direction of her thoughts. She'd made
love to Matt Connell when she was sixteen--many times. It was not an
experience she needed to repeat. Neither did she need to speculate
about it. Except that she suspected making love to Matt would be very
different now. He'd learned a lot about kissing in the years since
that teenage summer. He'd probably also learned a lot about everything
else, too.

Lisa pushed open the door of the car, slammed it shut behind her and
strode across the parking lot. She could think of only one cure for
this agitation. She needed to find Patrick as soon as possible.

He'd mentioned that he would probably be in the electronics department,
and that was exactly she found him. Trust Patrick to be dependable,
someone she could count on. As she entered the store, she saw him at
the far end, leaning over counter and wearing a set of headphones. He
pea red to be Yxstening to music; he had a look on his face. Lisa felt
a rush of guilt. Patrick had been, waiting for her, innocently ing out
with stereos. Meanwhile, she'd been in barn with Matt Connell, doing
the forbidden... She went quickly up to Patrick and gave him bright
smile. "Hi," she said.

He straightened, taking off the headphones. "Back so soon?"

"Yes, mission accomplished. And I just had a wonderful idea. I need
to buy some souvenirs for my girls back home. Care to join me for some
serious shopping?"

Patrick gave her a judicious glance. "Sure, I'm game."

They went outside and walked along the store fronts. Patrick was
strangely quiet. Even though he knew she had just now gone to see
Matt, he didn't question her about it. He walked silently along
he-side her, giving the windows they passed a cursory perusal. The
contented look on his face had vanished. Lisa felt more and more
disconcerted. She led Patrick into a T-shirt shop, pretended to look
over the merchandise, but then could no longer contain herself.

"You know," she said, "I think in a way you did have a good idea. I
think Matt and I ... well, I guess we really did have something to
resolve. So it's good that I've seen him again and--resolved it."

Patrick gave her another considering glance, then picked up a T-shirt
emblazoned Fantastic Florida. "This would be a good present for one of
your kids," he said. "It's extra-large. Means a girl could wear it
while she's pregnant, but still be able to use it afterwards"

"Yes, well, a lot of the girls don't want reminders of when they were
that big. It's sad, but that's the way it is." Suddenly Lisa felt
irritated. She

tried to blame it on the T-shirts, and prodded Patrick on to the next
place--a card shop. She knew at least a few of her girls would like
stationery for writing to their friends. When scared and pregnant
teenagers came to Lisa, often they were away from. home for the very
first time. She tried to encourage any connection to the familiar.

Patrick obligingly sorted through boxes of stationery with her. "This
one's good," he said. "It's decorated with parrots."

Lisa couldn't take it any longer. "I know you want to hear every last
detail," she muttered. "Every last detail about what?" "Patrick--"

"Okay, okay. I guess I've just decided it's your business, after all,
this Matt Cormell thing. I'm butting out."

She stared at him. "It's not a Matt Connell 'thing." And I don't
believe for a minute that you're butting out. You've done nothing but
plague me about Matt You've deliberately tried to provoke some kind of
confrontation. You can hardly back off now and say that it's none of
your business." With that, Lisa marched up to the cash register, paid
for the parrot stationery and went outside again. She began walking
aimlessly in front of the stores, and Patrick caught up to her. He put
his hand on her ann, bringing her to a stop.

"Okay, Lisa, here's how it is. I've been trying to figure out what's
keeping you back from me. If it was Matt Con^ell, I wanted to know
about it. I wanted to see what I was up against. But today ... I can
tell something new happened. All I have to do is look at you, and it's
there in your face. All of a sudden I'm not so sure I want to know
what it is. I'm thinking I'll find out more than I want to know." He
looked at her somberly. She realized that she far preferred him when
he poked and prodded at her and drove her crazy. When he was subdued
like this, it made her unhappy that she couldn't return his affection
wholeheartedly. He deserved more than she was giving him.

"Patrick," she murmured, "you have to believe me. More than anything,
I wish that I'd never seen Matt Cormell again. But what happened
today--it was only a kiss, nothing more. And it's done with. It's
finished."

He continued to regard her gravely. "Lisa, there's no such thing as
'only a kiss." And something tells me this isn't finished yet ... not
by a long shot."

LATER THAT DAY, Patrick, as usual, had made himself right at home. He
was sprawled in the hammock on Amy's deck. One arm dangled out so that
he could pet Sam. Lisa sat in one of the patio chairs, trying to
ignore the fact that she'd situated herself as far as possible from
Patrick without actually falling off the deck.

"Here we are," Amy said, coming from the kitchen to set a tray of

cookies and orange juice on the patio table. "Something to tide us
over until supper."

"Hand me a few of those cookies, will you, sweetheart?" Patrick asked
Lisa.

She grimaced, then made an effort to relax her facial muscles. She
took two oatmeal-raisin cookies and a napkin over to Patrick. Before
she knew what was happening, he had grabbed hold of her and brought her
tumbling onto the hammock with him. One of the cookies went flying,
and Sam happily appropriated it. Lisa wasn't in nearly as good a mood.
She felt ridiculous tangled in the hammock with Patrick, and she tried
to right herself.

"Nothing doing," he said. He seemed to have regained some of his
customary good spirits, and now he tickled Lisa's ribs. Amy gazed on
indulgently. That did it. Lisa scrambled away from Patrick, almost
landing on her tailbone in the process. She plunked herself down in
another of the deck chairs, far enough away so that Patrick couldn't
grab her again. He observed her over the edge of the hammock.

"You're grumpy," he said.

Lisa realized she was still holding on to an oat-meal-raisin cookie.
She resisted the urge to hurl it at Patrick, and started eating it
instead.

"I'm just a little ... bored. All we do is sit around discussing this
anniversary celebration that doesn't have a chance in--"

"You could make yourself useful," Amy said. "Megan went over to Mom's
for a talk. You could do the same thing with Dad--try to find out
exactly what's going on."

Lisa stayed where she was. She gazed out at the shimmering blue-green
waters of the gulf, and wondered why she had such a discontented ache
inside.

"You are grumpy," Patrick repeated. "I'll bet anything your mood has
to do with M.C."

Lisa lowered her cookie. "Patrick--"

"M.C. What does that mean?" Amy asked as she sipped a glass of orange
juice.

"Nothing," Lisa said firmly. "Patrick just thinks he's being
amusing."

The hammock swayed back and forth. "M.C. Now, what could that mean?
Could be initials. Year... that's a possibility. The initials of some
guy who won't leave somebody else's thoughts."

Lisa couldn't believe he was doing this, "Patrick, for crying out

loud--"

"Whose initials?" Amy asked, looking alert. Patrick poked his head
out of the hammock. "Let's just put it this way. An old boyfriend of
Lisa's in town, and she kissed him."

Lisa made a sound that came out like an undignified squawk. Now she
almost did throw her cookie at Patrick. Amy was looking more
interested all the time.

Suddenly Lisa decided it would be a good idea to escape over to Sea
Haven. Talking to her father about his problems would surely be more
congenial than this conversation. She slipped away from her chair.

As if sensing her intent to leave, Patrick went on, "Matt Connell,
that's his name. My val ... M.C."

Amy set down her glass, a perturbed expression on her face. "Matt
Connell? That's his name?" "The one and only," Patrick said.

"Matt Connell ... of Cormell Brassworks?" Amy asked, her voice
sounding peculiar.

"Yes," Lisa muttered. "And now can we just talk about something
else."

"Lisa, come with me for a minute," Amy said,

heading back into the house.

"What--"

"I forgot something. Come help me find it." Amy was sounding more
peculiar all the time. What was she up to? Lisa wasn't so sure she
wanted to find out. But then, reluctantly, she followed her sister.

Amy prodded Lisa into the master bedroom, then shut the door. "I don't
think Patrick will be able to hear us," she said. She sank into an
antique rocker, and now she seemed flustered.

"Amy, what's going on?" Lisa demanded. "Why all the mystery?"

"It's just that, when Patrick said his name--Matt Connell--I remembered
something..."

Lisa sat on the edge of Amy's bed. "You know Matt?"

"No, not to speak to. I gather he hasn't been in town much these past
years. How well do you know him? Is he really an old boyfriend of'

"I knew Matt a long time ago. When I was a teenager." '

"You never told me about him," Amy said. "It doesn't matter. Look, I
know Patrick

I--I kissed Matt, but it's not something that should be blown out of
proportion."

Oddly enough, Amy didn't seem concerned about the fact that Lisa had
kissed a man other than Patrick. She leaned forward in the rocker,
hands clasped in her lap. "Morn knows Beatrice Cormell. That would be
Matt's grandmother, I suppose. I remember when her husband was sick
all those years ago, More went over to help out. And then the poor man
died, and Beatrice took it pretty hard."

Lisa thought over this small bit of information about Matt's life.
She'd had to learn about it from her sister, not Matt himself. How
little she knew of him... how little he had shared with her.

"Lisa," Amy went on, "the truth is, I didn't bring you in here just to
tell you about Matt Con-nell's grandparents. There's something else.
Maybe you already know about the plane crash, but"

"Plane crash?" Lisa echoed with a sense of foreboding. "What are you
talking about?"

"So you don't know. I can understand that... you've distanced yourself
so much from Hurricane Beach." Amy shook her head. "Maybe it's not
any of my business to tell you this ... but..." "Just tell me," Lisa
said.

Amy stared down at her clasped hands. "It was pretty awful. It
happened about four or five years ago. Apparently, several people in
the Cormell family were taking a trip together. Beatrice's two
children, and their children... anyway, they were flying in a plane and

it crashed, somewhere in New Mexico There were only two survivors.
Matt, and a little girl who was his cousin, I think. Except that the
little girl died in the hospital a few weeks after it happened. The
accident made our newspaper he-cause of Beatrice Connell ... and of
course More tried to help her out again. But how do you help, when
something like that's happened?"

Lisa didn't know the answer. She only knew that the nameless yearning
inside her had turned to something deeper, and something far more
wrenching.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BELTRAMO'S WAS the best restaurant in town: candlelight, linen cloths,
a spectacular view of the gulf. It also had a suitably haughty maitre
d', who led Lisa to a table by the window. She sat and tried to enjoy
the last of the sunset, the sky streaked in lavender rose against a
silhouette of tall graceful palms. Then she turned to scan the door.
What was keeping Patrick, anyway? After all, he'd arranged this
romantic dinner for two. He'd dam well better not be late.

Even as she watched, the maitre d' led a new arrival into the dining
area. and straight toward

Lisa. The new arrival was none other than Matt. He stood before Lisa.
"Hello," he said. "Hello." All she could do was stare at him, and
feel the quickening of her pulse ... a dangerous rhythm. Ever since
yesterday, when she'd learned about the tragedy that had befallen Matt,
some protective layer of aloofness had been ripped away from her. For
the first time she understood what had changed Matt from a cocky,
self-assured boy into a grim, hard-edged man, She could imagine only
too well the grief he had carried inside himself these past four or
five years. The knowledge

seemed to destroy all her defenses against him. Seeing into a man's
heart, even when he didn't realize you could see ... yes, that was
dangerous.

Now, slowly, her gaze traveled over him. Tonight he wore dark
trousers, a shirt of some soft, gray material and a dark He. It was
not summer wear, but the outfit suited Matt. His features were as
unyielding as ever, cast in reserve. It was impossible to know what he
was thinking. When had she ever known?

"We keep running into each other," she said inadequately.

"I'm looking. for Patrick. He asked me to meet him here tonight."

"Patrick," she echoed. Then she gave a brief, humorless laugh as she
understood. "I'm afraid we've been had. I was supposed to meet
Patrick here, too. He said he'd arranged a romantic dinner."

"He told me he wanted to discuss something with me. Said it was
important."

Trust Patrick to come up with such a scheme to throw Matt and Lisa
together. She supposed she ought to have suspected. Patrick refused
to leave this matter alone.

Lisa knew exactly what she ought to do--stand up and walk out of the
restaurant. Walk away from Matt before it was too late. Instead, she
gazed into his eyes, gazed deep and long. And every memory of the time
they'd spent together---every touch, every caress---seemed to ignite in
the darkening blue of Matt's eyes. That alone should have sent her
running.

"I suppose you might as well sit down," she said. "The table's
reserved for us."

He sat across from her, and candlelight flickered between them.
"Patrick's come up with a new one," Matt said. "Playing matchmaker for
his girlfriend."

Lisa shook her head. "Patrick doesn't want me to end up with you. He
just wants to find out exactly how I feel about you, to the very last
detail. He wants everything out in the open, where he can see what's
going on." She listened to the casual, even careless, tone of her own
voice. How deceptive it was. Here she sat in a restaurant, surrounded
by other people, yet Matt Connell's presence made her feel as if she
were in a boat hurtling toward the rapids.

"Seems like Patrick should be joining us," Matt said after a moment.
"He'll want to observe us firsthand."

"He doesn't need to. Tonight, when he sees me ... he'll take a

reading. of my emotions, like always." Lisa stopped, regretting that
she'd said this much. She was already starting to feel disloyal to
Patrick. She also realized that she had no appetite. When the waiter
appeared, she told him she wasn't ready to order, and he went off
again.

Matt didn't seem very interested in dinner, either. He'd turned his
face to look out the window. Lisa studied his profile. From this
angle, his features appeared even more rigid and harsh. She

wondered how Matt survived the deaths in his family, how he coped
every day. Had he been piloting the plane? That would make what had
happened even more difficult to bear. Lisa could feel an admiration
for people like her sister Megan or Matt who had endured tragedy, who
lived with it but went on. Her instincts told her, however, that Matt
would not welcome any admiration from her.

He looked at her again. She couldn't look away. And once more she saw
the flare of desire in his eyes--the only emotion he did not try to
keep hidden from her.

"Matt ... no," she whispered, hardly knowing that she spoke.

"It's between us, Lism It won't go away." His own voice had dropped.

"I don't want it--"

"I want you." He spoke the words calmly, matter-of-factly, as if they
were inescapable... so why not face them.

"Well, you've already had me, haven't you, Matt?" Her voice shook.
"You got what you wanted all those years ago--"

"I was wrong," Matt said, almost gently. "And I know it. You were too
young."

How easy he made it sound, as if that had been the only problem. She'd
been too young. If an eighteen-year-old boy wanted to have sex, he
should at least know how to choose the right girl. He shouldn't pick
the one so in love she'd do anything to make him stay.

Lisa couldn't look at Matt anymore, couldn't bear to remember the need
that had so reduced her at sixteen--the need that threatened to reduce
her now. She glanced around the restaurant, trying to focus on
anything but Matt. That was when she saw her mother ... having a
candlelight dinner with the developer Palmer Boyce. And, to top it
off, there was Lisa's father--across the restaurant, having 'what
appeared to be his own romantic dinner with the lovely widow Babcock.

-"I don't believe this," Lisa said. "My mother and my father out on a
date, but not with each other."

Matt made no comment. As he leaned back in his chair, the candlelight
flickering across his face seemed to emphasize his austere expression.
Lisa supposed he wasn't interested in the foibles of the Hardaway clan.
Perhaps, when you'd lost your own family, everything else seemed
insignificant in comparison. Much as Lisa had tried to distance
her-serf from her sisters and her parents, it eh' filed her to imagine
ever losing them. She needed to know they were all safe and well, even
though she found 'it so difficult to be around them.

She glanced across the room, where her mother and father sat at their
separate little tables. Lisa wished the place was not so fashionably
under-lighted. She couldn't read her parents' faces. All she could
tell was that Helene's posture seemed too straight, and Merrick looked
as if he was trying to appear too relaxed.

Lisa couldn't watch anymore. Neither could she sit here another
minute, across from Matt. It didn't

matter that she hadn't even ordered dinner yet. She pushed back her
chair and stood.

"I'm leaving."

If she thought she was going to escape Matt, she was mistaken. As she
hurried from the restaurant and emerged into the night, he was right
behind her.

"Good night," she said, heading toward the car she'd borrowed from Amy
again.

"Lisa," Matt came up beside her.

She refused to look at him. "It's over between us Everything--" Even
as she said the words, she knew they were a lie. Matt didn't even
bother to answer. He simply took her hand and led her away from the
car ... away from Gulfview Lane, and down onto the beach.

His fingers were warm and strong as they clasped hers. She didn't try
to pull away. She went with him as if following the pulse of the
tide--and her own pulse continued to beat in a slow, relentless rhythm.
Danger, it warned... "Where are we going?" she murmured. Again Matt
didn't say anything, but already she knew the answer. A memory from
fifteen years ago flamed to life. How could she ever forget the night
Matt had led her to a certain stretch of beach far past any of the
piers, a place that was very secluded and private. That was the night
he had first made love to her, on the sand.

It's still not too late, a voice whispered inside Lisa. But the
whisper faded, submerged in the sound of the tide rushing onto the
shore. And she walked with Matt, all the way down the beach, all the
way to that private and secluded spot below the dunes.

"Remember, Lisa?" Matt's voice held a huskiness that sent a tremor
through her. He released her hand, but only so he could kneel and
begin untying the laces of his shoes. Like someone intoxicated by the
moonlight, Lisa knelt, too, slipping off her sandals.

A few moments later Matt had his shoes and socks off, his pant cuffs
rolled up. Lisa's sandals lay discarded in the sand, too. Together
she and Matt waded into the surf, the water lapping over their ankles.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, this time her
fingers sought his. They continued walking, hand in hand, the waves
dancing at their feet. The nighttime sky with its scattering of stars
was like a richly embroidered cloth, a dark brocade that seemed to
envelop Matt and Lisa. No one else was here to disturb their
solitude.

They stopped walking, turned slowly to face each other. Then, without
any thought or action of her own, Lisa was in Matt's arms, and he was

kissing her. Need swept though her like a flash fire. She couldn't
fight it, couldn't disobey it. Crushed against Matt, she gave herself
up to him. Her lips opened breathlessly underneath his, and she felt
as if she were melting into the warm night air. No--she was melting
into him, just as she had all those years ago, recklessly leaving all
reason and caution behind. She clung to him, as if she might fall

should he let her go. And she was falling ... tumbling through her
own emotions, the heat of Matt's touch propelling her.

Together they sank onto the sand. Lisa paid no heed to the water
soaking her skirt. She only pressed herself nearer to Matt, heard only
the low. groan that broke from him.

"Lisa..." His hands moved over the curve of her hips.

Still not too late... Now the voice inside her head seemed to mock her
with its refrain. She knew she should pull back from Matt, get to her
feet and run. But she stayed where she was, imprisoned by her own
desire. When Matt fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, she helped
him. Impatiently, almost frantically, she pulled open her shirt. Now
Only the flimsy cloth of her camisole remained between them. Fingers
trembling, she lowered the straps over her shoulders, bent her head as
if to hide herself from Matt.

Still not too late. Hadn't she made enough mistakes already, beginning
with the first time she'd made love to him?

Gently Matt cupped her breasts, his hands warm upon her skin. A
trembling went through Lisa, the need burning inside her, demanding
fulfillment despite all warnings. Now She was the one who fumbled with
Matt's buttons, yearning to feel her hands on his skin.

"Lisa..." Her name tore from him again. She pressed her hands against
the muscles of his chest, felt the ridge of a scar underneath her
fingers. Andi!

to the man, not the boy. A harsh reminder of that plane crash,
perhaps... Lisa raised her mouth to Matt's yet again, seeking, yearning
more than ever. And Matt, even as he kissed her, tangled his legs with
hers upon the sand. It seemed that what would happen next was as
inevitable and relentless as the gulf tide. Lisa clung to Matt as he
caressed her intimately. But the voice inside her head would not be
silenced. Still not too late

With a small moan of despair, Lisa pulled free of Matt.

THE NEXT MORNING Lisa sat in the reading room of the Hurricane Beach
town library, attempting to read a newspaper. Sunlight streamed in
through the windows, proclaiming another day of cloudless, carefree
weather. But Lisa didn't feel carefree. She felt as if all the storm
warnings were in effect, the tempest about to descend. Last night
she'd almost made love to Matt Connell on the beach. Lisa felt the
heated memory of those moments. Only a few more moments, and she would
have made the same dreadful mistake all over again. Just as when she
was sixteen, she would have had sex with Matt. Sex that would have
left both her body and her heart unprotected.

She turned the pages of the newspaper in front of her, watching her
hands slightly tremble. Gone was all the steadiness, the cool control
she'd worked so hard to achieve these past fifteen years.

It was almost as if even now she could feel Matt's fingers brush
against her skin.

"Lisa closed her eyes. She didn't know what had made her stop last
night. Perhaps simply a vestige of common sense. She was no longer
sixteen--she had learned from past mistakes. Or perhaps there was also
another reason she'd stopped. Maybe she'd realized, in the deepest
part of her soul, that making love to Matt was far too close to loving
him.

She opened her eyes and sat up straight in her chair. No. She'd
stopped loving Matt a long time ago. She Wasn't close to loving him
now. She couldn't be. Surely only physical need had propelled her
Liar The mocking voice in her head was back, taunting her. Perhaps
common sense had saved her from making an irrevocable mistake. But it
hadn't saved her from the hint of sadness in Patrick's eyes. Last
night when she'd arrived back at the bed-and-breakfast with her skin
flushed, her skirt still damp from the gulf waters, "Pat. tick hadn't
wanted any explanations. Although he had pushed her and Matt together,
she knew he'd hoped for a much different outcome. He'd hoped Lisa
would find out Matt Connell didn't mean a thing to her.

Lisa sighed. She wondered if it would be possible to salvage anything
with Patrick ... a safe, dependable man. She hadn't made love with him
since arriving in Hurricane Beach. Now matters between them were even
worse. What a mess she'd made of things!

She made a greater effort to concentrate on the task before her. Slowly
she turned the pages of the newspaper, didn't find what she was looking
for and moved on to the next. The Hurricane Beach Chronicle was the
town's one small paper, pub-fished weekly. Lisa had requested all
copies from four and five years ago. That meant she had quite a stack
to go through.

She'd been at it for more than an hour when she finally found 'the
article, in an issue dated almost exactly five years ago. It was on
the front page, lower right-hand corner, captioned Tragedy for Local
Residents. Lisa read quickly, almost furtively, as if she were
intruding on Matt's private life and was in danger of being caught.
When she was finished, she read the article again, more carefully this
time, certain phrases sinking in more deeply:

The crash of a private plane in rural New Mexico yesterday has taken
the life of Sharon Connell, 47, of Bradley Street, Hurricane Beach.
Mrs. Connell's daughter Paige, 12, remains in critical condition in an
Albuquerque, New Mexico, hospital. Also listed in critical condition
is Mrs. Connell's nephew, Mathias, 28, of Albuquerque .... The
accident claimed three additional members of the Cormell family: Gerald
and Debra, 53 and 52, parents of Mathias Connell, and their daughter
Holly, 15, all of Albuquerque .... Lisa turned the newspaper over, as
if that would somehow blot out the story. It struck her that

journalists had a talent for presenting tragedy in such a dry,
straightforward manner, listing names and ages and dates like so many
statistics. The anguish of the survivors was rarely mentioned.

Lisa wanted to get up and leave the library, but she forced herself to
remain where she was, scanning the next few papers. This time she
found an article on the third page of a newspaper dated some three
weeks after the plane crash. This article gave at least a hint of
emotion.

Paige Connell of Hurricane Beach died at an Albuquerque, New Mexico,
hospital early Tuesday morning as a result of injuries sustained in an
airplane crash on July 16. Twelve-year-old Paige had been on vacation
with her family when the private plane piloted by her uncle, Gerald
Connell, went down in a storm near Socorro, New Mexico. Paige and her
cousin, Mathias Cormell, were the only survivors of the crash. Doctors
at Saint Anne's Hospital in Albuquerque credit Mathias Connell's heroic
efforts for keeping Paige alive after the accident. Mathias carried
his young cousin from the crash site to the town of Socorro, where both
survivors were airlifted to Albuquerque. Unfortunately Paige's
injuries were extensive. When she died Tuesday morning, her sister,
Joanne, and grandmother, Beatrice, both of Hurricane Beach, were at her
bedside .... Lisa closed this last newspaper. She felt more shaken
than ever. It was true that now she knew additional details about the
crash. Matt had not been the pilot, and obviously he had done
everything possible to save his cousin. "Heroic efforts," the
newspaper had said. But somehow, she knew that Matt did not see
himself as a hero. There was nothing about his demeanor that conveyed
such an attitude. Just the opposite, in fact. Gone was the cocky
teenager he'd once been--the teenager who'd felt like he deserved
everything.

Lisa propped her head in her hands, feeling strangely tired. She could
blame it on the fact that she hadn't slept much last night, after her
so-called dinner with Matt. But perhaps this weariness was also a
result of the sympathy she felt for. him.

Sympathy she knew he would never accept.

CHAPTER NINE

GRANDMA BA DECIDED to celebrate her eighty-second birthday in grand
style: she had invited both Matt and Joanne to share Sunday dinner with
her. No, she didn't want presents. And no, she didn't want them to
bring any food--she would do all the cooking. All she required was the
pleasure of their company.

Then again, Bea hadn't put it in quite those words to Matt. She'd
grumbled something about wanting to keep an eye on Joanne, so she might
as well have her to dinner. And Matt could be there, too, as long as
he did not make a fuss about her birthday. It had been up to him to do
the interpreting: Bea was feeling her years, and she wanted to gather
her family around her. What was left of her family.

Carrying an awkward bundle, Mat' walked along the brick pathway to his
grandmother's door. Of course, he'd resisted all Bea's demands that he
stay with her. He needed solitude ... needed his space. He'd rented a
room on Cypress Street, but it meant he had to keep trekking over to
Bea's to check on how she was doing. For one thing, he wondered how
she was managing to keep the lawns and gar dens so neat and trim. Had
she hired a gardener, or did she still insist on doing all the work
herself? She wasn't about to let on to him. She insisted that she was
ailing, but then refused to explain how she got anything done. He
wouldn't put it past the old gal to be up at dawn most days, attacking
the shrubs with a pair of clippers.

He rapped twice with the brass knocker that depicted two lovers
kissing. It wasn't as though he really needed a reminder of his
encounter With Lisa last night.

"Lord," he said under his breath. He'd never wanted a woman so much.
The bad part was that the wanting was still with him.

But he wouldn't be getting that close to Lisa again. She had someone
else, and it had been a very long white since any woman had been in
Matt's life. A woman would require him to acknowledge the past, and
plan the future. He couldn't do that.

Matt opened the door and stepped into his grandmother's house. The
overstuffed furniture packed around the rooms only contributed to the
sensation of overpowering heat. He was already sweating by the time he
hit his grandmother's kitchen. He popped open the refrigerator and
leaned his head inside.

"Mathias T. Connell. Don't stick your nose in the tapioca!"

He'd been enjoying the coolness of the fridge, and hadn't even noticed
the big bowl of tapioca. He tried not to notice it now. Bea's tapioca
pudding

did not by any stretch of the imagination qualify as a culinary
delight.

Matt extracted himself from the refrigerator and observed his
grandmother. She stood in the doorway, trying to scowl at him.

"I told you not to bring me a present," she said. "What is it?"

"Since you don't want it..."

"Hand it over this instant." She stepped over to him and grabbed the
bundle from him. It had taken some ingenuity to wrap the thing, what
with the long spout sticking out. Busy-as-a-bee Connell had the paper
torn off in only a second or two.

"Oh, Mathias... a watering can. Just like the one your grandfather
gave me when we first got married. How did you know?"

He hadn't known. He'd just noticed that Bea's tin watering can had
grown battered and rusty over the years, and that she might like a
replacement.

He hadn't meant to be sentimental.

"Look inside," he said.

She rattled the watering can, then reached in her fingers and extracted
a bag of butterscotch candy. It took some effort, but she managed to
look stern. "Now, Mathias. You know I won't eat them."

Matt opened the freezer and took out a handful of ice. Bea was right
in the middle of unwrapping a butterscotch when Cousin Joanne appeared
in the doorway. She took in the scene before her, lean face
tightening.

"Bea, I thought you said you didn't want any birthday presents."

"And so I don't." Grandma Bea popped the butterscotch into her
mouth.

Now Joanne gave Matt an accusing stare. "I didn't bring a present.
Foolish me. I paid attention to what I was told."

Matt rubbed the ice along the back of his neck. This family
get-together hadn't even started, and already he wished he was back in
that rented room of his. Joanne frowned at him for another minute,
then swiveled back to Bea.

"At least let me help with dinner."

"There's not a thing to help with. I made gumbo, and it's almost

ready."

"For goodness' sake, it's your birthday. You're supposed to sit down
while everyone else does the work."

"I don't need any help, Joanne," said Bea. Again it struck Matt how
alike his cousin and grandmother were---both obstinate and brittle. The
similarities, though, did not seem to bring them closer. Joanne merely
pressed her lips tightly together, whirled and stalked away.

A short while later the three Connells sat down to Sunday dinner. It
was, if possible, the hottest part of the afternoon. Bea's
okra-and-seafood gumbo was over spiced with chili pepper. Matt felt
his mouth burning, while his shirt StuCk to his skin, damp with a
steady supply of perspiration. Bea was not affected by the heat. She
had a peculiar metabolism, that was all Matt could guess. He studied
her across the table. She appeared her usual. perky, cantankerous

self, but he noted a disturbing glassiness in her eyes now and then.
Was she sick, as she threatened? Or was it just a ploy, the reasons
known only by Ben herself?

The bombshell came off over tapioca. No birthday cake was allowed,
just the tapioca. Matt began eating the lumpy stuff only because it
was cold, fresh out of the refrigerator. Ben urged a second helping on
him, but not on Joanne. Then she sat back.

"I suppose this is as good a time as any," Ben said rather importantly.
"I have an announcement to make. Due to my ... condition, I need to be
reassured that my finances will be looked after. I've therefore
arranged down at the bank for Mathias to be added to my checking and
savings accounts. He will be assigned power of attorney on my behalf,
as well."

Joanne pushed her bowl away in a gesture that Clearly expressed
outrage. Matt seemed to have lost his appetite, too.

"Ben, we haven't discussed any of this," he said. "I don't want to be
in charge of your finances--' '

"Right." Joanne glared at him. "This is why you came back to town,
Matt, isn't it? It's not enough for you to have all your dad's money.
Now you're going to take on Ben's, too." Her words poured out, hot and
resentful.

"Jo," Matt said, "calm down--"

"Oh, I'm very calm," she answered scathingly. "And I see exactly
what's going on. You've weaseled your way into the brass works And now
you've weaseled your way into Ben's bank accounts."

No answer seemed possible, or even necessary. Matt looked at his
grandmother. Ben almost seemed to be enjoying herself, her eyes bright
as she glanced from one grandchild to the other. Obviously she'd
orchestrated this scene. Why? To make Joanne even more resentful than
before? Why couldn't the two of them get along? And why had Matt come
back to Hurricane Beach just to be in the middle of all this turmoil?

He felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.
But Joanne gripped the edge of the table with her thin hands.

"I'm just a little curious about something, Matt. Maybe you can
enlighten me. Exactly what have you been doing the past five years? I
mean, you've never told us how you spent your time. I think Ben's
entitled to know, don't you? Particularly since she's about to sign
over her entire life's savings to you."

It occurred to Matt that at the moment Joanne was venting all her anger
at him, and not at Ben. That was for the best. He could take the

anger, but maybe Ben couldn't--for all her attempts to stir up trouble,
her skin was starting to look a little pasty. "We'll talk about it
later, Jo," he said.

"I think we should talk about it right now, don't you? Before you so
conveniently sign any papers."

At last Ben spoke, "Mathias doesn't have to justify himself. I don't
care where he's been---what he's done. I'm just happy he came home
again."?

Joanne slowly straightened. "Home again... What a joke. I'm the one
who's been here all along, Bea." Her voice gave an unexpected crack.
She stared at her grandmother with an expression that was almost
pleading, but Bea didn't say a word in return. She just sat there at
the head of the table, presiding over a bowl of tapioca, looking
satisfied and, yes, just a little sick.

Happy birthday, Bea. One hell of a happy birthday.

LISA KEW where to find her father at this hour of the day. She went
across the main hallway of Sea Haven, past the great room with its
glass walls looking over the shimmering white sands and aqua waters of
the gulf. Once again she tried to picture this house being torn down,
and condos pressing in on the view It didn't seem possible. But if
Helene and Merrick sold the property, maybe they really wOUld stop
arguing. Maybe they would get back together again. A foolish hope?
Lisa simply didn't know.

She found her father in his study. The room was lined with shelves of
books, but there was nothing haphazard about them. Merrick kept things
organized in here. If you asked him for a certain volume, he would be
able to find it in an instant, no matter how obscure the title. He
always read in the same fashion, too organized, methodical, never
peeking ahead of time at the ending of a book, as Amy tended to do.
Tackle something from start to finish, he'd liked to say when his
daughters were young. Yet, in many aspects of his life, Merrick
Hardaway had not followed his own advice. He'd been a bold man, not
always taking one predictable step after another. Despite a promising
career as an actor, he'd given it up to pursue the real estate
business. He'd been bold there, too, amassing quite an amount of
money. Despite some of his unpredictable decisions, to Lisa, he'd
always seemed to operate according to some grand master plan. Maybe
you didn't always know what he was going to do next, but you could
trust that he knew what he was doing, that he could see far into the
future and safely guide his family there. She'd felt that way a large
part of her childhood, anyway. She'd worshiped her powerful, dynamic
father.

Now, as she stood gazing at him from the doorway, he still looked
dynamic to her. He'd gone bald on top and his mustache had turned
silver, but those details only served to emphasize his vigor. Just as
Lisa couldn't picture Sea Haven being torn down, she could not picture
her father in decline.

He glanced up from his desk, where he was going over some computer
printouts. Although technically retired, Merrick kept a close eye on
his investments. He seemed to see the stock market as something of a
challenge, a game that kept his wits sharp.

"Hello, Lissie," he said. His use of Lisa's childhood name stirred
conflicting emotions---love and resentment mingled. "Lissie" implied

her special place in the family as youngest child. But it seemed to
ignore the fact that she'd grown up, become a

woman With her own accomplishments. Whenever her father looked at
her, she suspected he saw only the gangly, ponytailed little girl she'd
once been.

She came into the room and perched on the edge of an armchair
upholstered in a thick, nubby fabric. It was starting to get a little
worn, but it had been in the house as 'long as Lisa could remember.
If

Helene were here, she'd be threatening to reupholster the chair, and
Merrick would be arguing that it was perfectly fine the way it was.
Such had al ways been the nature of her parents' disagreements ...
playful, half-teasing. Yet now the two of them were separated,
disagreeing for real.

"So, how was your dinner last night?" Lisa asked casually.

Merrick frowned. "News travels fast in this damn town," he grumbled.

"I didn't hear any rumors. I was right there at the restaurant. You
seemed pretty ... involved, so I didn't interrupt you."

Merrick put down his pencil and sat back. "All right, out with it.
You're going to tell me I'm a scoundrel for dining with the widow
Babcock." "Scoundrel?" Lisa remarked.

"There's nothing untoward about me seeing Audrey Babcock. She used to
come to town every summer with her husband, Murray. Your mother and I
were good friends with the Babcocks, and it's only natural that the
friendship continue." "Only natural," Lisa agreed.

Merrick gave her a shrewd glance. "Did your mother send you to talk to
me?"

"No ... it was Amy."

Merrick looked disappointed, as if he'd hoped Helene would show some
interest in his doings. But Helene must already know about his
"date"--she'd been at the restaurant herself.

Lisa debated how to continue the conversation. Maybe directness was
the only approach

"Dad, what really is the trouble between you and Mom? She says it's
not just the dispute over selling the property... What, then?"

Merrick didn't answer the question. Instead, he perused Lisa. "You're
fiddling with your earring," he said. "Your mother does that, too,
when she's nervous. What's making you nervous, Lissie?"

She realized that she was twisting her earring. She put both hands in

her lap.

"Of course I'm nervous," she said. "It's not every day I ask my father
why he's not living with my mother."

"She's the one who moved out," he muttered. "I didn't want her to
go."

"But why did she?" Once started on this, Lisa found she couldn't stop.
Maybe she was picking up some habits from Amy, to toking her nose into
her parents' lives, wishing she could fix whatever was wrong. "Dad ...
why did More leave?" she asked again. "Was it because ... because of
the widow Babcock..."

"No," Merrick stated flatly. "You should know better than that. I
have never been unfaithful to your mother. She left because she
believes I've ruined her life."

This was not enlightening. "But, Dad---" "Don't ask me to explain,
because I can't figure it out myself. Your mother wants to be
independent. She wants to make her own decisions without my
interference. But I have never interfered. I've only tried to give
your mother everything she's ever wanted."

Now, at last, Lisa did begin to understand. Merrick Hardaway had been
the head of his household for almost fifty years. He did have a
tendency to orchestrate everything, to sweep the family along. Yes, he
wanted the best for all of them, but he expected their compliance. What
would he say if he knew how poorly Lisa herself had complied?

The old fear came to life inside her, the one that whispered her father
wouldn't love her anymore if he knew the truth. He would be too
disappointed in her, even after all these years.

"You know what, Dad?" she said awkwardly. "This isn't any of my
business, after all. I'm sorry about you and Mom, but ... I just hope
you can work it out somehow."

"It's up to your mother, isn't it? It's her decision to make. That's
what she says she wants, her own decisions. I'm not forcing anything
on her. Whether or not she comes home ... it'll have to be up to her."
He made it sound as if it had become a point of pride with him. He
would bend over backward not to influence Helene. Lisa had never heard
her father sound defensive before, as if he had to justify himself.
Before this, he had been so sure, so confident of his ability to make
his family happy. But the Hardaway family wasn't happy right now, not
by any stretch of definition.

"Oh, Dad ... I just wish everything could be different," Lisa
murmured:

"So do I, Lissie," he answered somberly. "So do I."

IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON as Matt tore off another strip of cloth tape and
ran it along the bottom of the plane's windshield. He'd be finished
masking in no time, and then it was on to the paint stripper. An hour
or so ago, he'd escaped the less-than-convivial birthday celebration at
Bea's, and come straight to the barn for a good spell of work. He was
making progress with this old Stinson bush-plane. Too bad he wasn't
making any progress with his thoughts. They kept returning over and.
over to last night on the beach with Lisa Hardaway.

Yes, he wanted her. But what did he have to offer? Sometimes it
seemed that it took everything he had just to keep going one day at a
time, just to go through the motions that other people took for
granted. It wasn't only the way his body fought him despite all the
time spent in rehab. It was the effort required to keep unbearable
memories at bay, an effort that was becoming more and more difficult
all the time. Coming back to Hurricane Beach hadn't helped. Neither

had seeing Lisa again.

Gradually he became aware that he'd stopped working. He was just
standing here in the barn, holding a strip of tape in both hands,
thinking about the woman who deserved more than he had to give.

And then, as if he'd conjured her, she appeared in the doorway of the
barn. Lisa Hardaway, slim and golden-haired "Hello, Matt," she said,
and then she got right to the point. "I thought we should have a talk,
after... after what happened."

The problem was that he didn't have talking on his mind. He saw the
sensual curve of her mouth, the fire banked deep in her eyes. She
pretended to be aloof, but Matt knew better. He knew about the warmth
underneath that controlled exterior. As he stepped toward her, he saw
the rose color suffusing her cheeks.

"No, Matt," she said evenly. "We really do have to discuss something.
I've finally figured that out. I just came from seeing my father ...
and it made me realize that people too often don't speak their minds.
My parents, for instance. It appears that my mother spent years not
speaking up in her marriage, so now she's gone overboard, big lime, and
moved right out of the house."

Matt was pretty certain that Lisa hadn't come here to discuss her
parents. She paced restlessly just inside the barn, as if working up
her courage for something. Or maybe she was getting ready to bolt.

"I'm listening," Matt said. That was enough to stop her. She turned
and faced him, the color still high in her cheeks.

"Here goes, Matt." She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself.
"Fifteen years ago, I made love to a boy for the first tune in my life.
I didn't stop to consider the consequences. I just made love with him
again ... and again. I didn't know how to stop--I didn't want to stop.
MOst of all, I wanted him to stay with me. To love me.."

Each word she spoke seemed like a stone falling into a pond, creating
one ripple after another. But she didn't need to tell him what a
self-involved ass he'd been back then. He already knew as much. "Lisa
"

"No. Let me finish." She took another deep breath. "I got pregnant,"
she said. "I couldn't believe it at first, but a clinic in Tallahassee
confirmed it. I was carrying a child. Except that the boy I
loved--the father of my child--had already moved on to someone new. I
was too proud to tell him about it ... too scared to tell anybody else.
At night I prayed that I'd wake up in the morning and find out it
wasn't true.,"

Matt felt disoriented" Lisa--my God--" "Just let me finish." He heard
the break in her voice, but the words kept coming. She no longer even
looked at him, holding her arms tightly against herself as the rest of
her recitation tumbled out.

"Then, one morning something new and frightening started happening to
my body. I Shuck out of the house, got a friend to drive me to

Tallahassee ... but even she didn't know where I was headed. She.
dropped me off on a corner, and I walked the rest of the way by myself.
When I finally got to the clinic, they only confirmed what I

already knew. A miscarriage. It seemed my prayers were answered,
after all."

She paused, but this time he knew enough not to say anything. He
wanted to take her in his arms, offer some comfort, even though he'd
been the one to cause her so much pain. Yet he stayed where he was,
knowing instinctively that the worst move he could make right now would
be to touch her.

She bent her head. "It's a funny thing about prayers," she said. "Once
you have what you want ... you start thinking maybe you want something
else entirely. That's what happened to me. I started thinking about
the baby I'd lost ... my own child ... and I found a new kind of fear.
What if somehow I'd made it happen? What if all my fear and longing to
have it go away were somehow responsible for destroying my child sour
child,

A silence encased the barn, as heavy and muffling as the heat of the
afternoon.

Then Matt could no longer prevent himself from going to her, from
putting his arms around her. But she remained still, rigid, as if
allowing him to touch only her body, not her soul.

"Tm sorry, Lisa. I know those words can't mean much right now, after
what you went through--but, Lord, I'm sorry. If you'd told me back
then--"

"What, Matt?" All the emotion seemed to have drained from her voice.
"What would you have done?"

It was a question he couldn't answer. He didn't have a whole lot of
admiration for the boy he'd been. Would he have had the maturity to
stand by Lisa? Or would he still have been arrogant enough to believe
he had a right to take what he wanted, without facing any of the
consequences?

Useless speculation, perhaps, He was no longer eighteen and, in the
years since, he'd learned too; well about consequences.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, knowing yet again how inadequate those words
sounded. He continued to hold Lisa, wishing he could somehow erase all
the anguish he had caused her. But she was unyielding in his arms, and
Matt did not know how to reach her.

CHAPTER TEN

usA STOOD in front of the Costas Family Bakery, wondering if she'd lost
her mind entirely. Did she really plan to march in there and confront
her ex-in-laws? Did she really think that getting things out in the
open would do any good? Only a short while ago she'd gotten things out
in the open with Matt. Where had that left her?

She pressed a hand to her throat, feeling the shock waves even now.
She'd actually done it. She'd confided to Matt the secret that she'd
guarded so profoundly all these years. But confession seemed to have
granted her no peace, no absolution. It had only deepened the turmoil
inside her. She'd seen the regret in Matt's eyes. But he couldn't do
anything to change the past, and neither could she. Had sharing her
burden with him been wise or incredibly foolish?

She didn't know the answer. She only knew that she was probably about
to do something foolish all over again. She glanced two doors down the
street, at Rve Rags. The conversation she'd just had with Amy echoed
in her mind. Once again Amy had vacillated about setting a wedding
date, even though setting a date was exactly what Jon wanted.

"I don't know anything about marriage," she'd finally confessed to Lisa
and Megan. "And lately I don't see any examples of it working ...
except in Jon's family. His parents? his aunt and uncle--they're the
ones who've stuck together. So maybe they know something I don't.
Maybe they're right to be worried about Jon and me!"

Suddenly Lisa found that she could no longer stand still in front of
the bakery. The events of the past few hours seemed like a stack of
dominoes tumbling down, one upon the other, only causing more dominoes
to fall. With Matt Lisa had opened up more than she ever had in her
life and now she seemed to be on a roll. Perhaps certain things just
had to be said. Perhaps it was simply time.

Lisa pushed open the door of the bakery and went inside. It was a
cheerful, homey place, bustling with activity. Coming from the back,
Lisa could hear the voices of any number of Costas family members, a
melodious combination of Greek and English. The spicy scent of
cinnamon filled the air, along with the delicious smell of bread fresh
from the oven.

The customers thinned out. Jon's mother put some pocket breads in a
white paper sack. Jon's father rang up the purchase at the register,
and then Jon's parents gazed at Lisa with matching expressions of
discomfort. So far on this visit to Hurricane Beach, Lisa had managed
to avoid the senior Costas. She suspected they'd been avoiding her,
tOO.

"Hello," she said at last.

"Lisa, it is good to see you." Jon's father, me tri sounded just a
little too tie arty in his greeting Jon;s mother, Leda,. did nit say
anything at all. She was an attractive woman, her graying hair swept
back with the tortoiseshell combs she favored. But her face looked a
bit careworn. Lis knew the past several months hadn't been easy for
Demetri and Leda Costas, what with their oldest son, Nick, dropping out
of a drug rehabilitation pro, am and walking away from everyone in his
family. Then the trouble with their granddaughter, Kieran... No? it
hadn't been an easy time for them.

"You wish to speak to Jon?" Leda asked in a suspicious tone. But then
motherly pride took over. "Jon, he has his important new job, but
still he; comes here to the bakery---to us. Right now he in the back,
visiting his cousins. I will call him--" i

"No," Lisa said. "I want to speak to you Demetri." With this remark,
Lisa was faced stares and raised eyebrows.

"What can we do for you?" Jon's mother her speech as formal as always
with Lisa.

"It's about Amy," Lisa said.

"Amy is well, I hope," Demetri offered. too, sounded formal, although
there'd been a when he'd almost seemed to unbend around Almost ... but
not quite.

"Amy's fine. Or rather reno she's not."

was this so difficult? Lisa glanced at a display sugary crescent
cookies arranged invitingly one of the counters, but this didn't seem
to with her task. Being direct was her only

"Amy's upset because neither one of you seems happy about her
engagement to Jon. "But before, you treated her almost like family--"
"We always have possessed a high regard for Amy," Leda said sternly.
But Lisa wouldn't be deterred-not now. During her marriage to Jon,
she'd allowed her mother-in-law to set the tone of their relationship:
polite, superficial. Now that Leda was her ex-mother-in-law, maybe it
was time for that to change.

"I think I know what the problem is," Lisa said, plunging ahead. "It's
not just that you'd prefer Jon to marry in the Greek community. You're
concerned that he already married one Hardaway--and look how that ended
up. Now here he is engaged to another Hardaway. You think it'll end
up just the same."

Demetri gave Lisa the briefest of smiles. "You are very--what is the
word, Lisa? Astute... yes that

"Demetri," his wife began. "we must not talk about this--"

"I believe Lisa is right We must talk. We want Jon to be happy.. that
is all. And, yes, we worry about this new marriage. Much as we care
for Amy... we do worry."

Lisa felt grateful to her ex-father-in-law for being truthful, at least
"Amy's not being mceme, she.

said. We're sisters, of course, but that's where the similarities end.
Amy's optimistic, gregarious and levelheaded. Besides, she loves
Jon..."

Neither Demetri nor Leda looked particularly

pleased by this remark. But Lisa decided to push on, anyway:

"I'm not proud' of myself," she said quietly;' "but it turns out I
married Jon for all the wrong! reasons. I was trying to escape the
past ... trying to escape Hurricane Beach. Jon was headed for New
York, to be a stockbroker... We convinced ourselves that we were in
love, when the truth is, we just both wanted a new life."

This wasn't going well at all--Jon's parents were looking more and more
perturbed. Lisa knew why. She'd brought up a fact that made the
senior Costas unhappy: at one time, Jon had, indeed, wished to escape
Hurricane Beach and the overwhelming influence of his family.,

"But Jon came back," Lisa said hastily. "He wants to build a life in
Hurricane Beach, and so does Amy, of course. But it's more than that.
It's the fact that Amy and Jon belong together they're simply meant for
each other. Don't you see? Haven't you noticed the way they look at
each other?"

Demetri gave a rather wistful smile this tune. "Perhaps," he said
somberly. "Perhaps not.?"

"If you think back," Lisa said earnestly, "you'll remember that Jon and
Imwe never shared that look. We couldn't share it because..." Lisa
stopped herself, but the words she didn't speak nonetheless burned in
her mind. I couldn't look at Jon that way because deep down I still
loved Matt. And I still love him"

She hadn't admitted it to herself fully until now

Oh, yes, she still loved Matt... loved him with all her heart. Too bad
loving him hurt so much.

It seemed that the torment she felt must be showing in her face,
because Leda and Demetri were now gazing at her with expressions of
concern. She struggled past the tightness in her throat.

"Anyway," she said, "just think about it. Amy and I are two different
people. Give her a chance."

Then she fled the bakery.

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Jon drove Patrick and Lisa to the Tallahassee
airport It was time to return to Connecticut, regardless of the mess
Lisa had made for herself in Florida. Look at what she'd done to
Patrick--he seemed to have lost all his former satisfaction with his
life. At the airport, he appeared unusually glum as he went to take
care of the tickets. Patrick, being glum ... that was just as bad as
Amy losing her optimism. Amy no longer even seemed hopeful that an
anniversary party would bring Helene and Merrick back together. Plans
for the celebration were still very much up in the air. It was true

that Megan would remain in Hurricane Beach at least a short while
longer, but that didn't mean she and Amy would be able to resolve
anything for the senior Hardaways. Lisa felt a stirring of guilt. She
still believed it was useless to interfere in her parents' problems,
but maybe she should have tried harder--for Amy's sake, if nothing
else.

Now, with Patrick occupied at the ticket counter, Lisa ended up
standing next to Jori. Being alone

with her ex-husband--not a situation she liked. But he seemed to have
something on his mind,

"I finally have a chance to thank you," he said. "For what you did
yesterday ... for what you said to my parents."

"I suppose it was too much to expect--that little escapade remaining
private."

"To tell you the truth, I heard every word," Jon admitted. "I was in
the back, but it's a small bakery. Everybody in the family listened
in, I'm afraid. You didn't notice it getting awfully quiet back
there?"

"No," Lisa said. "I didn't notice. I was too busy making a fool of
myself."

Jon gave her a reassuring smile. "Thea Aurelia's still discussing it,
the fact that people get a certain look in their eyes when they're in
love."

Lisa wished he wouldn't talk about it anymore: Because now she realized
she'd never seen that look in Matt's eyes. Oh, she'd seen desire, but
not the type of look Jon and Amy shared. Never that.

"You're very far away," Jon said almost gently. She glanced at him.
"Yes ... well..."

"Amy told me that you'd known Matt Cormell, that there was something
between you."

Lisa grimaced. Apparently, couples in love absolutely no secrets from
each other. But Jori was already going on.

"I knew Matt slightly, back when he used spend summers here. I never
connected the two you."

"There was no reason for you to make a connection," Lisa said tiredly.
"I kept it to myself. But what Matt and I had--it was over long before
we married, Jon."

"He was the past you were running away from?"

Jon said it as a statement, not a question.

"I was a rotten wife, and I know it."

"Lisa," Jon said, still in that gentle voice. "In my own clumsy way,
I'm trying to tell you that the divorce wasn't your fault. I was so
busy trying to prove myself. I got too caught up in work, and all the
rest of it."

"I guess we both made mistakes in our marriage," Lisa murmured.

"I guess we did." But we learned from each other, didn't we?"

She managed some of her old sarcasm. "Right, we learned we're damn
well better as in-laws than we were as husband and wife."

Jon gave her another of the channing Costas grins. "I'm not saying
that my parents have come around, but you really did give them
something to think about yesterday."

"I'm glad, Jon--really, I am."

"And Lisa," he said, "I hope everything works out for you ... the way
you'd like."

She wished she could have that very same hope; but she didn't. All she
had was an ache of love that only seemed to deepen with each passing
moment.

SPENDING TIME in Grandma Bea's attic was like being broiled alive.

Matt could feel the sweat dripping down his neck and dampening his
shirt. Bending low under the cramped ceiling, he dragged out a box
from beneath the rafters. As usual, his muscles protested at any
untoward movement, and as usual he ignored them. The heat itself
wasn't quite so easy to ignore, pushing down on him like an oppressive
blanket.

"Bea," he said, "just tell me one thing. Why don't you believe in
air-conditioning?"

His grandmother, in spite of her advanced years, had insisted that she
was perfectly capable of kneeling on the dusty floorboards of the
attic. She sifted her fingers through the contents of another box,
holding up a photograph now and then.

"I thought for sure you'd figure it out by now, Mathias. Your
grandfather spent all those years at the brass foundry, where it was as
hot as blazes. Got so he was used to it. He couldn't take the change,
coming from all that heat into a refrigerated room. It was bad for his
constitution. So I kept the house warm for him ... warm and
welcoming."

That was one way to put it, Matt supposed. And maybe that was love,
the willingness to give up bodily comfort.

"I know your grandpa's gone now," Bea went on. "I could have put in
air-conditioning--even thought about it. But somehow it just didn't
seem right. This way, the house still feels like it's waiting for
him."

So maybe that was love, too, doing anything you could to keep the
memory of the loved one alive. It wasn't an ability Matt himself had
cultivated. He brought the last box out from underneath the
rafters..

"That's all, Bea. I'll take everything downstairs, for you."

"I want to stay here."

"You should he sitting in a chair. It would he a heck of a lot more
comfortable---"

"Look at this one, Matt. Just look," she interrupted. "It's your
father and mother, before they were even married." Her fingers shaking
a little, Bea held up another photo. Matt barely glanced at it.

"Let me get you downstairs," he said "No. I'll stay here. And I want
you to look at these photographs. You need to look at them." She
sounded like the grandma of his childhood--stub-born, commanding,
I'll-take-no-nonsense-from-you-young-man.

Matt tried to stand up straight, but the ceiling was too low. He
remained crouched over, watching his grandmother sift through those
photographs as. if she'd found a treasure chest of jewels. He didn't
say anything for a long while. And then, "I can't do it, Bea."

"Here's your sister when she was only a baby. Such a pretty child,
Holly was. And so strong willed. Just like you, Mathias. Always had
to have her own way. Pretty soon your parents would have started
sending her for the summers, so I could straighten her out. Your
mother was too indulgent, you know. Couldn't hear to discipline either
one of

you. I tried to set her straight, but what woman listens to her
mother-in-law?"

Matt willed himself to block out the meaning of the words. He wOUld
just let them be a stream, washing over him without effect. If he
concentrated hard enough, he could do that. His thoughts would be his
own. But he wasn't entirely successful. Even though he blocked out
what his grandmother was saying, other thoughts came to him. Images of
Lisa Hardaway. Cool, beautiful, sophisticated Lisa, who had returned
to Connecticut last week leaving him with the knowledge of how he had
failed her all those years ago. Just as he'd failed his own family.
His parents, his sister, his aunt and young cousin... Would there be no
escape for him, after all? No way to shut out the memories for good?
Even Lisa forced him to remember. She was gone from Hurricane Beach,
but her image seemed entwined with all the others. Those he had loved,
and lost.

"Sharon, my little Sharon. She loved to swim. Do you remember,
Mathias? Your aunt Sharon won that trophy in high school. I was so
proud of her..." Bea's voice quavered. Matt came to place his hand on
her shoulder.

"Don't look at these anymore," he said. "I'll put them away."

"No. I have to get organized. It's all in a jumble. I need some of
those photo albums, where you paste everything in order. Have you seen
them, Mathias? Do you know the kind I mean?"

"Yes. I've seen them... I know."

"You have to get some of those albums for me.

You have to help me with the photographs. Every-' thing in order. I
don't have much time left."

"You have all the time in the world," Matt told her. "Look, I'll put
the boxes downstairs in a closet for you. And then you can go through
them at your leisure."

"No, Mathias." Bea sounded almost desperate. "I have to make things
just right. Your grandpa wouldn't want me to leave everything a
mess..."

It had gone far enough. "Bea," Matt said gently, "I think you should
know something. I went to see your doctor the other day."

"You did?" she asked suspiciously. At least now he seemed to have her
full attention.

"I had a revealing conversation with him. Seems you haven't been to
see him in more than a decade."

"Mathias T. Cormell, I cannot believe you would snoop into the private
matters of your very own grandmother"

"Save the indignation, Bea. Just tell me one thing. If you haven't
been to see the doctor, what makes you think you're about to exit in
grand style?

"I have never been one to exaggerate, Mathiasc"

"So maybe you should go to see the doctor," he said. "Take care of
whatever's wrong"

Bea was her usual evasive self. "I want all these boxes downstairs,
Matt. And not in a closet--put them in my bedroom."

At this moment, she sounded full of spunk. Full of trouble, too. But

Matt could still see the pastiness of her skin, the vacant look that
could come into her eyes unexpectedly. And he felt that somehow he
ought to get her to a doctor, anyway, just in case something really was
wrong.

He also had to do something else. In spite of all the mistakes he'd
made in the past--the ways he'd failed those closest to him he had to
start making amends. And he had to do it now.

BREN NAN HOUSE in Danfield, Connecticut, had once been the home of
wealthy society matron Caroline Brennan. Built in Queen Anne style,
with an extravagance of spindle work gables and turrets, the house
presided over a wide, maple-lined street as Caroline Brennan herself
had once presided over Danfield society. At one time, the house had
fallen into disrepair, but several years ago Lisa and her partner,
Dena--a friend she'd met in graduate school--had pooled their
resources, purchased the place and converted it into a haven where
frightened young girls could seek refuge.

Lisa wanted everything about the house to be welcoming. To that
purpose, her own first-story office looked remarkably like a Victorian
sitting room--lace curtains, plump upholstered chairs, needlework on
the walls. This was where Lisa interviewed potential residents of
Brennan House, doing everything she could to make them feel safe and at
home. But this afternoon she wondered if there was anything she could
do to make seven-teen-year-old Julie Douglas feel at home. Julie sat
in one of the overstuffed chairs in front of Lisa's desk, eyes opened
wide as if in shock, as if she saw a bus barreling down on her and
didn't know how to get out of the way. Lisa had seen that look in
girls' eyes before, usually right after they'd learned they were
pregnant. But Julie was already 'quite visibly pregnant. Julie's
mother sat beside her in another overstuffed chair, and she was the one
doing all the talking.

"Julie can stay here until it's time to deliver the baby," the woman
was saying. "Then she'll come home and get down to the business of
mothering. No law school in her future."

Julie gave a sharp intake of breath, her head swiveling toward her
mother. "But, Mom. You never said--"

"I'm saying it now. Did you actually think you could go to college
with a baby? Did you really think I'd look after it? Not likely.
Motherhood's a full-time job. You've made your bed, and now you'll lie
in it." Mrs. Douglas gave a thin smile.

Lisa studied Julie, trying to gauge the girl's reaction. She didn't
look merely shocked. She looked stunned.

"I'd like to talk to Julie alone," Lisa said. Mrs. Douglas stared at
her. "That won't be necessary. If you won't take her, then we'll find

someplace else. And then she'll take responsibility for what she's
done. She's going to be a mother!"

"Nonetheless, I would like to speak to Julie on my own." Lisa had
dealt with all kinds of parents, all kinds of teenagers. When she
wanted something, she simply repeated her intentions calmly,

unequivocally. It usually gave 'her results, and did so now. Mrs.
Douglas treated her to a resentful glance, but finally stood.

"I'll be right outside. And we only have a few minutes. Like I said,
if you won't take her, I'll find someplace else,":

Lisa understood the woman's meaning, and waited until she stalked out
of the room. Mrs. Douglas, however, left the door purposefully ajar.
Lisa went to close it, then came back to sit at her desk. She
contemplated various alternatives for approaching the situation.

"Julie," she said at last, "why don't you tell me about your plans for
law school?"

Julie clasped both hands awkwardly over her stomach, as if trying to
learn the shape of something foreign. "I don't know," she mumbled, her
face a study in misery. "I want--I wanted to be a lawyer. I thought
about it ... a lot. But I guess... everything's different now..."

Lisa knew how touchy this situation was. She had always tried not to
interfere between teenagers and their parents, but rather to serve as
an unbiased mediator. Problem was, she didn't feel very unbiased right
now. Something about Julie got to her, something even beyond the
expression of panic in the girl's eyes. Maybe it was the childlike of
Julie's face--she seemed a very young seventeen. Her hair was parted
exactly in the falling past her shoulders in a single straight the
simplicity of it made her seem younger still

"Forget about everybody else for a

Lisa said. "Just tell me how you feel. About the baby, and about your
dream for law SChool."

"I don't know about ... the baby. I went out a couple of times, and
then ... then it just happened. And we didn't use anything."

Lisa was the last person to judge anyone. She hadn't considered birth
control when she was a six-teen-year-old. She hadn't thought about
anything except keeping Matt Connell at her side. Certainly, she'd
never thought about saying no to him.

"Do you still want to go to college?" she asked. "Yeah ... sure ... I
don't know," Julie said, her face quivering as if she was trying very
hard not to cry. "I mean, I guess I can't go anymore..." Her voice
rose hesitantly at the end.

"You have to decide for yourself. You shouldn't rush into anything.
You're facing some very serious decisions, and you need to think them
over carefully."

A peremptory knock came at the door. And, without waiting for a

response, Mrs. Douglas came into the room again.

"We can go somewhere else," she said almost belligerently. "Someone's
bound to take her. There have to be plenty of places like this."

Lisa wished that were the truth. "We have room for Julie here, if
she'd like to stay with us."

Julie gave a quick nod.

"It's not up to her," said Julie's mother. Lisa decided the mother
needed a shaking.

"My assistant can help you fill out the necessary forms---if Julie will
be staying."

Mrs, Douglas hesitated, then gave her own brusque nod. She went back
out the door, and Julie followed obediently. The girl walked with a
listless gait, as if losing her dreams had drained her of energy.

Lisa shuffled through the files on her desk. Each file represented a
different girl, each unique, with hopes and fears and dreams of her
own, but sharing a common predicament with every other girl at Brennan
House. Sharing, in fact, a common predicament with the
sixteen-year-old Lisa herself had once been. She didn't need her
master's in psychology to tell her why she'd picked this line of work.
Why she counseled the pregnant teenager, gave lectures at schools and
youth groups, trying to stop mistakes before they happened. Did any of
her work do any good? On days like this, she often wondered.

Her gaze strayed to the photograph propped on the corner of her desk.
Faded with the passage of time, it showed Lisa and her sisters as kids,
balancing together on a big inner tube. The three of them looked
happy, carefree, just the way children should be. Lisa had often found
this photo comforting, a reminder of the happiness had brought her ...
a reminder of the closeness she'd once shared with her sisters. But
today it seemed to mock her, bringing to mind the events that propelled
her into the adult world before she was ready for it. Events that
centered around Matt Con-nell.

Lisa tried to concentrate once more on the before her, but her own
problems kept intruding. Patrick, for one. He had devised a new
tactic--he simply refused to believe that he and Lisa were no longer a
couple. Lisa kept telling him it was finished, and he kept insisting
it wasn't. "You'll get over the guy," he'd told her only last night, a
wounded expression on his face. "You'll get over Matt Connell, and
you'll see we're meant to be together."

Lisa almost succeeded in pushing these thoughts out of her head, but it
seemed she was to have no peace today. Her partner, Dena, came
bursting into the office.

"Lisa! You can't imagine! All our problems are solved!"

This was typical Dena, everything she said was punctuated by an
exclamation point. With Dena, the smallest thing could be cause for
excitement or despair. So, at this moment, Lisa scarcely paid any
attention to her partner's enthusiasm.

"Right," she murmured. "All our problems solved..."

As if she could scarcely contain herself, Dena gave a little pirouette
and ended up in front of Lisa's desk.

"They are solved. All our money worries gone. Kaput. Vanished!"

This did make Lisa glance up. "Dena, what are you talking about?"

Dena's eyes fairly sparkled. "I've been dying to tell you about it,
and now at last I can. We have

been rescued. Rescued, in fact, by a very generous donations' '

Lisa stood, examining her partner. "Dena, why all the mystery?
Exactly what's going on here?"

"If you want to find out any more," Dena said with a mischievous smile,
"you'll just have to show up in the conference room." With that, she
disappeared to her own office.

Lisa, suspecting Dena had lost all her marbles, walked down the short
hallway to the closed doors of the conference room. What on earth
could be going on? There was only one way to find out. She slid the
doors open and stepped inside.

And there he was, facing her---the man she loved. Matt Cormell.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

IT OCCURRED TO MATT that Lisa wasn't very happy to see him. Usually so
in control of herself, now any number of emotions flickered across her
lovely face---chagrin, displeasure, suspicion.

"Matt," she said. "What are you doing in Connecticut?"

For a second or two, he couldn't think of anything to say. He was too
occupied just gazing at her. She wore some sort of silky dress that
draped her body discreetly yet provocatively. At least, it looked
provocative to Matt. He suspected Lisa could wear burlap, and that
would still have an effect on him. Way too much of an effect.

"Matt," she repeated. "What's going on?"

He sat down in one of the chairs around the conference table, leaning
back as if he felt relaxed.

"I asked your partner not to tell you too much until things were
settled," he said. "I wanted to explain it myself."

The misgiving on Lisa's face was clear. She pulled out a chair of her
own and sank into it. "What did Dena mean when she said all our
financial problems were solved?"

"I've made a contribution to your place here... Brennan House. That's
all."

"That's all," she echoed. "Matt--"

"You're going to ask me why I didn't tell you about it beforehand. I
knew you'd say no, that's why I didn't tell you. And now you're going
to ask me who the hell I think I am, barging in hem and sticking my
nose where it doesn't belong."

"Those weren't going to be my exact words," she muttered. "But
something to that effect."

"Lisa..." He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. He had
to choose his next words very carefully. "After what you told me--the
pain I caused you all those years ago--you have to let me do at least
this much. It's inadequate, I know. It won't change the past. But
it's something." He stopped, knowing that he wasn't getting this part
right at all. He could tell just by the indignant expression on Lisa's
face.

"Dammit, Matt, I've worked so hard to be independent. Don't you
understand that? Dena and I started this place up without help from
anyone, not our families, not our friends. You can't just walk in here
and--and--"

"The independence part does seem to be a point of pride with you," he
acknowledged. "But it doesn't change the fact that you need help. When
you were in Hurricane Beach, Patrick said something about you hanging
from a shoestring. Once I started talking things over with your
partner, I realized that shoestring bit was an understatement.
Apparently, your fund-raising efforts haven't been too successful
lately. Maybe that's because you'll only accept donations from
strangers... not friends."

Lisa couldn't seem to sit still. She got up from her chair. "You and
I aren't exactly friends, Matt.

But that's not the point. I won't let you do this." "It's already
done. Ask your partner." "She has no right--"

"Apparently, she's fifty percent of the operation," he said. He could
tell he wasn't winning any points with Lisa. "Lisa, these girls need
you and Brennan House. Don't let your pride cost everyone." A
familiar rose color flushed her cheeks,

very attractive despite the anger it revealed. "You've overstepped,
Matt."

"After what you told me, do you think I could just walk away?"

"I didn't tell you about the baby so you'd feel guilty. I don't want
your money."

He gave a slight smile, even though he didn't feel particularly jocular
at the moment. "I'm not trying to take over your life, Lisa. Helping
you is just something I need to do. And it doesn't seem so out of
place, under the circumstances."

Lisa gazed at him, her face set in determined lines. "Out of
place--everything about our relationship is out of place. If you can
even call it a relationship."

Matt felt the pull of the past, and he hated what he had to say next.
"Lisa, I hadn't told you this, but I lost my family. It happened
almost exactly five years ago. It was a senseless tragedy, and in a

lot of ways I feel responsible." Matt tried to keep his tone even,
without emotion. "I can't make amends to my parents, my little sister,
Holly, or my aunt and cousin. I can't make amends to any of them. But
I can make amends for hurting you all those years ago."

"Matt, even if you feel guilty about the plane crash, about your
family--"

"You already knew about it, then," he said. "About the plane crash."

She sank back down into her chair as if suddenly deflated. "Hurricane
Beach is a small town. It was inevitable I'd hear about it sooner or
later. I'm sorry, Matt. Terribly sorry." She no longer sounded angry
with him. But he preferred the anger--anything but her pity.

He felt the stillness inside him, willed it to remain. No past, no
future, he reminded himself. "What I'm doing now--yes, it has
something to do with my family. But I messed up with you, Lisa, and
that's what I'm trying to rectify." Even to his own ears, his voice
sounded hollow. Empty. And he wondered if he could rectify anything
at all.

A cRIsis HAD DEVELOPED at Brennan House. Usually Lisa could take
crises in stride--they were a frequent occurrence, what with any number
of pregnant teenagers on the premises. But today, knowing that Matt
was still in town, she didn't think she could tolerate even the
smallest upset.

It had been two days since Matt had shown up in Danfield, Two days.
Yet, after their unsatisfactory encounter in the conference room at
Brennan House, she hadn't seen him or heard from him. But she knew he
was still in town, and she could swear that she felt his unseen
presence, felt him taking over her life, not just her heart. And she
didn't know what on earth to do about it.

Unfortunately, Julie Douglas, the most recent resident of Brennan
House, had barricaded herself in one of the upstairs bedrooms and
refused to come out. Lisa stood in front of the bedroom door.

"Julie," she said. "I think we should talk. Whatever the problem is,
hiding in there can't help.?"

"No," came a muffled voice. "Go away!" Lisa turned the knob, but the
door wouldn't budge. Because of situations like this one, the bedrooms
were not permitted to have locks. It seemed Julie had gotten around
that; apparently, she'd wedged a bureau or some other piece of
furniture in front of the door. Lisa knew she could push her way in if
necessary, but it wasn't yet time for that.

"Julie," she repeated. "You need to tell me why you're so upset. Your
mother's already left. It will only be you and me."

Evidently, she'd said the right thing. After a few moments, she heard
a scraping sound from the other side of the door. This time when she
tried the knob, she was able to enter the room.

Julie flung herself down on one of the beds, the bulge of her stomach
giving her a somewhat ungainly look. Her face was tear-streaked. Lisa
sat beside her.

"Now, tell me what's wrong," she said kindly but firmly. "I
understand that your mother took you for your doctor's appointment. Did
something happen?" Julie's mother lived in a town some distance away,
but she'd shown up today right on time for Julie's medical appointment.
Other parents might neglect their daughters; some didn't visit for
months at a time. But evidently, Mrs. Douglas was going to be exactly
the opposite. In the last few days she'd seemed far too involved in
her daughter's life, constantly hovering, not allowing Julie to get
used to her new surroundings. She always seemed to be telling Julie
how she should think and feel--and telling her just how miserable life
would be once the baby arrived: "Motherhood is no picnic ... children
are a trial ... you made your bed, now you'll lie in it." Mrs. Douglas
had any number of dire mottoes to share with her young daughter.

"What happened at the doctor's?" Lisa asked. Julie covered her face
with both hands and mum bled something unintelligible.

"Julie..."

The girl dropped both hands as if in defeat. "Twins," she cried. "The
doctor says I'm going to have twins. And Morn says she's not surprised
because it's double the trouble and that's ... that's only what I
deserve!"

At first Lisa was speechless. Twins. Not just one baby, but two. That
was something startling special and downright wonderful.

"Wow," Lisa managed to say at last, rather in adequately. "All I can
say is---congratulations, Julie!"

This time it seemed she'd said the wrong thing. Julie began sobbing,
and Lisa placed an arm around her shoulders. "I know it's hard, I
really do," she murmured. "You must feel completely overwhelmed. On
the one hand... twins. Something that feels like a miracle almost. On
the other hand, you don't have any idea how you're possibly going to
handle it. News like this is just too enormous."

Julie slowly lifted her face, swiping some of the tears away. "I ... I
was excited for a minute, when the doctor told us," she said
uncertainly.

"Well, it would be pretty difficult not to get excited," Lisa agreed.

"But I don't feel like me anymore." Julie's voice wavered. "I'm just
this... this big blob... with twins!" Her face crumpled and she
started sobbing in earnest now.

Lisa held her, and patted her back, and murmured soothing words. It
took quite some while to get Julie to stop crying, to drink a glass of
milk sent up from the kitchen and to settle down for a much-needed nap.
At last Julie's eyelids drifted downward, and she fell asleep. She

looked very young and fragile as she lay there, one hand clutching her
rounded stomach as if even now she could not forget the burden she
carried. Having a child yes, even two children--should be a time of
joy. But, so far there had been little joy for this girl, and far too
much panic. How well Lisa herself knew the feeling,

She watched Julie for another moment then tiptoed out of the room and
closed the door noiselessly behind her. Two of the other girls waited
in the hallway, wanting to know the latest. At Brennan House, every
resident's ups and downs were followed as avidly as any soap opera. The
place was LIFE with emotional drama.

"Julie needs to rest. She'll be fine," Lisa said with more reassurance
than she felt. The girls went off down the hall, putting their heads
together to exchange confidential whispers. One was six months
pregnant, the other almost due. With babies on the way, their own
lives were full of drama, and it was understandable that they would
seek relief by focusing on someone else's turmoil for a time. No doubt
it helped to know that they weren't the only ones struggling with
overwhelming emotions.

Lisa was on her way down the stairs when her partner appeared.

"Lisa! You'll never guess what now?

"I'm sure. I won't," Lisa remarked dryly as she reached the bottom of
the stairs. "And where have you been? This place is a madhouse."

"Don't worry. I'll take over--because you have an appointment with
destiny." Dena stuck a scrap of paper under Lisa's nose. "Here. Show
up at this address. Pronto."

Dena's new undercover tactics were really starting to get on Lisa's
nerves. "Does this have something to do with Matt Cormell?" she
demanded.

"Can't say"" Dena answered a trifle smugly. "Although I'll admit one
thing. That man is flat out gorgeous. I mean, I can't believe you
never let on you knew a guy like that. He says the two of you are
acquainted from a long way back. He wouldn't tell me anything else,
unfortunately. But if I'd known him all this time, you can darn well
bet that I'd--"

Lisa didn't wait to hear the rest. She snatched the piece of paper
from Dena and escaped outside, anything so she wouldn't have to hear
any more rhapsodizing about Matt.

A short while later she drove her car up to a house on Highland Drive.
This was one of the newer sections of town, which was to say that the
houses had been built in the twenties and thirties, rather than the
colonial or Victorian eras. This particular house was an impressive
affair of stone and half-timbering, chimneys rising on either side. It
looked vaguely like a medieval manor home, an architectural style that
had been popular in Danfield three-quarters of a century ago. But Lisa
paid only cursory attention to the architecture. Instead, her gaze was
riveted by. the two-seater parked in front of the house. She
recognized it as Matt's sports car.

It appeared then, that he'd driven all the way up here from Florida, a
distance of moro than a thousand miles. As long as he was going to
take over her life, it would have been a lot easier if he'd flown But
maybe, when your family had died in a plane crash, it wasn't all that
easy to get into the air again.

Lisa felt a constriction inside, just thinking about

what Matt had lost. After a long hesitation, she climbed out of her
car and went up the brick walk-way to the front door of the house. It
was open, as if beckoning her to step inside. But she stood at the
threshold.

"Matt--"

He appeared before her, and her heart did all the things she had
commanded it not to do: speeding up, beating at a treacherous new
tempo, making her feel breathless and off balance. She found it
suddenly difficult to speak. "What's going on, Matt? This house--"

"I'll give you a tour," he said. He seemed to be attempting an offhand
manner, but he wasn't succeeding.

"Just tell me--"

"Humor me," he said. "Come on, I want to show you around."

With every possible misgiving, she stepped inside. The spacious rooms
on either side of the entryway were bare of furniture, which only
revealed the gleaming hardwood floors, the gracious lines of the walls
and the deep-set windows.

"I can tell it's a very imposing place," she began But Matt had already
taken her elbow and was escorting her up the sweeping staircase."

"Wait until you see what's up here, he said. "Room after room.
Whoever lived here before must have had one heck of a gigantic family.
maybe a lot of overnight guests."

It wasn't like Matt to be this talkative about thing. Lisa felt
confused. His touch on her arm. i:

didn't help matters any, sending a swirl of warmth through her. A bit
dazed now, she allowed Matt to lead her through one upstairs room after
another. As far as she was concerned, they all blurred together. She
knew only Matt's nearness--and the fact that she had absolutely no idea
what he was up to this time.

"Okay, you've given me the tour," she said. "And I'm convinced. It's
a wonderful house. What are we doing here?"

They had reached a room that was exceptionally channing, with its own
private fireplace and medallion-paned windows looking over the wide
front lawn. Matt went to the far window and gazed out. His expression
changed subtly, as if he had tightened his muscles against some
approaching onslaught. After a long moment he spoke, his voice
quiet.

"I lived in a house a lot like this when I was growing up in New

Mexico. The details were different, but the feel was the
same--privilege, wealth, opportunity. My dad was the one Cormell who
really made it big. He moved to New Mexico, went into investment
banking, and he was good at it. Very successful."

Lisa didn't say a word, almost afraid to move. Matt rarely, if ever,
talked about his family. After a pause, he went on, his voice
carefully lacking in emotion.

"All the wealth and privilege in the world won't guarantee that you'll
get along with your children. That's the way I was with my dad, not
getting

along, rebelling, determined to be as unlike him as I could. Until
the first day he took me up in an airplane and I knew that at last we
had something we could share. Something we both loved." Matt turned
toward Lisa, and she saw how tense his face had become.

"In spite of all the time we spent flying together, I never really did
stop rebelling against my dad. Summers in Hurricane Beach ... I guess
they were a respite for both of us. And then I decided to go to law
school because it was something different than he'd done. He was 'the
original self-made man, so of course I had to have an education.
Anything to set me apart from him." Matt made a restless gesture,
turning back to the window. "I went away to school, then settled in
Denver. Hardly saw my family at all. Until finally they asked me to
take that trip ... flying again with my family. The idea didn't sound
half-bad."

Lisa felt a peculiar sense of dread, wanting to retreat before she
heard the rest.

"I keep going over it," Matt said, his voice taut. "How I could have
made it different. I consider all the possibilities. If only I'd kept
telling my dad shouldn't fly in that storm. If only I hadn't in. But
you see, my dad--he was one of those charismatic types. Take charge.
Always the center attention. After a lifetime of bucking his

I was finally deferring to him ... giving him what wanted. But I
shouldn't have backed downing else, I should've insisted on taking the
trols." '

Lisa went toward him at last. "Don't think about it anymore," she
whispered. "It wasn't your fault. I know it wasn't." She reached out
her hand to him, but some warning in his eyes stayed her.

"I could have saved them," he said heavily. "If I'd been flying that
plane, I could have saved them all."

She didn't know what to say. Anything she had to offer right now
seemed trite, incapable of giving comfort. And so she didn't speak.
She merely stood beside him.

It was a while later that Matt stirred, as if coming from a place deep
inside himself. "Lisa, maybe it's not so bad ... trying to make
amends. For the way I let you down fifteen years ago. The way I let
my family down."

"Matt--"

"I closed the deal on this house only last night. Maybe you can guess
why I bought it."

A wild idea flew through her head. It couldn't be true, but then again

could Matt be moving to Danfield? Had he bought a house just so he
could be near her?

Crazy. Impossible. A hopelessly extravagant gesture. One she never
would have expected from him, but what else could it be?

Lisa's thoughts were in a kaleidoscope. She didn't know whether to be
terribly upset or terribly ecstatic. "You shouldn't have done it," she
said, her voice wobbling in a most alarming fashion.

"I knew you'd say that. But it's a done deal,

Lisa. The papers are already filed. And picture all the teenagers
you can fit in here."

She tried to take in what he was saying. "Teenagers?"

"From what I could see of Brennan House, it was pretty full up. Your
partner kept talking about how nice it would be to have more room. So
here's the idea. You keep that place, but you get this house going,
too. It would be a sort of satellite operation. Two locations are
better than one." He sounded as if he was giving her a sales pitch.

"You bought this place as another Brennan House?"

"That's the idea."

She swiveled away, finding it impossible to look at him now. She'd
actually thought Matt had bought the house so he could move to
Connecticut and be near her. She'd let that absurd notion enter her
head. Now she felt humiliated, ashamed of her fantasy. And she could
only pray that Matt hadn't seen the longing--and the hope--in her
face.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE NEXT EVENING, Lisa told herself she was doing the right thing. So
far during Matt's visit to Connecticut, her judgment had been too
clouded by her emotions. She'd tried arguing with him, she'd tried
berating him, she'd even tried dismissing him. Now it was time to
explain to Matt in a purely logical, rational manner why he shouldn't
be interfering in her life. And, in order to accomplish this logical,
rational discussion, Lisa had invited him to dinner at her own small
house.

For the past few years, Lisa had rented a place a short distance from
Brennan House. Although she and Dena took turns staying overnight with
the teenagers, they'd both agreed that a certain amount of distance
from work was necessary. That was why neither one of them lived
full-time at Brennan House. Yet, now, as Lisa hurriedly pushed the
vacuum through her living room, she realized what little effort she had
put into decorating this place. She shared her mother's love of
antiques, but whenever she found a special bureau or tea table or dower
chest, she always envisioned how it would spruce up one of the girls'
rooms. She never got around to sprucing up her own home. What

would Matt think when he saw how plain and unadorned it was?

She told herself firmly that she shouldn't care what Matt thought. She
had only invited him here this evening for a discussion ... a neutral
discussion. Right. And you also wanted to see him.

Lisa tried to ignore that niggling little voice in her head. And, when
her doorbell rang at precisely seven-thirty, she'd managed to convince
herself. that all she really did want was a rational interchange with
Matt.

She opened the door to him, and rationality almost went out the window.
It was always like this' when she saw Matt, she always felt as if she
were losing a part of herself just by looking into his smoke-blue
eyes.

"Come in," she said stiffly.

He entered her' house his masculine presence seeming to pervade the
place, making the surroundings feel suddenly unfamiliar to Lisa.

"I don't have much to offer you by way of a drink," she said almost
defensively. "Wine, mostly."

"Any wine, thanks."

She poured each of them a glass of her best, then gestured for him to
sit on her boxy, ing sofa. She sat across from him in an equally
uninspiring armchair. But Matt didn't seem concerned about the
furnishings. He just sipped wine and gazed at her. Maybe he'd been
talkative yesterday, but now he'd gone back to his usual serve. That
only made the situation more difficult for Lisa.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," she said. "Don't get your
hopes up too high, though. It's just an ordinary casserole. I used to
be something of a cook, but lately I don't seem to have much time for
it."

Matt nodded gravely. "See much of Patrick?" he asked after a
moment.

Lisa shifted position. "Patrick..." This wasn't a subject she wanted
to get into. With Patrick, she'd had a safe, dependable man who truly
seemed to care for her... and then Matt had come into her life again.
"Patrick and I, we've talked," she said. She wouldn't tell Matt just
how strained those conversations had been. "Anyway," she went on
quickly, "how's the restoration coming on that old plane?"

Matt seemed somewhat impatient with her query. "I'm in the middle of
rebuilding the carburetor. But something tells me you didn't ask me
here to talk about that."

Lisa sighed. "No, I didn't." In spite of all her efforts to be
nothing but logical tonight, her emotions threatened to spill over.
"Matt... I never even knew that you went to law school, that you became
a lawyer. I heard about it for the first time only yesterday. We've
shared so little about our lives." She paused, searching for the best
way to go on. "I know someone who dreams of becoming a lawyer," she
said, thinking of the very young and very pregnant Julie Douglas. "But
it never seemed your

ambition, Matt, when you were eighteen. Not that you ever talked
about your ambitions..."

"By the time I hit twenty-one," Matt said, "law school sounded like a
good idea. Like I told you, it seemed a way to be different from my
father. But afterward..." His voice tightened in that way she had
come to recognize. "After the crash, I had to spend a lot of time in
rehab. It took a lot of time, and a lot of effort. I guess I stuck
with it because it gave me a goal, something to focus on. The hard
part came when the clinic told me I was finally on my own. I tried to
go back to corporate law, but I guess you could say my heart wasn't in
it."

"So now you're managing the brass works

"And intruding in your life. Isn't that what you wanted to tell me,
Lisa?"

Somehow she'd envisioned this conversation going a little more
smoothly. "Matt, I want you to know that I do appreciate your ...
efforts. But surely you can understand why I can't possibly
accept--"

"You need help, I want to help. It's as simple as that."

"Hardly," she said. "First of all, you've gone overboard. Buying that
house--"

"I would have asked your opinion first, but you would have said no."

"Of course I would have said no! You're the last person who should be
helping me out--"

"No. I'm the first person who should be helping you. After what I did
to you--"

"Dammit, I don't want to be your charity case.

Or your way of erasing guilt." Lisa took a deep breath, told herself
to calm down.

He regarded her intently. "Another house would allow you to help even
more teenagers. The real reason you're refusing is because you don't
want to feel beholden to me. You'd far rather tell me to go to hell,
just the way you did that day in Hun'i, cane Beach."

Lisa set down her wineglass. She stood and headed toward the kitchen.
"We ought to have dinner," she said. "This conversation isn't doing us
any good."

He rose, too, and blocked her path. "Lisa, you're angry at me. You

have a right to be. But that doesn't change the fact that I want to
help."

"I don't need your damn money."

"Yes, you-do. You're too stubborn to take it from anybody else."

She gazed into his eyes, losing herself all over again. "Matt, why did
you have to come here? To Connecticut?"

"It wasn't just to make you miserable by throwing my money around and
buying houses. I wanted to see you, too."

"Why?" she whispered.

"I think you know." A huskiness had come into his voice, and his eyes
darkened. He stood close to her, then lifted his hand to touch her
cheek. She trembled deep inside, wondering what would save her now.
She knew she could not save herself. She felt as if she were moving in
a dream. Now she

was in his arms, her lips next to his. She gave a low moan of desire,
of regret... of yearning.

"No," she murmured, as if this time she really could save herself. Matt
continued to hold her, but she could feel his stillness, his waiting.
She knew that the next move was up to her. And she knew that she could
no longer deceive herself. Maybe she wanted to convince Matt to stay
out of her life, but she couldn't keep him out of her heart. And that
was why she had asked him here tonight, so that she could be near him,
just like this. In his arms, welcoming his touch, his kiss. She was no
longer a shy, awkward sixteen-year-old girl. She was a woman who knew
her own longings, and at last was willing to risk herself for them.

"Yes," she said at last, her voice shaking with the need inside her.
She was the one who led the way to her bedroom. Every one of her
actions felt deliberate now. She stood before Matt, undoing her dress
one button at a time, slipping off her sandals, gazing at him all the
while almost with defiance.

"Lisa..." His voice had deepened. She allowed her dress to fall from
her, and now she stood him in her camisole and slip. He seemed to know
that she did not want his help, that she would do this on her own ...
reveal herself to him without shame, without prevarication. The moment
for turning back had passed.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, she pulled off her camisole. She felt
the relentless beat of her pulse. The late-evening light spilled into
the room, ripening toward night. Matt came to her then, touching her,
both hands gentle upon her

"You're more beautiful than ever," he said with that huskiness in his
voice. "Far more beautiful."

She reached up to unbutton his shirt, fumbling in her haste. This time
she did allow his help. He pulled the shirt from the waistband of his
jeans, even as he bent his head to kiss her. Yet she would be the
provocateur. She ran her tongue across his lips, rewarded by his groan
of response. They sank together onto the bed, the sheets tangled
beneath them.

It seemed to Lisa that she had been yearning all of fifteen years for
this, carrying the longing deep and unfulfilled inside her. How much
longer could she wait, now that he held hers now that he was next to
her?

"Matt--"

He seemed to understand her urgency. His breath came unevenly, as if
he too held himself back only with an effort. Together they managed to
free him of his jeans, his underwear. And that left only her slip, her
briefs, to be slid from her hips and down her legs. They hid nothing

from each other now. Lisa saw the scars on Matt's body, the remnants
of that terrible crash. But she also saw the breadth of his shoulders,
the strength of his muscles, the unashamed maleness of him.

Matt's gaze lingered upon her. "Beautiful," Matt murmured again,
raising himself over her, kissing her skin. When he lifted his head,
she saw that his eyes had darkened to midnight blue. He

cupped her face with his hands, kissing her lips now. She arched
toward him, heated with her need, burning for his touch. Yet some
small part of her remained cool and distant and aloof, and that part
guided her next actions. Turning underneath Matt, reaching awkwardly
toward the nightstand, she pulled open the drawer, fumbling inside
until she found a condom packet. Turning again, she handed it to
Matt.

He sat up and tore the packet open. He was still breathing unevenly,
but he spoke. "Always prepared, Lisa?"

"Always." She heard the unexpected hardness in her own voice.
"Always," she repeated

A few seconds later he lowered himself beside her again, his fingers
brushing across her "Lisa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just hold me--please." She clung to Matt almost fiercely,
almost angrily, willing desire to blot out everything else between
them. And the need built again, taking her with it, lifting her to
place where only sensation mattered. her, each touch more intimate,
more arousing she cried out.

"Matt, please--" She opened herself to and neither one of them could
hold back longer. She felt him fill her, slowly and then urgently.
They moved together, Matt's body covering hers. She clutched his
shoulders, even as waves of a pleasure almost too swept through her,
she felt the jagged edge scar beneath her fingers. And perhaps it was
ing the scar that sent tears trickling out from beneath her eyelids.

Afterward, they lay together, skin slick with sweat, the mellowing
evening light cascading upon them. Matt blotted one of her tears with
a fingertip.

"I seem to have a habit of doing this ... making you cry."

"In my line of work, crying is an occupational hazard. You spend
enough time around weepy teenagers, and unfortunately it rubs off." She
tried for her usual flippancy, but it seemed to have deserted her. And
so she simply lay in Matt'S arms. She was here with him. Did anything
else really matter?

"We never seem to eat when we're together," he murmured.

"Oh, no, that casserole in the oven is probably charcoal by now." Yet
she made no move to get out of bed. Instead, she wrapped her arms
around Matt, brought him even closer to her. They kissed for a long,
satisfying moment. And then, somehow, the words slipped out.

"Matt ... oh, Matt. I love--" Lisa froze. She'd stopped herself, but
not before it was too late. The meaning of her words couldn't be any

more clear. For just a moment, she hoped desperately that she hadn't
make a mistake, after all, that they had been the right words to say.
She prayed, with every fiber of her being, that Matt would smile and
say the words back to her: It just so happens I love you, tOO.

Instead, he drew away from her, his eyes troubled. "Lisa--"

She scooted to the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet up over her
breasts. "Just forget it," she said. "Maybe that casserole is still
edible. We should find out--"

"I'm sorry, Lisa. Sorry that I can't give you more." His voice was
very quiet. Lisa felt as if she had reached desperately for some
dazzling prize, managed to grasp hold of it... only to open her
fingers, and find it gone.

And never, in all her life, had she felt such an emptiness inside.

MAWr PULLED UP to the house on Highland Drive, the house he'd so
recently purchased. He sat in his car, gazing at the place. He could
picture Lisa here, doing the work that seemed so important to her.
Helping young, pregnant girls. Just as she herself had once been young
and pregnant.

He'd come to Danfield so he could start making amends. It had almost
given him a sense of purpose. If it had been up to him, he would
bought a dozen houses for Lisa's work. According to her partner, the
need was there. Far too many girls found themselves lonely and afraid,
with nowhere else to turn.

He wished he could have been there for Lisa all those years ago, when
she'd been afraid, and carrying his child. Even more, he wished that
give her what she seemed to need from him now. But some deep,
essential part of himself had in that crash five years ago, right along
with his family. He didn't know how to resurrect it, didn't think it
ever could be done. He couldn't lie to Lisa about that.

He'd been wrong to make love to her last night. He'd taken what he had
no right to take. And he knew he would regret that for a long time to
come. He also knew it wouldn't stop him from wanting Lisa, wanting
what he shouldn't have.

He stared at the house another long moment. Then he started the engine
again, drove away from Highland Drive and headed out of town.

DENA WOULD GIVE Lisa no rest. She marched into Lisa's office, plunked
herself down on the edge of the desk and started talking in
exclamations.

"I don't understand what's gotten into you! We can't just let all the
money sit there! What do you have against Matt Connell?"

Lisa regarded her partner impatiently. The bank account of Brennan
House was now very healthy indeed. The last thing she could imagine,
however, was using even a dime of Matt's money.

"Can't we talk about this some other time?" she asked. Dena ignored
her.

"And what about that house on Highland? We can't just let it sit
there, empty!"

Matt had left Danfield three days ago, returning to Hurricane Beach. A
dozen times Lisa had lifted the receiver from the phone, on the verge
of calling him. But what would she say? Berate him for not

loving her? Accuse him of showering her with money but not
affection?

"Lisa," Dena began.

"Please, just leave it alone. Please, Dena." And, miraculously, Dena
didn't say another word. But that didn't stop the terrible emptiness
inside Lisa, an emptiness that now threatened to overwhelm her.

MATt HEFTED the aircraft battery out of his trunk and made his way into
the barn. He was definitely making progress with this old bush plane.
These days, he spent more and more of his time in the barn, working on
the plane ... and trying not to think about Lisa. Trying not to think
about the way he'd failed her yet again. So far, it seemed he too good
at the business of making amends. No matter how he looked at it, his
trip to Danfield week had been a bust.

Just then, a man appeared in the doorway. recognized the guy right
off--Palmer Boyce, developer who'd been making a nuisance of self all
around town. He'd been a few times by people who disliked the idea of
development in Hurricane Beach. And Boyce been having dinner with
Lisa's mother that at Beltramo's. It seemed Palmer Boyce really
around, but this was stretching things a little, ing out Matt in the
barn.

"Mr. Connell, you're a difficult man to down. Someone at the brass
works finally told I could find you here." Boyce stepped into the
gingerly, as if afraid he'd get dirt on his obviously expensive
three-piece suit. Matt had to wonder what type of person wore a
three-piece Suit in the middle of a Florida summer. He surveyed the
guy without enthusiasm.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Boyce?"

"Ah, so you know who I am." Boyce glanced around the barn.
"Interesting project you have here. What type of plane--"

"I've never been too good at small talk," Matt interrupted,

Boyce didn't seem to mind. "Very well, let's get right to it. As a
representative of Silver Sands Development, I have been negotiating
with your cousin Joanne, and she has agreed to sell us a sizable parcel
of land adjacent to the brass works--prime fiver front property for
which we are offering a very generous price. I'd like to wrap up the
deal, Mr. Connell. I'd like to wrap it up right now."

JOANNE SAT. AT THE BAR, tossing back a boiler-maker. It didn't appear
to be her first.

"Isn't there any place .I can get away from you, Matt? Do you have to
follow me even here?"

Matt sat down next to her, reflecting that the Barnacle overdid it as
far as local color---driftwood scattered around, fish netting hanging
on the walls with a catch of seashells. He wondered just how much time
Joanne had been spending down here lately, soaking up the local color
soaking up a whole lot else, from the look of it. She signaled the
bartender for another.

"This isn't the solution, Jo," Matt said.

"Since when do you know so much about solutions? You're the problem,
or have you forgotten, Matt?" She glanced at him briefly. Even in the
dim light of the bar, he could see the accusation in her eyes. Always
it came back to that--Joanne accusing him for what they'd both lost. In
a peculiar way, Matt welcomed that. After the crash, everyone else had
reassured Matt that he'd done the best he could. But not Joanne. She
wasn't one for reassuring. Instead, she seemed to zero in on all of
Matt's harsh doubts. Carrying Joanne's sister, Paige, from the crash
site had been a judgment call. It might have been better to leave her
while going for help, maybe then she would have survived. Who cared if
the doctors said otherwise? They weren't infallible.

"I remember," he said harshly. "I don't want to remember, but I do."

"So it gets to you now and then," Joanne murmured. "Imagine that. I
thought maybe you just blanked it out. But you still see them, don't
you? My little sister... my mother..." Her voice cracked.

He did try to blank it out. His aunt and his cousin dying in that
crash. He tried not to think about his own parents and little sister,
too. But Joanne the only one who understood the truth: there to' have
been something Matt could have done. He should have stopped it from
happening. hadn't--yet he'd been the one to survive.

"You didn't just follow me here to reminisce

Joanne said. "What do you want, Matt? Tell me, and then leave me
alone."

With an effort, he recalled Joanne's latest attempt to destroy Connell
Brassworks. "I'd like to know why you thought you could sell off our
holdings to Palmer Boyce."

She gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. What made me think I could
pull that off? I suppose you were bound to find out sooner or later.
No chance now that we'll make a nice profit off Silver Sands. Too bad,
they might even have bought the entire brass works if I'd pressed for
it." She wasn't drunk yet, but close to it.

"I set Boyce straight," Matt said tersely. "He's not getting his hands
on anything. But what are you up to, Jo? Don't you give a damn about
the brass-works anymore? For Bea's sake, at least, we have to keep it
in one piece."

"The dutiful grandson," she said mockingly. "Quite a turnabout. You
hated the brass works when we were kids. But me ... you know
something, Matt? The first time Grandpa took me there, I was only
seven years old, but I still remember exactly what it was like.
Exactly how I felt." Her voice softened. "The rows and rows of molds

Grandpa wearing his big gloves and eye mask and pouring the brass--I
thought he'd turned into some wonderful magician. Even back then, I
knew I wanted to work with him someday. I wanted to be a magician
myself." Another bitter laugh. "But I never got along with Bea the
way

did with Grandpa. She doesn't care for my management style, and
neither do you."

"Jo," Matt said after a pause, "if the brass works means something to
you, why are you doing everything you can to destroy

She signaled the bartender for another. "I guess it's just a talent I
share with you, Matt. Destroying things ... destroying our family.
Each of us goes about it in a different way, that's all. Now--just get
out of here, and go to hell, Matt."

It seemed that everyone wanted to tell him that lately. Joanne ...
Lisa, too. But they didn't realize one thing. He'd already been in
hell----ever since the plane crash.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AT BREN NAN HOUSE, Julie had become a bit of a celebrity. Expecting
twins was something out of the ordinary even in a place filled with
pregnant teenagers. Girls constantly were putting their hands on
Julie's stomach to see if they could feel two babies kick. It was
almost as if they saw Julie as a good-luck charm. They seemed to
reason that if Julie could handle all the ups and downs of her
pregnancy, then surely the rest of them could do it, too.

Lisa, however, worried that Julie was having a whole lot more downs
than ups. This impression was confirmed one morning about a week after
Matt had visited Danfield. That was how Lisa measured time now ...
according to when she'd last seen Matt. On this particular morning,
Julie's mother paid yet another of her visits to Brennan House. Mrs.
Douglas took a seat on one of the overstuffed chairs in Lisa's office,
watching sourly as her daughter wad died into the room. Julie had
already perfected the telltale Brennan House waddle.

"Here you are at last. You know what a long drive I have to make. Why
did you keep me waiting?"

Julie lowered herself gingerly into another of the

overstuffed chairs without saying a word. Lisa watched from the other
side of her desk, wondering why Mrs. Douglas had insisted on a formal
meeting. That was what she'd called it over the phone she'd wanted to
set up a "meeting" with her daughter and Lisa.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Douglas?" Lisa asked, as always
struggling to contain the irritation this woman evoked in her.

"I have some very good news." Mrs. Douglas paused importantly. "The
wedding date is set."

Lisa had no idea what the woman was talking about. Julie didn't seem
to have a clue, either. She just looked at her mother.

"Who's getting married?" Julie asked in a small voice.

Mrs. Douglas gave an unpleasant laugh. "You, of course. Who else did
you think? That wretched boy has finally buckled under. He'll marry
you, all right, and the both of you will take responsibility for what
you've done."

"But, Mom!" Julie exclaimed in obvious horror' "I haven't even talked
to him--"

"I did the talking. I never thought my da ugh would be walking down
the aisle with her stomach out to here, but it has to be done. No
grandchildren of mine will be bastards. Of course, the ceremonY will
be as private as possible. We won't be inviting any guests."

Julie clutched both arms of her chair. "Mom she said in that pleading
voice. Mrs. Dou looked ready to start in on another diatribe, and
Lisa knew she couldn't bear to hear it

"I'd like to speak to Julie alone," she said, just as she had at their
first meeting:

"It's all been settled," Mrs. Douglas informed her. "There's nothing
for you to say. Your only job is to back me up, and make sure Julie
does the right thing." The woman made it sound as if Lisa were her
employee. That was hardly how Lisa saw it.

"I would like to speak to Julie alone," she said firmly. The woman
stared at her. Lisa didn't glance away even for a second. And at last
Mrs. Douglas stood up.

"I'll be just outside."

Once again Lisa had to go shut the door after Mrs. Douglas. Then she
came to sit next to Julie.

"Marriage is very serious," she said. "And you do have choices, Julie.

Right now you have to tell me what you want. Just tell me how you
feel." "I ... I don't know..."

"Are you in love with this boy?"

Julie didn't speak for a very long time. And then, slowly, she raised
her shoulders in a helpless shrug. "No," she whispered.

"Julie, listen--marriage is serious."

"So is having a baby," Julie said as if by rote. "Two babies. And I
have to take responsibility..."

Lisa felt powerless. She hated that sensation. It reminded her all
too well of the way she felt because of Matt. Powerless to make him
love her.

"Julie--"

"I have to take responsibility." Julie spoke woodenly, gazing
straight ahead, no longer even looking at Lisa. Then she heaved her
body from the chair and went out to her mother.

GRANDMA BEA CARRIED her new watering can to the sunporch. Matt brought
up the rear with her old watering can, the rusty battered one she
couldn't bear to give up.

"You might as well tell me about it," Bea said as she watered the
hibiscus.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Now, Mathias. You keep saying that, but when my grandson goes
gallivanting off on a mysterious trip to who knows where, of course
there's something to tell. Give that fern a good dousing, will you?"

Matt watered the fern. Although he'd returned from Connecticut a full
week ago, Bea wouldn't let up about it. She wanted to know every
detail of where he'd been and who he'd seen. She didn't seem to
realize that Matt wasn't talking.

"Is she a pretty girl?"

Matt gave the bougainvillea a sour glance. "Don't start that again,
Bea."

"I may be old, but I'm not stupid. When my grandson goes cavorting
off, there's sure to be a pretty girl involved."

Lisa Hardaway was more than pretty. She was beautiful and sensuous and
passionate. But he'd had no right to make love to her.

"I needed to get away," he said. "That's all."

"Mathias, I intend to see you settled before I'm gone. If you have any
of your own prospects lined up, I should know about them. Otherwise
we'll have to start from scratch."

What was the old gal up to now? Matchmaking services, along with
trying to rearrange the entire rest of Matt's life?

"No prospects," he said after a minute. "And you don't need to find
any for me, either. I'm not into ... settling down."

Bea poked her fingers into a potted begonia as if to make it behave.
"Someone has to carry on the family," she said. "Someone has to start
a new brood. You can bet it won't be your cousin. She scares men off.
Scowls at them with that skinny face of hers, and--"

"You probably did a lot of scowling yourself, before you met

Grandpa."

Bea smiled. "I took a single look at your grandpa, and knew he was the
one. That's how it happens."

Not in his experience. He'd spent a lot of his life convinced there
could never be just one woman. Then he'd decided there was no woman
for him at all. Lisa Hardaway hadn't changed his opinion--she'd only
confirmed it. She deserved someone like Patrick Dannon, someone who
could give her steadiness ... a future. Matt himself didn't think
about the future. That was as dangerous as thinking about the past.

"Start working on Joanne's love life," he told

his grandmother. "Line up a date for her. Maybe then, the two of you
will start getting along."

"It's no use trying to distract me. I'm serious, Mathias. I don't
have much longer. It will make my going so much easier if I know you
have someone." '

The sunporch was crowded with plants. The smells of potting soil and
green leafy things seemed to take up all the oxygen. Matt wiped the
sweat off his forehead and thought longingly of coolness.

"You're not leaving anytime soon, Bea. You're too stubborn and cranky
for that."

"We're talking about you, not me." Her voice softened. "Matt, you
need a real family. A wife, children of your own. Don't you think you
deserve a little happiness?"

"My idea of happiness is different than yours." "No, it's not. You
just feel guilty because you're the one who survived. You don't
understand there's a reason you survived."

"Don't do this, Bea--"

"My sweet Mathias," she murmured. "You're the one. You'll make sure
the family doesn't disappear." Bea gasped then, the watering can
tumbling from her fingers, rolling onto the wooden floor of the
porch.

"Bea, what is it?" Matt was at her side in a second.

She clutched at her chest. "It hurts," she whispered. "Oh, Mathias,
it hurts..."

He caught hold of her just before she, too, could go tumbling toward
the floor.

LISA TRIED not to listen to the whine of the plane's engines. That was
always her downfall--straining to hear the slightest change in sound
and then being convinced the engines were about to expire. She was
ashamed of herself for being so nervous whenever she flew. It was
something she ought to have outgrown a long time ago. But no matter
how many times she got on a plane, fear always threatened to overwhelm
her,

She eased her seat back and began flexing her feet. This was one of
the stress-reduction exercises she taught the teenagers at Brennan
House, but it didn't seem to be doing her any good right now. Too many
thoughts scrambled for room in her head. The last time she'd taken a
flight to Hurricane Beach, Patrick had been sitting beside her, and
he'd distracted her no end. With his ability to talk nonstop, to make

instant friends with other passengers, to joke and to prod at Lisa's
emotions, he'd both exasperated and entertained her. But this time
around, she was flying without him. She couldn't very well have
brought him along after breaking up with him yet again last night. This
time he'd almost seemed to believe her. "What is it about Matt
Con-nell?" he'd asked soberly. "Why can't you just forget the guy,
and move on?"

Lisa pressed her head back against the seat. She would do everything
possible to avoid seeing Matt on this trip to Hurricane Beach. Surely
she'd be busy enough to avoid him. It was going to be quite a whirl,
getting ready for Amy's wedding.

Amy and Jon had finally set the date. Not only

had they set it, but they'd given themselves hardly any time for
preparations. The wedding was going to take place in only a few days.
Characteristically, once Amy made up her mind to something, she wanted
it this instant. Lisa remembered her sister's voice on the telephone:
"Everything's a jumble, Lisa. Morn and Dad will hardly speak to each
other anymore. Megan and I have tried to make them talk, but they
won't budge. Maybe this whole plan for an anniversary party is a
disaster ... and to top it off, Jon's parents still haven't made up
their minds about our engagement. But the fact is, if we wait until
everything's perfect, we might never get married. So we're going
ahead, anyway. We're going to tie the knot!"

Lisa had tried to tell her sister she was glad, but she didn't think
she'd been too convincing. All the contrasts to Amy's happiness seemed
to crowd in upon her. Young Julie Douglas, betrothed to a boy she
didn't love. Lisa's own parents, who apparently were getting closer
and closer to abandoning fifty years of marriage. And Lisa herself,
loving a man who didn't seem to believe in love... Always Matt.
Everything came back to him. It was as if, fifteen years ago, she'd
started on a journey that only took her in circles. How did she break
free? Would it ever be possible?

Somehow, in spite of the clamor of her own thoughts, she actually did
manage to doze. And the plane, as always, arrived safely at its
destination, engines intact. With the other passengers Lisa made her
way into the Tallahassee airport. She scanned the crowd, and right
away saw Matt Connell.

A surge of adrenaline shot through her, as if she was about to take off
running. But did she want to run away from Matt... or toward him? The
question was immaterial, because he was already walking toward her. He
moved with the deliberate gait that hinted at restrained power. Even
as he approached, his features remained unsmiling.

"Hello, Matt," she said as breezily as possible. "Imagine seeing you
here. Did you come to see somebody off?."

"I came for you, Lisa."

Why was it that the mere sound of his voice could send a tremor through
her? She felt the flush blooming on her skin.

"I don't understand," she said. "Someone in my family is supposed to
pick me ups"

"Your partner let me know you were coming back to Hurricane Beach. What
flight you'd be on, and so forth. I took the liberty of telling your
sister that I'd pick you up."

Lisa gazed at him indignantly. "You've been talking to Dena behind my
back?"

Matt wore one of his implacable expressions. "I'm glad Dena called me.
It seems you still refuse

'to use any of my money. She was hoping I Could convince you
otherwise. I'm hoping the same thing.,

Lisa had only her one carry-on bag, and she started walking toward the
exit. "This isn't a good idea, Matt. You meeting me "

He kept pace right alongside her, and at the same time managed to take
the bag from her.

"Running away from me isn't the answer, either," he said. "And you do
need a ride to Hurricane Beach."

Unfortunately, she couldn't argue about that. A short while later, she
found herself in Matt's two-seater, her overnight bag loaded into his
compact trunk. As he began driving, the muggy Florida air enveloped
her, greeting her as if she were a long-lost friend. She wished Matt's
car weren't so small and intimate. And she wished her gaze didn't keep
straying to his unyielding profile, his hands strong and competent on
the wheel. Hands that knew how to touch her... "Damn," she muttered.

Matt gave her a brief glance. "Accepting my help wouldn't be a
weakness, Lisa. And your partner says if you don't start using some of
that money soon, you really will be in bad shape."

Darn Dena, anyway, for confiding in Matt. Lisa forced herself to stare
straight ahead. "You've mentioned it yourself, Dena is fifty percent
of the operation. If she decides to go ahead and use your money, I
can't really stop her."

"It seems she has too much respect for your partnership to do that. She
says it has to be a joint decision. And meanwhile, the money is just
sitting in the bank ... and the house on Highland is sitting empty.
Does that seem reasonable to you?"

Where Matt was concerned, Lisa had abandoned the idea of being
reasonable. "Can't you just leave it alone--"

"There's a funny thing about trying to make amends," he said. "Once
you start, it's hard to stop. Look, I know I didn't handle things so
well up there in Danfield." He paused. "I never should have made love
to you."

Anger sparked in her. "Why, Matt? Why are you sorry?"

"It wasn't right of me to ... complicate things." "I see," she said
caustically. "You think that if we hadn't gone to bed, it would be a
lot easier to convince me to take your money."

"Lisa, it's not like that."

"And maybe you think that once I accept your damn money, you can wipe
the slate clean and just go on. Amends made."

"It's not like that, either," he said quietly. "What is it like, Matt?
Maybe you can tell me." He didn't speak for a long moment. And then,
"I'm sorry, Lisa. Sorry that I can't be the kind of person you
need."

There was only one thing worse than loving a man who couldn't love you
back. And that was having the man know you loved him--because you'd
opened your mouth and told him so.

"Listen," she said, "let's just drop it, okay? You don't owe me
anything anymore. The slate really is wiped clean."

"It's not that easy. Even if you accept my help,

I'll always regret what happened, Lisa. The way I left you ... and
the child you lost."

Neither one of them said anything after that. Lisa's anger seemed to
have died as quickly as it had flared. She stole another glance at
Matt. Yes, he was unyielding--but with himself most of all. He did
not readily forgive himself.

They had almost reached Hurricane Beach when Matt spoke again, his
hands seeming to tighten on the steering wheel.

"My grandmother had a heart attack a few days ago," he said abruptly.
"A bad one."

"Oh, Matt, I'm so sorry."

He seemed determined to show no emotion. "She's at the hospital. I
was wondering if you'd have time to stop by with me for a visit."

The request took Lisa by surprise. Matt had always kept her at arm's
length where his family was concerned. Beatrice Connell had been a
friend of Helene's. Lisa had met her several times as a child,

At her silence, Matt seemed to think an explanation was necessary.
"Your mother's been to see her. And they spent a lot of time catching
up on each other's news. Bea was really interested in how the Hardaway
sisters were doing. I know she'd love to see you. It may take her
mind off her problems."

"Yes ... and of course I'd like to visit your grandmother, Matt. I'm
just sorry she's ill."

He gave a brusque nod as he kept on driving. And now he seemed to have
withdrawn from Lisa, all his emotions shut away from her. That was the
irony. He wanted to make amends, but how could he do that if he
refused to open his heart?

HURRICANE BEACH'S one small hospital looked every bit the southern
mansion, stately Greek columns rising all along the two-story portico.
Two modern wings had been added, however, jutting out on either side,
and it was in the south wing that Beatrice Connell had been assigned a
room. To Lisa, the old woman looked fragile and small as she lay in
bed, attached to a heart monitor and who knew what else. With all the
gadgetry of modern medicine, she seemed like a sparrow trapped inside a
cage. Yet she appeared alert enough, studying Lisa with bright, shrewd
eyes.

"Hello, Lisa Hardaway. I haven't seen you in years. And now you're
Matt's girl," she said, the term making Lisa feel like a gawky teenager
all over again. Lisa glanced at Matt.

"Don't let Bea scare you," he said gravely.

"I can speak for myself, Mathias. Now, sit down here where I can have
a better look at you." This last was addressed to Lisa, who pulled a
chair close to the bed.

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Cormell?" "You're as bad as Matt, trying
to change the subject on me. Call me Bea, and tell me what you think
of my grandson. Would he make good husband material?"

Just when Lisa thought life couldn't be any more humiliating, she was
proven wrong. She couldn't

think of a single response to Bea's startling directness.

"You can be honest with me, Lisa," said Bea, a roguish twinkle in her
eye. "You might as well know I don't tolerate anything but honesty.
So, would he make a good husband?"

Honesty it had to be. "No," Lisa said. "He wouldn't."

Bea chuckled, as if this answer didn't concern her in the least. "Tell
me why not."

"Because he won't let anybody get too close. I'd say that pretty much
rules out a wife."

Matt didn't say anything, but she heard him make a restless motion. And
Bea, meanwhile, seemed highly entertained.

"This is a smart one, Mathias. She has you pegged."

Lisa's gaze strayed to the monitor beside the bed. She didn't like the
erratic movement of the green line across the screen.

"I don't want to tire you out, Mrs. Connell--Bea, that is,"

"I want you to stay and talk to me," the old woman said somewhat
imperiously.

"I think Lisa's right," Matt began.

"Why did you come, if you're just going to rush off." Now Bea sounded
plaintive. "Tell me how the two of you met."

Lisa was reminded of a kid asking for a bedtime fairy tale. But her
relationship with Matt was no fairy tale. She was wondering how to get
out of this one when Matt spoke

"I saw Lisa on the beach when she was all of fifteen years old. She
had very long, very blond hair. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt
and a baseball cap, and I remember thinking what a good combination
that was."

Lisa stared at him. "But I thought you didn't even notice me until I
joined the aviation club---"

"I noticed." His blue-gray eyes captured hers, and she felt it all
over again--the irrevocable pull toward him, the need inside her aching
for fulfillment.

A dry chuckle from the bed brought her back to her senses. Bea lifted
a gnarled hand.

"I told you, Mathias. You take one look, and you know. That's how it
works."

Matt's face grew impassive. "You're going to rest now, Bea."

"No, I am not."

A nurse entered the room just then, bringing this particular discussion
to a halt. Lisa stood.

"It was nice meeting you, Bea," she said, knowing how inadequate the
words sounded. But what did you say to someone who was so frail and so
combative all at once?

The old woman placed her hand on Lisa's arm. Her fingers seemed as
insubstantial as twigs.

"Don't let him push you away," she murmured. "Promise me."

"Mrs. Connell--"

"Promise me." The green line on the screen gave another erratic
jump.

"I promise," Lisa whispered.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MAGIC. There could be no other word for it. The organ music swelled,
playing the traditional wedding march, and Amy began walking slowly,
gracefully down the aisle, anchored on Merdck's arm. Amy looked
scared, but she also looked stunning in her gown of creamy-colored
lace, the train swirling behind her, a delicate veil floating like mist
over her face.

Lisa blinked rapidly. She told herself that it was just a reflex
reaction, this deplorable female tendency to cry at weddings. But
still, she couldn't ignore the magic. She watched from her position
beside the altar as one of the bridesmaids. The other bridesmaids were
Megan, Jon's sister, Christa, his niece Kieran, and Amy's partner,
Grace. All of them wore the same pretty dress: fitted bodice in
forest-green velvet, gently flared skirt in matching satin. Lisa's
sister and father reached the altar. Merrick stepped back, a tender
expression on his face as he relinquished his daughter to the groom.
Lisa couldn't swear to it, but she thought she saw a suspicious glimmer
in Merfick's eyes, too. But then all Lisa's attention was riveted on
the bridal pair. Amy and Jon stood close together, gazing raptly at
each other. And, at this moment, all Amy's doubts and fears of the
past few months seemed to have vanished. Love and confidence shone
from her face, obviously vanquishing any other emotion. As for Jon,
well, he simply looked like a man besotted.

Lisa blinked again, more rapidly this time. Way to go, Amy, she said
silently. You're showing all of us what really matters.

It was true that Helene and Merrick, sitting in a front pew, scarcely
glanced at each other; even their own daughter's wedding could
apparently not unite them today. But Jon's parents, it seemed, had
come around. They were sitting in another of the front pews, gazing at
Amy and Jon with nothing but expressions of misty-eyed happiness. Yet
Amy and Jon saw only each other ... lost in their own love. And Lisa,
watching them, felt a twist of longing so intense she almost had to
press a hand to her stomach.

On her march down the aisle, Lisa, almost against her will, had scanned
the chapel. It was filled to overflowing, as if everyone in town had
come to celebrate the occasion. But Lisa had been looking for one face
only ... a face she hadn't seen.

Perhaps it had been stupid of her to invite Matt to the wedding. But,
ever since her visit to Bea in the hospital two days ago, Lisa hadn't
been able to get the old woman's words out of her mind. Don't let him
push you away. Promise me.

Maybe, deep down, Matt really did want to share something of his life
with Lisamand that was why

he'd taken her to visit Bea. She didn't know for sure. She only knew
she couldn't forget Bea's words. So she'd invited Matt to the wedding,
as if to share something of her own life. And she'd wanted him to see
what a couple in love looked like. She'd wanted him to take a good
look at Jon and Amy, and ask himself if maybe he wasn't missing out on
something. But it seemed he wasn't here. Lisa had studied each face
in the chapel--and finally had to accept the fact that Matt hadn't
shown.

Jori and Amy were still lost in each other's gaze. That was the way it
should be. But Matt couldn't love Lisa like that. He wouldn't let
himself.

This wasn't a good time for Lisa to be thinking such thoughts. A
bridesmaid at her sister's wedding was supposed to maintain at least a
semblance of dignity.

"And do you, Amy, take Jon..."

With a shock, Lisa realized that the ceremony was slipping right past
her. Reverend Mendoza's sonorous voice filled the small chapel,
carrying the lilt of his native Cuba. All during her childhood, Lisa
had Ystened to that steady voice---every Sunday sitting with her
parents and sisters, the stained-glass windows sending out their
jeweled light, the ceiling beams of the nave arching up, pointing
heavenward. Lisa had felt reassured back then, but now she feRan
almost overpowering urge to dash from the church.

"The exchange of rings symbolizes your love, a never-ending circle that
will guide and uplift you both..."

Amy's hand shook as Jon clasped it, slipping the gold wedding band on
her finger. He seemed none too steady himself as Amy, in turn, slipped
a band on his finger.

"You may now kiss the bride?"

As the organ music crescendoed, Jon swept Amy into his arms and kissed
her. The veil got in the way. Amy gave a breathless, joyous laugh,
swept the veil aside and kissed her new husband in earnest. Magic, all
right.

Lisa found herself moving down the aisle with Meg and the other
bridesmaids. As they neared the back of the church, she saw him--Matt,
sitting in the last row, wearing an uncustomary jacket over his shirt
and tie. Despite the beauty of the bride, he seemed to be gazing only
at Lisa, the darkness in his eyes sending an unmistakable message.

Lisa stumbled, almost tripping on the long skirt of her bridesmaid's
dress. Her sister Meg grabbed hold of her,

"Whoa," Meg said. "We've made it this far..." Then she followed the
direction of Lisa's gaze. "Oh," she murmured. "Well, no wonder."

"What are you talking about?" Lisa muttered as they went by Matt. She
was tempted to crane her neck around, just to keep him in sight, and
had to keep reminding herself that bridesmaids were supposed to be
dignified.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Meg said imperturbably as
they came out of the

chapel and into the grassy courtyard of the church, with its dogwoods
and azaleas, and the rambling wisteria vine leaning over the fence like
a passerby trying to peek in. "I'm sure you realize Amy has clued me
in that you and Matt Connell were once an item."

"There isn't that much to say about it." "There's enough,
apparently."

Lisa stared at her oldest sister in exasperation. "You and Amy,
between the two of you, you're a real pain in the--"

"Between the two of us, we care about you." Meg's forehead creased.
"I like Patrick," she murmured. "He's not the type of man who would
hurt you."

"This isn't a contest between Patrick and Matt. Besides--"

Meg didn't pay any attention. "I just don't want to see you hurt,
Lissie. And Matt Cormell, from the little I've seen, well, he seems
like the kind of man who could break a woman's heart."

Lisa wanted to protest, but she couldn't seem to get any words out. A
welter of emotions confused her. Resentment mingled with affection at
the knowledge that her big sister would still try to protect her, after
all these years. And a despairing conviction that Meg was more right
than she knew.

By now the rest of the wedding party had spilled out of the chapel,
along with the first trickle of guests. Again Lisa scanned each face,
tensing herself for the moment when she would have to face Matt. But
the moment didn't materialize. Could he have left already? He'd put
in his appearance in order to honor Lisa's invitation, but that was
it?

Once more Lisa struggled against the sharp, unreasoning disappointment
she felt. This was Amy's day. Nothing else should matter. With that
in mind, Lisa made her way into the circle of well-wishers clustered
around Jon and Amy. She shook hands rather formally with her
ex-husband.

"Congratulations," she said. "I'm really happy for you both." But
when she finally had a chance to congratulate her sister, she gave Amy
an extra-tight hug. "You did it," she murmured. "You really did
it."

Amy hugged her back. "Thank you, Lissie."

It was the second time today one of her sisters had evoked the old
childhood nickname.

Lisa turned, and there Matt was, standing just outside the chapel door,

as if he must always be apart. She took a step in his direction, only
to see her mother approach Matt and strike up a conversation.

Lisa remained where she was. She watched as the man she loved spoke
with her mother, and wondered uneasily what they could be talking
about. But the conversation didn't last long. Lisa saw Helene give
Matt an almost maternal pat on the arm, then move off to greet someone
else.

Matt came to Lisa's side. It was all she could do not to reach out and
touch him. To stop herself, she folded her arms.

"Hello, Matt. How's your grandmother?" "Holding her own," he answered
briefly. But

Lisa could see the lines of strain etching their way into his
forehead. She suspected he was spending most of his time at the
hospital.

"I didn't know if you were going to make it," she said. All she could
do was gaze at him. His eyes were the color of an overcast sky,
heralding-storms. But Matt always kept such tight control of himself.
If storms did break, he would go through them in silence ... alone.

"You seem to be getting to know my mother," she said.

"She was asking about Bea. The two of them go way back, it seems." He
paused. "As usual, Bea was in good form the last time Helene visited
her in the hospital, asking your mother all sorts of questions about
you."

"Really?"

"By now your mother's pretty well aware of Bea's matchmaking
intentions."

"Don't worry, Matt," Lisa said caustically, before she could stop
herself. "Only one thing matters--I know what your intentions are. To
keep yourself as separate from me as you can."

He gazed at her intently, but he didn't deny her words. Lisa glanced
away from him, looking at Amy and Jon. She couldn't resist pointing
out a few facts.

"They look happy, don't they?"

"Yes," Matt agreed.

"I have the feeling they'll be able to handle anything that comes their
way. Because they'll be together, supporting each other."

"That's the way it should be," Matt acknowledged.

"But you just can't see that for yourself."

He didn't say anything, but the closed expression on his face said it
all. Matt Connell was determined to go through life alone. He'd lost
one family, and it seemed he wouldn't risk losing another.

LISA RODE to the reception with Meg. The two of them took Amy's car,
heading out from the church in a caravan of other vehicles. So far,
Lisa hadn't spotted Matt's sports car anywhere. No doubt he'd already
left, wouldn't be making an appearance at the reception. She ought to
be glad for that... relieved.

"Can't these people drive any faster?" she muttered. "We'll be here

all day."

"This is part of the event," Meg said. "All of us clogging the
streets, on our way to celebrate Jon and Amy's good fortune."

The traffic inched along, bumper to bumper, all the way up the street.
Lisa felt an agitation she scarcely knew how to contain. She sensed a
tension in Megan, too. Her sister gripped the steering wheel just a
little more tightly than necessary. Was she remembering her own
wedding day ... her broken marriage? As always, Megan was exquisitely
groomed, but in a subdued fashion. She wore only a touch of lip gloss
and her clear nail polish, nothing bright or flashy. Megan, in spite
of her striking good looks, never tried to draw attention to herself.

She seemed to need to always keep everything subdued and under
control. Somehow this small, simple fact about her sister touched
Lisa.

Lisa took herself by surprise then. Without any warning at all, she
began to cry. The tears simply flowed out of her eyes. What was it
about Hurricane Beach that turned her into a sobbing mess?

"Lisa," Meg exclaimed in immediate concern. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, damn. I can't get this dress wet." Lisa scrabbled through her
purse for a tissue, and blotted her cheeks. The tears kept coming, as
if with a will of their own.

Cranking the steering wheel sharply, Meg veered onto a narrow side
street and came to a halt at the curb.

"Why'd you do that?" Lisa asked, her voice thick with yet more tears.
"We'll never get there now."

"Lissie. I want you to tell me-exactly what's wrong." Meg spoke in
her commanding, older-sister voice. And somehow that only made Lisa
cry all the harder. She covered her eyes in the already soggy
tissue.

"It's the wedding," she mumbled. "Weddings always have this effect on
people..."

"Weddings make people a little dewy-eyed. They don't make them sob
their hearts out. We're staying here until you tell me what's
wrong."

A memory flashed into Lisa's mind. Her voice was getting soggy, but
she spoke, anyway. "Do you remember, Meg ... I was about eight, and
there was a horrid girl in school who kept bullying mere

Cindy Ferguson, that was her name. When I finally told you about it,
you marched right up to Cindy Ferguson and gave her hell. She never
bothered me after that."

"I wasn't going to let her beat up on my little sister. Just as I'm
not going to let you spoil Amy's day. Lisa, I don't care if we have to
sit in this car all day and all night. You're going to tell me what's
wrong."

Lisa fished in her purse for another tissue. And, with a vague sense
of horror, she heard more words come spilling from her mouth.

"I ... I got pregnant when I was sixteen," she said. "Matt Connell was
the father, except that he was only eighteen at the time. And he'd
already dumped me for someone else, so I never got around to giving him

the news..."

Meg stared at her as if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.
"Oh, Lissie."

"God, that felt good," Lisa said. "Carrying that secret all those
years has been a real burden, you know?" Her tears had abruptly
stopped flowing. But then what she'd actually just confessed struck
her. "Forget about it," she muttered. "I don't know why I brought it
up. Ancient history."

Meg took Lisa's hand and held it clasped between both of her own.
"Lissie, how could something like that happen, and I didn't know? Why
didn't you confide in me?" Meg's voice held no accusation, only
concern, but nonetheless Lisa felt the old stirrings of guilt and
inadequacy

"I didn't know how to tell you that I'd done

something that--that stupid. I ... I went to a clinic in Tallahassee,
and I gave a fake name ... and they told me I was pregnant."

"Oh, Lissie," Meg said again, sorrow in her voice now. "The
baby...?"

"A miscarriage, before the third month. I was so relieved--and I felt
so terrible. As if I made it happen, just by wishing the baby would be
gone." It seemed Lisa had more tears, after all. They leaked out,
dribbling down her cheeks. She felt like one of the young girls at
Brennan House, sobbing out yet another story of hormones and naive
love. What had happened to all Lisa's years of hard-won
self-control?

"It wasn't your fault," Meg said. "Miscarriages just happen. But,
Lisa, did you really think Amy and I wouldn't understand? Or Mom and
Dad?"

"Be real, Meg," Lisa said. "Exactly what do you think our parents
would have had to say about their youngest daughter getting knocked
up?"

Meg winced. "That's one way to put it. Okay, so Mom and Dad would
have been pretty upset. But they would have loved you, anyway. And as
for me, I would have understood best of all." "I don't see how--"

Meg sighed. "Lisa, think about it. I gave birth to Derek only seven
months after my wedding. He was a pretty good-sized baby for being
'premature.""

Now it was Lisa's turn to stare. kneW--"

"I never

"We hide too much in this family, that's the problem."

Neither one of them spoke for several minutes, but the mention of Meg's
long-ago son remained between them. Meg so rarely uttered Derek's
name, but when she did, her voice filled with all the love she still
guarded for her child.

"You know what the worst thing is?" Meg said at last, her voice barely
audible. "The worst thing is not knowing. Thinking he could be
anywhere... or nowhere. Always wondering."

A humid breeze came in through the open windows of the car, yet it
brought no relief from the heat, or from the heartache the two sisters
silently shared. At last Meg gave Lisa's hand a squeeze before gently
releasing it.

"I just wish you'd told me or Amy," she murmured. "That's what sisters

are for."

"I never told anyone," Lisa said, almost on a whisper. "I kept it
buried so deep ... until now."

Meg shook her head. "I know why you feel bad. It's because of him.
Matt Cormell. I took one look at him, and knew he was the kind of man
who could break a woman's heart."

"For goodness' sake, Meg. You're the last per son I expected to go all
melodramatic--"

"Can you deny it's true?"

Lisa felt drained, as if her confession had taken everything out of
her. "For a long time, I believed that I hated Matt. But now ... he's
changed. Losing his family did that to him. They all died in a plane
crash, and Matt feels responsible. I can't hate him

anymore. All I can do is just ... love him." Lisa gave a deep,
shuddering breath, and the rest of it came out, too. "You see, not too
long ago I finally did end up telling Matt about the pregnancy. And
now he wants to make up for it. He wants to give money to Brennan
House, and a whole lot else be-. sides. But he can't give me what I
really want. He can't love me in return..."

"This is even worse than I thought," Meg said grimly. "He's making you
miserable. I don't like it, not one bit."

Meg almost seemed to welcome being angry with Matt. Maybe that made it
easier for her to forget her own losses. Lisa realized now how long it
had been since she'd seen Meg display any emotion.

"Meg ... thanks," Lisa said awkwardly. "For being my sister, and
everything."

"You're the last person I expected to go all mushy," Meg answered with
just a hint of humor. Then she was businesslike. "Now, what are we
going to do about you? You look terrible. Your eyes are red, and your
face is splotchy."

""Don't be too encouraging--"

"That's good. The sarcasm's back." Meg looked her over critically.
"Sit back and close your eyes. That's the first step. I'll handle the
rest."

Lisa was too emotionally exhausted to protest. Dutifully, she leaned
back and closed her eyes as Meg started up the car and began driving
again. Lisa wondered if she had ever felt quite this raw, this
vulnerable. She would have given anything to take back the secrets
she'd given up. Over the years, she and Meg had perfected a polite,
superficial relationship, and now Lisa had torn the surface right off.
She wanted to hide.

But there was still so much to absorb! Such as the fact that Meg
herself had experienced a teenage pregnancy; Meg had, after all, been
only nineteen when Noah Carson had swept into her life. When she'd
learned that she was pregnant, had she felt lonely and scared? But no,
surely not ... Meg had ended up marrying Noah. She'd had someone to
share the experience with- her, as well as the joy of her baby's birth.
Meg's tragedy had come later.

Now, after only a short drive, Meg pulled the car up in front of
Beltramo's Restaurant. Merrick had reserved the entire place for the
reception. After opening her eyes reluctantly, Lisa saw that the
parking lot was already crowded. Without even thinking about what she
was doing, she scanned the place for Matt's sports car. She didn't see
it, and felt another lurch of disappointment. What was wrong with her?
Hadn't she already had enough turmoil for one day? Did she really want

to see him again?

Before she could examine the answer to that question, she struggled out
of the car, the long skirt of her dress catching around her legs. Meg,
moving much more gracefully in her own long dress, came around to give
Lisa an inspection.

"You still look like you've been through the wringer."

anymore. All I can do is just ... love him." Lisa gave a deep,
shuddering breath, and the rest of it came out, too. "You see, not too
long ago I finally did end up telling Matt about the pregnancy. And
now he wants to make up for it. He wants to give money to Brennan
House, and a whole lot else besides. But he can't give me what I
really want. He can't love me in return..."

"This is even worse than I thought," Meg said grimly. "He's making you
miserable. I don't like it, not one bit."

Meg almost seemed to welcome being angry with Matt. Maybe that made it
easier for her to forget her own losses. Lisa realized now how long it
had been since she'd seen Meg display any emotion.

"Meg... thanks," Lisa said awkwardly. "For being my sister, and
everything."

"You're the last person I expected to go all mushy," Meg answered with
just a hint of humor. Then she was businesslike. "Now, what are we
going to do about you? You look terrible. Your eyes are red, and your
face is splotchy."

""Don't be-too encouraging--"

"That's good. The sarcasm's back." Meg looked her over critically.
"Sit back and close your eyes. That's the first step. I'll handle the
rest."

Lisa was too emotionally exhausted to protest. Dutifully, she leaned
back and closed her eyes as Meg started up the car and began driving
again. Lisa wondered if she had ever felt quite this raw this
vulnerable. She would have given anything to take back the secrets
she'd given up. Over the years, she and Meg had perfected a polite,
superficial relationship, and now Lisa had torn the surface right off.
She wanted to hide.

But there was still so much to absorb! Such as the fact that Meg
herself had experienced a teenage pregnancy; Meg had, after all, been
only nineteen when Noah Carson had swept into her life. When she'd
learned that she was pregnant, had she felt lonely and scared? But no,
surely not ... Meg had ended up marrying Noah. She'd had someone to
share the experience with. her, as well as the joy of her baby's
birth. Meg's tragedy had come later.

Now, after only a short drive, Meg pulled the car up in front of
Beltramo's Restaurant. Merrick had reserved the entire place for the
reception. After opening her eyes reluctantly, Lisa saw that the
parking lot was already crowded. Without even thinking about what she
was doing, she scanned the place for Matt's sports car. She didn't see
it, and felt another lurch of disappointment. What was wrong with her?
Hadn't she already had enough turmoil for one day? Did she really want

to see him again?

Before she could examine the answer to that question, she struggled out
of the car, the long skirt of her dress catching around her legs. Meg,
moving much more gracefully in her own long dress, came around to give
Lisa an inspection.

"You still look like you've been through the wringer."

"That's because I feel like I've been through the wringer."

"Follow me," Meg said. "We'll sneak into the bathroom and do
repairs."

A few minutes later, Lisa was splashing water onto her face and combing
her hair. When she peered into the mirror to reapply her mascara, she
saw that her eyes were red-rimmed.

"Good enough," Meg said from behind her. "If anyone asks, you can just
say that it's perfectly natural to cry at your sister's wedding."

"So we're disguising the evidence, hiding everything all over again,"
Lisa remarked.

"It's Amy's day. Anyway, I'm sure that telling me was traumatic
enough, Lissie. You're allowed to give it a rest."

Once again Meg, who had cultivated her own fierce privacy over the
years, revealed how well she understood.

"Come on," Meg said. She arranged that calm, imperturbable look on her
face, like someone putting on a mask. "Now, shall we go toast the
bride and groom?"

THE RESTAURANT LOOKED particularly festive today, streamers in a
rainbow of colors festooned the walls and ceiling. A space had been
cleared of tables to create a dance floor, and the band was already
playing a traditional Greek love song. A generous buffet had been set
up in one corner, a long table arrayed with delicacies: shrimp
cocktails, plump dolmades--savory rice and meat tucked in side grape
leaves--phyllo pie, salad brimming with olives and anchovies and feta
cheese, anise cookies and all manner of other treats from the Costas
Family Bakery. Jon's parents had provided a feast. Uncomfortably,
Lisa remembered a similar spread at her own wedding to Jon.

Amy and Jon had decided against a formal receiving line, and the guests
milled about. Lisa scanned the restaurant, searching for Matt all over
again.

Meg led the way toward the tables that had been reserved for family.
Lisa found herself exchanging a few polite, but constrained, words with
her former in-laws. Meanwhile, Helene was sitting at one table,
Merrick at another. They chatted with separate friends, but each of
them looked tense.

At yet another table, Lisa sank into a chair beside Meg and watched as
Amy and Jon moved dreamily onto the dance floor. She didn't want to
watch them. She'd genuinely rejoiced for her sister's happiness, but
she just didn't have anything left. Her eyes smarted from so much
weeping. All she wanted to do was put her head down on the table and

retreat inside herself. And she didn't think she could bear another
second of Meg regarding her with sisterly concern.

"He's here," Meg said darkly.

"Who?" But Lisa knew exactly who Meg was talking about. Her heart
began to thud even before she saw him in the doorway. Matt, scanning
the room as if searching for her.

"I can't believe he'd have the nerve," Meg said.

All Lisa could do was watch as Matt made his way toward their table.
To her, it seemed as if everyone else in the place just faded away,
becoming a muted backdrop to Matt, a dark-haired, unsmiling man who
looked altogether too good in the blue-gray jacket that matched the
color of his eyes, Not that Matt would have chosen the jacket for that
purpose. No doubt it was the only jacket he owned; he'd probably had
it for years, and used it only when the occasion demanded.,

He kept his eyes on Lisa as he moved toward her, and a flame seemed to
burn between the two of them, a current of understanding. Maybe you
can't love me, Matt, but you can't stay away from me, either. Just as
I can't stay away from you. She would never say the words out loud,
she would not need to say them. Because Matt, his eyes never leaving
hers, surely knew what she was thinking.

Abruptly the spell broke. As Matt passed the table where Helene was
sitting, she turned and spoke to him. He answered her. The
conversation continued. And then Helene stood, tucked her hand into
Matt's arm and walked out onto the dance floor with him. Bizarre as it
might seem to Lisa, her very own mother was waltzing with Matt
Connell.

"Look at that," Meg said from beside Lisa.

"He's trying to butter up Mom."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What else would you call it?"

Lisa propped her elbows on the table, wearily rubbing her temples. "I
wish Amy and Jon had eloped," she said. "They would have saved us all
endless aggravation."

"Will you look at that," Meg said.

Lisa glanced up. She saw Matt and Jon change partners. Now Matt was
waltzing with Amy, and Jon with Helene.

"The whole family's welcoming him with open arms," Meg said. "If they
only knew--"

"Meg," Lisa said urgently. "They can't know! I shouldn't even have
told you. It just--came out. Promise me you won't say a thing."

Meg looked reluctant, but at last she nodded. The dance ended,
partners reshuffled and Matt somehow ended up alone. He came toward
Lisa, and this time he reached her. For a second or two, gazing up at
him, she seemed to have lost the art of conversation. But then,
somehow, she recovered herself.

"Matt, I don't believe you've met my sister. gan."

"We've seen each other around," Meg said, a frosty edge to her voice.
Lisa gave her sister a beseeching look. Meg finally shrugged. "I'll
leave you two alone," she said grudgingly, and went off.

Matt remained standing. "Would you like to dance, Lisa?"

"Funny, but we've never danced together," she murmured. "You never
took me to the prom, or anything like that."

Matt didn't say anything. It seemed he had the girl of silence---he
never answered a comment that didn't need answering. Lisa rose, and
allowed him

to escort her onto the dance floor. They moved naturally into each
other's arms. She placed her hand on Matt's shoulder, the texture of
his jacket nubby underneath her fingers.

"You've been crying," he said at last.

"It's only natural to cry at your sister's wedding," Lisa answered
automatically. Meg would' have been proud of her.

Matt didn't pursue the subject. He simply drew her closer as the
romantic music drifted over them. Lisa wished she could remain like
this forever, suspended in his arms, feeling his closeness, not having
to think about all the barriers between them. But the barriers were
there. They refused to be ignored.

"The dance wasn't over yet, but Lisa pulled herself away from Matt. She
turned and escaped to her table, trembling so deeply that she knew she
had to sit down this instant. Yet she couldn't prevent herself from
looking at Matt again. He had started to follow her, but then Meg
approached him. They spoke a few words, and moved together onto the
dance floor.

Lisa couldn't stop staring. Meg had made it very clear that she
disapproved of Matt. So why on earth was she two-stepping around the
floor with him? The two seemed engaged in a rather intense
conversation. It got so intense that after a few moments they stopped
moving. They just stood there in the middle of the other dancers.

What happened next almost seemed to occur in slow motion. Meg---calm,
unruffled Meg--raised her hand and very deliberately slapped Matt
across the face. That accomplished, Meg swiveled and walked away from
Matt Cormeli, her head held high.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HOSPITALS DID strange things to time. Minutes could seem like hours,
hours like minutes. On a couple of occasions, Matt had lost track of
whether it was morning or night. More and more, his world had shrunk
to this place of sterile corridors. The big event of his day was
finding out whether the hospital cafeteria was going to serve tomato
soup or minestrone for lunch. Now, on yet another day measured by the
peaks and jags on Bea's heart monitor, Matt sat beside his
grandmother's bed. She was dozing fitfully. She looked gaunt, her
cheekbones pronounced underneath papery skin. Her appetite seemed to
have vanished, and she refused to eat properly. She was devious about
it, too. Busy-as-a-bee Connell would scrape food off her dinner plate
and into a napkin, then hide it and pretend that she'd eaten. The
doctors and nurses weren't fooled, of course, and lately they'd begun
to talk ominously of a feeding tube.

Matt bent his head, running his hands through his hair. He'd been
trying to read, but he'd managed to turn only a page or two. His
thoughts kept him occupied enough. Where Lisa Hardaway was concerned,
he always had too much to think about.

Matt had a feeling that at least one person wanted him to keep as far
away from Lisa as possible, and that was Lisa's sister Megan. At the
wedding reception yesterday, Megan had pretty much questioned his
intentions in regard to her sister, and then she'd let loose with that
slap. The lady packed a powerful right cross.

He wasn't doing too well with members of the opposite sex these days.
Either they told him to go to hell, or they slapped him. But it was
one woman, and one woman alone, causing this ache in his gut. Lisa...
He heard a rustle at the door, and lifted his head. His cousin Joanne
stood hovering there, pale and narrow-faced. So far she'd made only a
few quick visits to the hospital. Last time she'd stayed in the room
only a minute or two before she'd darted back out into the corridor, so
white she'd looked about to pass out. "I hate hospitals," she'd
muttered then. Without asking more, Matt knew the reason why. Five
years ago, Joanne had flown out to Albuquerque, only to watch her
little sister die in a hospital there. No wonder she hated the
places.

Now Joanne looked as if she was getting ready to bolt, and she'd barely
set foot inside the room. "How's Bea?" she asked nervously.

"The same." Not good, that was the unspoken message.

Joanne inched her way inside, peering at the bed. "She's asleep."

"If you want to spend some time alone with her, I can leave," Matt
offered. Joanne shook her head.

"No! I mean, I don't care if you stay."

Bea turned her head on the pillow, eyelids fluttering. When she saw
Joanne, she gave a weak frown. "What are you doing?" she asked
groggily.

"Hello, Bea," Joanne said, her voice stiff. "I came to see you--"

"Joanne," Bea said, "Mathias always was too easy on you."

Matt knew that Bea was referring to her husband, the original Mathias
Connell. Grandpa Mathias had kept a soft spot for Joanne, always glad
to have her tag along behind him at the brass works Bea's soft spot, in
contrast, had been for Matt. She'd always come down hard on Jo.

"Bea," Matt said to distract her, "you need to sleep for another couple
of hours. And then the nurse said she'd bring you one of those new
milk shakes."

"I hate those shakes. Who's taking care of things? I want you to do
it, Mathias."

During this exchange, Joanne had remained silent, her face pinched.
Now, without a word, she backed out of the room. The green line on
Bea's heart monitor did an erratic zigzag. Matt buzzed for the nurse;
when she arrived, she took efficient charge, stressing the need for
quiet. In other words, no family altercations in Bea's presence.

Matt went out into the hall, searching for Joanne. She was about
halfway down, still looking as if she wanted to bolt. He approached
her.

"Bea's scared, that's all. And she's all drugged up," he said.

"Are you playing the peacemaker again, Matt? The role doesn't suit
you. Besides, I know how Bea feels. We both heard her in there. She
doesn't give a damn about me." Joanne's face looked as if it were
about to crumple, but then she managed to glare at him. "I'm finally
leaving, Matt. You and Bea can just--the two of you can just--"

At last Joanne's face did crumple. But when Matt tried to put his hand
on her shoulder, she jerked away from him.

"Won't you ever get it, Matt? You're not the family I want. So I'm
getting away. From you, from Bea ... from all of it."

SOMEHOW LISA HAD ALLOWED Matt to convince her that the two of them
should take a walk along the beach. Her better judgment had told her
to refuse, but of late it seemed her better judgment hadn't been in
charge of her actions. They had been walking in silence for almost
half an hour when sunset came, rose and violet painting the sky. They

did not touch each other. Lisa knew better than to reach out to Matt.
At last he spoke.

"How much longer will you be in town?" he asked rather formally.

She tried to be casual. "That's turning out to be a mystery. Jon and
Amy went to Panama City for a short honeymoon, but they're delaying a
longer trip because of some new plan Amy has up her sleeve--something
to do with my parents. I'm afraid she's not just planning an

anniversary celebration this time. Anyway, she asked me to stick
around a little while."

"Your other sister ... Megan. She doesn't seem to like me very much."
Now Matt's tone was dry.

"Let's just say Megan blames you for not..." For not loving me. No
point in saying the words out loud. "Anyway," Lisa went on-as
flippantly as possible. "Looks like I'll be in town for a few more
days. But don't get your hopes up, Matt. It doesn't mean you can
convince me to take your money. It doesn't mean I'll finally let you
be my benefactor." She said the last word scornfully.

"Lisa, that's not the only reason I want you to stay." He stopped
walking and captured her hand. She saw his eyes darken in that
all-too-familiar way, felt an answering swirl of desire and need.

"We have this part right, don't we?" she asked tightly. "Sex--"

"Making love."

"Too bad there's such a difference between making love and be' rag in
love." She despised her-serf for saying this. It was too close to
pleading. Please, Matt. Care for me. But once again all she saw was
the regret in his eyes. He lifted his hand to caress her cheek. She
pulled away.

"No, Matt. It's just ... it's not enough." She turned and went down
the beach, alone this time And Matt didn't try to follow her.

BEA'S HOUSE Was broiling hot, as always, but she kept complaining of a
chill. Two blankets covered her as she lay in the bed she had once
shared with her husband. She'd insisted she be placed on the right
side of the bed, leaving the left side free. And Matt had understood.
Even though her husband had been gone these many years, Bea still kept
to the familiar, comforting habits--the house piping hot, and her
husband's side of the bed ready and waiting as if at any moment he'd
climb in beside her and give her a kiss good-night.

Bea had insisted on coming home from the hospital. The doctors had not
put up much of an objection, giving Matt to understand there was
nothing more they could do.

In his chair close beside Bea's pillow, Matt bowed his head and tried
to convince himself that the old gal could rally yet He'd stopped
praying five years ago, but now a prayer did escape him. More a
demand, actually. Don't let her die, you hear me ? I've lost too much
already.

"Where's Joanne?" Bea asked plaintively, turning her head on the
pillow.

"She'll be here. She's on her way." An outright lie, but Matt figured
this wasn't the time for Bea to face the truth: she'd so alienated her
granddaughter that Joanne had taken off. She'd left town, and hadn't
told anyone where she was going. Matt had tried every possible way he
could think of to find her, calling around to speak to her friends. The
problem was, Joanne didn't have a lot of friends. With her
prickliness, she'd done her own share of alienating.

"I have to speak to Joanne," Bea said, her voice surprisingly strong.

"What do you want to tell her?"

"That's for Joanne to hear, not you."

Matt figured this was a good sign. People on their deathbeds were
supposed to give and receive forgiveness. Bea didn't sound in a very
forgiving mood. In fact, she almost sounded her usual feisty and
cantankerous self, which meant she had to be hanging around a while
longer.

"I'm thirsty, Mathias."

He picked up the glass of water from the bedside table and angled the
straw for her. She took a few sips and then her head fell back on the
pillow. She looked even more frail now than she had in the hospital.
Matt realized what he was doing: tallying positives and negatives. This
means Bea's doing well, this means she isn't. He seemed to think that
if the encouraging signs could cancel out the discouraging ones, he'd
be able to keep his grandmother alive.

"I want to see them ... talk to me about them," she murmured.

"What do you mean, Bea?"

"You know. Tell me about your grandpa and your dad and little Holly.
My sweet Sharon ... and Paige..."

At first it seemed she was asking too much. He almost got up and left
the room. But his grandmother's eyes seemed very large in her shrunken
face, and her expression was a pleading one.

"Grandpa loved anything made out of brass," Matt began. "He loved the
shape and the feel of it. It wasn't just a job for him. It was his
life's work. But the summers I spent in Hurricane Beach--I didn't see
the appeal of brass, myself. My favorite part of the day was at the
end, when Grandpa stopped working and went out to fish on the pier.
Fishing, that was something I could understand."

"Your dad, he was a stubborn one. He didn't want to take over the
brass works Got it into his mind that he'd head out to New Mexico and
have adventures. Isn't that something, Matt? Your dad didn't get
along so well with his dad, just like you didn't get along so we'll
with him. Three generations of you Cormell men, butting heads."

"You've butted a few heads, yourself, Bea." "You know what it was?
The three of you were too much alike. Headstrong, cocky. Convinced
you knew better than anyone else."

"Sounds like you and Joanne."

"Where is that girl?" Bea asked fitfully. "She'll be here," he said,

mustering as much conviction as he could. "You need to get some rest
now."

"I don't have time to rest. Tell me about them, -Mathias. Tell me!"

"He'd call this a bad sign. She was wound up, fretful, talking a mile
a minute, sapping what little strength she did have left. But she
wanted stories, she wanted memories ... all the ones that Matt had
'tried to block out. But it seemed he hadn't done a very good job of
forgetting, because now the memories came at his reluctant bidding, as
fresh and vivid as if they'd happened only yesterday.

And so he told stories to his grandmother, stories about his family.
He picked through the memories as if they were shells he'd found on the
beach. The way his young sister, Holly, had liked to hang upside down
from the tree in the backyard ... the camping trips that always turned
into utter chaos his more swearing she'd never go on another one, but
of course she always did ... Aunt Sharon, coming to New Mexico to
recover from her divorce and falling in love at least three times while
she was there ... the secret code Holly and Paige devised for
communicating over the phone, always calling each other up
long-distance, behaving more like best friends than cousins... Each
story cost Matt, reminded him too well of what he'd lost. But each
seemed to lull Bee, until her eyelids drifted shut, and a smile Played
upon her timeworn face. Thinking her asleep, at last Matt stopped and
bent his head again. His throat burned, as if every word he'd spoken
had been a corrosive. Lord, he wanted to remember no more.

"It wasn't your fault, Mathias." Bea's voice was so faint, at first he
thought he'd only imagined it. But when he looked at her, he saw that
she'd opened her eyes. They were a luminous gray, filled with the
forgiveness he'd so long denied himself.

"I should have stopped it," he said, his throat raw now. "I should
have prevented him from going into that storm. But I gave in..."

"Nobody ever could stop your father when he set his mind to something.
He was stubborn, that boy."

"I should have been more stubborn. And I should have been flying that
plane, Even in the storm ... I could have brought us through." It was
his deepest accusation to himself. Without any false pride, he knew
he'd been a better pilot that his father. He should have been the one
at those controls.

"Mathias, your father always had to be the onein charge. He wouldn't
listen to anyone. I was his own mother, but I saw the flaws in him."
She lifted her gnarled hand and placed it against Matt's cheek. "You're
the one who's left," she said, her voice still faint but clear. "You're
the one who has to carry on. And Lisa is a very pretty girl."

"She isn't mine to have, Bee."

"Hush now." Her hand dropped back on the blanket. "Hush," she
repeated. And then her e. yes opened wide, a spasm of pain crossing
her face. "Oh, Matt--"

He knew immediately--another heart attack. But, even as he grabbed the
receiver from the phone and punched out Dr. Yount's number, he also
knew it was too late.

SEVERAL GUESTS milled about in Beatrice Con-nell's rose garden. Lisa
almost found it difficult to believe that this was officially a

funeral. A tea table had been set up under the red bud tree, with
plates of sandwiches and cookies---not to mention a gleaming silver
bowl filled with butterscotch candy. According to Matt, this was
exactly how Bee had wanted it: a very brief ceremony at the

church this morning, followed by the burial, and now what amounted to
a party in Bea's garden, with only the hostess herself absent.

Lisa had to hand it to the old woman, she'd known how to go out with
style. The gathering was restrained, the "guests" not quite able to
forget they were mourners, but the peaceful, fragrant atmosphere of the
garden offered a measure of comfort. Roses keep blooming--that was the
message Bea seemed to be conveying.

But there was one person, at least, who had not seemed to find comfort
in the day's events, and that was Matt. Lisa carried a full plate of
food out to the tea table, but did not see him anywhere, All morning he
had gone through the necessary motions, greeting people, serving as one
of the pallbearers, standing by the graveside. He had accomplished
every action smoothly, automatically. But Lisa had seen the taut set
of his shoulders, the lines of strain etching themselves deeper and
deeper into his face. He would not speak of his sorrow over Bea's
death, and that was what worried Lisa most of all.

Just then, Helene came across the lawn. Lisa watched her mother
approach, marveling as always that Helene had retained a fresh
attractiveness even though she'd passed seventy, her soft white hair
curled engagingly around her face.

Helene reached her and offered a cheek for Lisa's kiss. "How are you
holding up, dear?" the older woman asked.

"Fine," Lisa answered, realizing what a meaningless word that was,
conveying nothing of her inner turmoil. But a lifetime of habits could
not be broken. She still didn't know how to talk to her mother, how to
excavate beneath the surface.

"It's very kind of you to be here with Bea's grandson," Helene said.

Lisa gave her mother a sharp glance. Did Helene suspect that Lisa
harbored deeper feelings for Matt Connell? With Helene, it was
impossible to tell exactly what she was thinking.

"I'm glad you're here, too, Mom."

"Yes, well, Bea was a good friend..." Helene's voice trailed off. The
unspoken remained between them--the fact that Merrick wasn't here,
accompanying his wife. In the past, they would have been together on
such an occasion. Seeing them apart didn't seem natural.

"I have to ... go do some more things in the kitchen," Lisa said,
knowing how lame the excuse sounded.

"Of course, dear. I understand."

Lisa escaped into Bea's house, if such a thing could be called escape.

The place was so hot inside, every time Lisa walked through the door
she felt as if she were diving into a steamy tub of water. She
wandered into the kitchen, but there really wasn't anything to do
there. The ladies' auxiliary guild of Bea's church had provided more
than enough sandwiches. Lisa went through the rest of the house.

"Matt," she called softly. "Are you here?" She found him on the
second floor, coming down

the ladder from the attic, a cardboard box hooked under one arm.

"More of Bea's photographs," he said. "They keep coming out of the
woodwork. She asked me to organize them, but it's going to be a hell
of a job."

He led the way into one of the. spare bedrooms, where other boxes were
stacked on the floor. Matt set down this latest addition.

"I'll help you with the photographs later," she said. "We'll do it
together."

"I wouldn't ask that of you. It's my job." "You don't have to do
everything alone." "She'd been threatening to die for over a decade.
How was I to know she really meant it this time?"

"You couldn't have prevented this, Matt." Lisa went to him, put her
arms around him. And, all over again, Bea Connell's words echoed in
her mind. Don't let him push you away. Promise... "You couldn't have
prevented any of it," she said earnestly. "Oh, Matt, don't you see?
Bad things happen, it's true--terrible things, like that plane crash.
And yes, your grandmother dying. But don't punish yourself for being
the one who's left. They wouldn't punish you."

How desperately she wanted some sign that she'd offered him comfort. If
only he would put his arms around her, too, take what she offered. But,
when she lifted her head and gazed into his eyes, all she saw was the
great distance between them, as if Matt had gone someplace that no one
could ever reach. Certainly not Lisa.

AMY WAS DEFINITELY up to something. At first she insisted that all she
wanted was a little help packing some of the belongings in her beach
house. It seemed a reasonable request; she and Jon were looking for a
roomier place to purchase together, and Amy wanted to start getting
ready for the move. Why he suspicious just because she'd decided to
make it a family event? But Lisa was suspicious, and in no manner did
she feel up to a so-called family event. Ever since Bea Connell's
funeral yesterday, all Lisa had wanted to do was hide herself
somewhere. It seemed an agony, knowing she was in the same town as
Matt, but unable to be near him. Unable to reach his heart.

Now she drifted listlessly onto the deck of Amy's house. Her head
throbbed dully, her throat felt scratchy, she'd scarcely been able to
eat all day. She'd often warned her teenage wards that emotional
distress could manifest itself in physical symptoms. Never had she
believed that more than now. Resting her hands on the railing, she
gazed out over the gulf. It was impossibly beautiful, the aqua waters
shimmering in the sun. That was the problem with Hurricane Beach, the
tropical beauty here distorted your perceptions. It made you believe
in fairy tales, in happy endings where there could be none.

She heard the doorbell ring, voices murmuring from inside the house,
and then her father emerged

onto the deck. "Here's my Lissie," he said some what gruffly.

"Dad..."

He came to stand beside her at the railing. "Amy says you're feeling
under the weather."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Care to talk about it?" he asked in a casual voice. That was all it
took to make the tears start leaking from her eyes.

"Oh, Daddy..." The childhood name slipped out in spite of 'all her
efforts to hold it back. Merrick put his arm around her and brought
her close. How solid he felt. When she'd been a little girl, his bear
hugs had seemed capable of protecting her from any harm. But now she
was an adult, and she'd long since learned that her father was not
all-powerful. There were some things even he could not protect her
from.

She wiped the tears from her face. "I'll be okay," she said, trying to
keep her tone light. She didn't do a very good job of it.

"I'm a good listener, in spite of rumors to the contrary."

What would he say if he knew the truth about her? In her work, she'd
seen many different parental reactions to a daughter's pregnancy.
Disbelief, anger, recriminations. And, far too often, a splintering of
love. Even when families tried to rebuild, nothing was ever quite the
same as before.

"I'm okay," Lisa repeated. "You're the one I'm worried about, Dad."

"I'm okay, too," he said, his voice still gruff.

They shared a wry glance, and then a silence that was almost
companionable.

Amy poked her head out the sliding glass doors. "The rest of us are in
the living room. Come join us," she said too brightly. Lisa and her
father went back into the house. In the living room, Meg sat at one
end of the sofa, Jon occupied a chair.

"Everybody looks too comfortable," Merrick chided. "I thought we were
here to work. Amy, I'll start cleaning out that shed of yours. Who
knows how much junk you've accumulated in there."

Amy looked oddly guilty. "Actually, Dad... I do want to start packing
up some stuff. But not today. I just thought we could, you know, get
together as a family."

Merrick frowned. "What's this all about, Amy?"

Before she had a chance to answer, the doorbell rang again. Amy flew
to answer it--and Helene stepped into the house, looking jaunty in
white slacks and a plaid blouse.

"I don't have long, Amy, but you were so insistent--" Helene stopped in
mid-sentence as soon as she peered into the living room. Her gaze went
straight to Merrick. "What's this about?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Merrick growled. "Amy--"

Amy stood in the center of the room. "Before either of you goes
blustering off, just listen to me. I couldn't think of any other way
to get the two of you under the same roof. So, I lied. I told Dad I

needed some help packing, and I told Mom I just wanted a little chat.
Now here you are, and maybe you can finally sort out what's wrong
between the two of you!"

Meg and Lisa exchanged a glance. Jon looked momentarily rueful, but
then he went to stand be side his wife.

"Amy's right," he said. "It's time to get things out in the open."

That was true loyalty for you. Jou had obviously been in on this from
the beginning. The two of them were definitely going to do all
right.

It didn't appear that the same could be said for Helene and Merrick.
Helene took a step back toward the door.

"Your father and I have nothing to discuss."

"We'd have plenty to discuss," Merrick said, "If your mother would
behave according to logic."

"That's the way you always put it," Helene said icily. "You say you're
the logical one, I'm the emotional one. How easy that makes it for you
to dismiss my feelings."

"I've never dismissed anything, Helene. My whole life, all I've tried
to do is figure out what you want, and then give it to you."

"I don't want you to give me anything. When will you understand? I
have to be responsible for my own life--"

"Wait," Amy pleaded. "You're supposed to sit down and talk this out
like ... like friends."

Helene glanced at the other members of the family, as if suddenly
remembering their presence. Her cheeks turned pink. "This is a
mistake," she said. "These are private matters--"

"We all care about you," Amy insisted. "Mom, please, just listen. I
have a proposition. I'm only asking one thing. Move back in with Dad.
Give it one more chance."

Helene took another step toward the door. "Amy, this isn't the time or
place to discuss any of this."

Amy gripped Jon's hand, then turned and gave both of her sisters a
beseeching glance. Do your part, was the unmistakable message. Help
me out with this. But Lisa couldn't think of a single thing to say.
Her own life was in such a mess, what could she possibly do to
straighten out her parents? But Meg, at last, stirred.

"I think I know what Amy's trying to do," she said reluctantly. "She
wants us to have a sort of family intervention. We're all gathered
here, and we're all supposed to make the two of you... confront
reality." Meg didn't sound particularly thrilled with the idea, but
Amy latched on to it.

"Yes, that's it exactly. A family intervention. Mom, give me three
good reasons why you can't move back into Sea Haven. Think of the
arrangement as something temporary, if you have to. But shouldn't you
give it one more chance?"

"I don't owe you any explanations," Helene said with dignity.

"That's been the problem with this family all along," Amy argued. "We
don't give each other

explanations. We hide, we try to pretend that everything's just fine.
Maybe it's time for a change."

"Yes, tell them the truth, Helene," said Merrick. "Tell them how this
whole damn thing started the scheme you hatched for getting our
daughters back together."

Helene's expression seemed to waver. "All I wanted was the three of
you back in Hurricane Beach again. My little girls, united."

"I never should have gone along with it," Merrick said harshly.
"Pretending we had marital difficulties so our daughters would find a
joint cause for worry. We've given them something to worry about, all
right."

Lisa sank into the nearest chair, hardly believing what she'd heard.
"You mean--all of this--it was just a plot to get Meg and me back in
town?"

"I guess it worked," Amy said in a dazed voice. "I sounded the alarm
as soon as I saw the two of you having trouble. At least, I thought
you were having trouble."

"It's all a joke, then?" Meg asked, her own voice conveying utter
disbelief.

"The joke is on us," Merrick said grimly. "Maybe it started out as a
pretense, but now it's all too real. Your mother actually does want
this separation."

Helene put a hand to her throat. "You're giving me no choice're "Our
daughters want an explanation. They want

"I've tried over and over to tell you the truth!

For fifty years, all that's mattered to you is control, Merrick. Having
a woman who fits your picture of the perfect, compliant wife."

"You talk about being responsible for your own life. Do you even know
what that means? All along you've been playing a foolish, childish
game. First you pretend our marriage is in trouble. Then you pretend
you can start life all over again"

"Don't belittle me! You always do that, Merrick. But I won't let you
anymore."

"Is that why you walked out on me, afraid you can't stand up for
yourself if I'm around? Are you a coward, Helene?"

"No, you're the coward! You're afraid to admit you might have made
some mistakes, that you're actually human like the rest of us. That

maybe you haven't been the perfect husband, the perfect father."

"It takes a hell of a lot more to be independent than renting some
cheap apartment. But you haven't figured that out yet, have you,
Helene?"

Lisa wanted to clap her hands over her ears. She scarcely recognized
her parents' voices harsh accusing, hateful. She felt as if she were
witnessing two strangers lash out at each other. But no, not two
strangers. Rather, two people who knew each other's sore spots, each
other's vulnerabilities, and now were taking full advantage of that
knowledge. Lisa no longer wished that her parents would open up.
Quite desperately, she wanted things to go back to the way it had been
before. The politeness, the kind, considerate words, even the
superficial words.

The doorbell rang again, almost a shattering sound in the tense
atmosphere of the room.

"I'll get it," said Jori, Clearly relieved to have something physical
to do.

As Jon opened the front door, Lisa could see all too clearly who stood
on Amy's porch ... the suave real estate developer, Palmer Boyce.

"Hello," he said pleasantly, peering around Jon. "Helene asked me to
pick her up here."

"This isn't a good time," Jon said tersely.

"I could've sworn she asked me to be here at three-fifteen"

"Beat it," said Jon.

"Let him in," said Helene, her voice shaking only the slightest bit. "I
did ask him to pick me up. Palmer has invited me to go sailing with
him,

and I accepted." She gazed defiantly at Merrick. "Sailing," he echoed
with a scowl. "Yes, sailing."

Palmer slipped past Jon and stepped inside the house. Elegantly turned
out, as always, he wore a navy double-breasted blazer that made him
look vaguely like a ship's captain.

"Ah, a family get-together," he said, smiling at everyone in turn. "I'm
sorry to interrupt, sorry also that I can't invite all of you along.
Not enough room, unfortunately. My boat doesn't qualify as a yacht,
much as I'd like're Palmer didn't get a Chance to say another word.
Without warning, Merrick took a purposeful stride toward him. Palmer
moved backward, ending up sprawled on the sofa next to Meg. He looked
startled. So did Helene. Merrick just looked satisfied.

"Damned if my wife will go sailing with you, Boyce."

Palmer straightened, somehow still managing to look elegant. He rose
slowly to his feet, and gave a gallant bow in Helene's direction.

"I have a feeling our outing. has been... delayed." Then he glanced
at Merrick. "Let's just say I get your point," he remarked. "But I
will tell you one thing, Mr. Hardaway, my relationship with your wife
has been strictly on a friendly basi. You're a very lucky man.
Spending time in Hele-he's company has only demonstrated to me what I
have missed in my own life. Now, if you will excuse me, I think it's
best if I leave." He walked out of the house. It was, admittedly, an
impressive exit, but Privately Lisa thought her father had come off the
better of the two. Merrick looked formidable, ready to eliminate any

other rivals for Helene's affections.

If Helene had been swayed by Menick's fervor, she didn't show it.
Instead, she merely tilted her chin and faced her husband with
dignity.

"Perhaps my living in some cheap apartment, aa you put it, isn't the
solution to our problems. But bullying Palmer isn't the solution,
either. Now, I think I'd like to spend a little time on my own,
without any intervention from my family." That said, Helene turned and
made an impressive exit of her own.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Amy delivered Meg and Lisa to the Tallahassee
airport. Lisa's flight to Connecticut would be leaving first; an hour
or so later, Meg would board-a plane for Nebraska. Amy looked forlorn
as she helped her sisters bring their luggage inside the airport.

"When it comes right down to it, Mom meant well," she said. "Okay, so
it's reckless to pretend you have marital problems when you don't, but
her plan did work. The two of you started coming back to Hurricane
Beach more and more."

"You keep forgetting something," Meg told her. "Mom and Dad really are
having problems. It didn't stay a pretense for very long."

"I know," Amy said. "It's rotten, but at least the three of us--we're
closer, aren't we?" She looked hopefully from Meg to Lisa. Then her
expression clouded again. "Oh, Lissie, when I think what you've been
through. Because of Matt Con-nell..."

Lisa gave Meg a stern glance. "You told her, didn't you? Every
detail, I'm sure. Oh, Lord, who else did you tell? Mom and Dad--"

"Calm down," Meg said in her big-sister voice.

"Of course I didn't tell anyone else. Amy's the only one, and she had
to know. For once, the three of us are going to stick together on
something. Besides, I had to tell her. I slapped the man at her
wedding reception, didn't I? The least I could do was give an
explanation."

"It was certainly a memorable moment," Amy conceded. "Too bad the
photographer wasn't able to catch it on film."

"Maybe I went too far," Meg said. "But all I could think about was
Lisa ... hardly more than a kid, and having to go through all that on
her own, and now he's still making her unhappy."

"That's it," Lisa said. "End of discussion." She felt vulnerable. Now
both her sisters knew all her secrets. But already Amy was enveloping
her in a hug.

"I just wish you could be with someone like Patrick," Amy said.
"Someone who wouldn't hurt you."

"I agree," said Meg, stepping up and making herself part of the hug.
The three sisters stood in a little cluster, and Lisa remembered what
she'd felt like as a kid, adoring Meg and Amy, wanting to be exactly
like them, thrilled at all the fuss and attention they paid to her. Yet
now she was the first to pull away.

"You guys, you've been great," she said awkwardly.

"You're the one who's been great," Amy said. "The way you went and
talked to Jon's parents, well, all I can say is they seem convinced
about

Jon and me. They've invited us for dinner tomorrow night--they're
treating me just like family again."

"That's wonderful," Lisa said, and she meant it. But right now she had
to pull away from family closeness. It reminded her too much of what
Matt couldn't give her.

"I just have to get out of Hurricane Beach. I don't think ... I won't
be coming back for a while. Maybe not for a long time."

Amy looked mournful. "Lissie..."

"I have to go. Justhanks for everything." She knew she was doing
exactly what their mother too often did, concealing her emotions,
hiding behind polite words. But one last, tiny hope flickered inside
her. She turned and glanced all around the crowded airport, as if
seeking out his face. It still wasn't too late, he could come to
her.

But, of course, he wasn't here. It wasn't like in the movies, where
the hero comes dashing in and sweeps the heroine into his arms just as
the plane is about to leave. No ... Lisa knew full well that she would
be climbing onto that plane and flying I Connecticut--no Matt Connell
to stop her.

She gave each of her sisters another quick hug, and then she turned
before they could see the tears blurring her eyes.

THE READING of Bea's will didn't take long. It seemed the old gal had
known exactly what she wanted to say, and had said it in as few words
as possible. Bea always had been one to get right to the point.

Afterward, Matt stepped outside the lawyer's office. It was late
afternoon, and the gulf breeze had cooled, drifting over him with its
soothing touch. But Matt had long forgotten what it felt like to be
soothed. He didn't see that changing anytime soon.

Joanne came out of the lawyer's office next. "She surprised you,
didn't she, Matt? Well, she surprised me, too. What could our dear,
departed grandmother have been thinking?"

Joanne seemed to be making a special effort to sound callous about Bea.
She'd given no excuses for her absence from town--her neglect to show
up even at Bea's funeral. But, sure enough, she'd surfaced once it was
time to read the will.

It had been a surprise, the way Bea had left things. She'd stipulated
that ownership of the brass-works be divided evenly between her two
surviving grandchildren, Matt and Joanne. As to why, Matt didn't have
a clue. Bea had rightfully feared that Joanne was ruining. the
company. And hadn't Bea realized that joint ownership would only

create more havoc? Listen to Jo now.

"Why didn't our wonderful grandmother just leave the whole thing to
you?" she muttered. "This way, it's only a humiliation. Fifty
percent--that doesn't give me any real power."

"It gives you as much power as I have," Matt said. "And Jo, Bea wanted
to talk to you before she died. She did care about you--"

"Save it, Matt. She had it in for me until the

very end. And the way she left her will is a joke. Too bad I can't
figure out the punch line." With that, Joanne walked away.

Matt felt a weariness seep through him. It was more than the perpetual
soreness in his knees, more than the way his body still seemed to
fight-him every time he moved. It was a weariness of spirit.

Joanne had seemed determined to destroy the brass works and now she was
complaining because she only owned half of it. That made about as much
sense as Bea's will. Right now, Matt didn't want to think about
Joanne, or the brass works Most of all, he didn't want to think about
Lisa Hardaway. Beautiful, alluring Lisa, with her cool gaze and her
hidden passion.

Matt got his sore knees moving. He crossed Gulfview Lane and headed
onto the beach. The white sands glittered underneath the sun, and the
waves surged against the shore in their timeless rhythm. He saw a sand
crab skitter away, while the seagulls swooped high above. He kept
walking, but nothing could stop the thoughts of Lisa, surging over him
as relentlessly as the tide. The need for her wouldn't leave him. But
it was a need he had no right to fulfill.

And that was what kept him from Lisa. The conviction that he no longer
had the right to take what he wanted.

THE LATE-AFTERNOON SUN shone like bronze upon the sailboat. Merrick
stood at the helm, baseball cap pulled low to shade his eyes, his
strong frame outlined in old khaki trousers and a navy T-shirt. In
Helene's experience, men always had some favorite item of clothing they
refused to discard, no matter how disreputable it might become.
Merrick's khaki trousers belonged in this category. Helene couldn't
even begin to say what vintage they were, but he insisted on dragging
them out every time they went sailing. Of course, he and Helene hadn't
sailed together in quite some time. Merrick had obviously been upset
when he'd learned that Palmer Boyce had invited Helene to sail 'with
him. He'd called Helene on the phone two days later and gruffly
invited her on this outing.

She'd almost refused him, unable to forget the terrible things they'd
said to each other at Amy's so-called family intervention. But then,
at last, she'd been unable to resist the pull of what they'd once
shared. She'd agreed to come with Merrick today, not heeding her own
misgivings.

Now she sat on a bench near Merrick, listening to the snap of the wind
in the canvas, watching the shimmering blue-green waters of the gulf as
they lapped against the hull.

"You were the one who said we should take up sailing together," Merrick
said. "Do you rem em-berT'

"How can I forget? It always makes me feel so ... free. As if I can
take off for anywhere. Enchanted ports, tropical islands..."

"Sounds like you want to find some paradise that doesn't exist," he
said grudgingly.

"That's me," she answered in a low voice. "Wanting too much."

"I suppose you're thinking about your acting career," he said heavily.
"Wishing you'd done more. '

She turned away. Of course she wished she'd done more, wished she'd
been brave enough to find out if she'd had what it took to be a real
actress. But she was realistic enough to know that she couldn't turn
back the clock. "It's more complicated than that, Merrick. Taking
responsibility for my own life ... yes, that's complicated. But if
you're going to tell me I'm just making some foolish bid for
independence, I won't listen--"

"I didn't bring you here to argue."

"Why, then?"

He didn't answer at first. But then he murmured, "Do you remember the
year we won the regatta?"

How well she remembered. What an adventure they'd had, the whole
family celebrating the victory. She and Merrick always had sailed well
together--he as captain, of course, she as obliging crew. "My memory
isn't gone, Merrick. What's this all about?"

"I thought we could talk about it," he said. "The good times we
had."

She could feel herself tensing. "I've never denied that we had good
times. What are you trying to do--"

"Humor me. Pick a time ... any time. Tell me about it."

She breathed in the salty air of the gulf, and she did remember. "The
day I found out I was pregnant with Meg, after all our years of wishes
and hopes and disappointments. The cake you brought home from the
bakery, to celebrate--"

"And all the balloons," he said.

"All the balloons you blew up, and set free in the house. I kept
coming across them in odd corners. '

"I ran out of breath," he said. "Ever try to blow up a hundred
balloons?"

"We were so happy that day." How naturally they'd passed the story
back and forth between them, like a family treasure they'd brought out
to admire.

"Pick another time," Merrick said, the wind stirring his fringe of hair

until Helene wanted to touch it herself. She curled her fingers in her
lap.

"I don't think this is such a good idea. What's the use?"

"Maybe there isn't any. But pick one."

"The day you came home and I was almost hysterical from taking care of
three little girls ... I thought I must be a terrible 'mother not to
adore every single minute with them. And you told me I'd be crazy if I
did adore every single minute. And you were the one who found a
baby-sitter. You took me out to dinner, and then we went dancing, just
the two of us."

Merrick gazed at her. "Let's not throw it all away, Helene. All the
memories. Maybe Amy has the right idea. We should move back in
together,

just as a trial run. Just to see if we can work it out."

"No," she said. "Not all the memories are good. Too much has always
been on your terms. I let you make all the decisions. You wanted us
both to give up our acting careers, and I agreed--"

"It always comes back to that," he said grimly. "After all these
years, you still blame me."

"No, I blame myself. I hid behind you, Merrick. That was a lot easier
than putting myself on the line, a lot easier than finding out whether
or not I really could be a good actress. That way, I didn't have to
take responsibility, not even for my own happiness."

A gull wheeled overhead, its cry a mournful lament that made Helene
shiver in spite of the hot summer day. Then Merrick spoke again.

"I'm just asking you to give it one more try. After fifty years of
marriage, don't you think that's fair?"

She lifted her head. "I can't go back to the way things were. I can't
hide behind you anymore. I've changed, Merrick. Can you change?"

He gave her a long, hard look, his expression stubborn. "I've been a
good husband to you, Helene. And now I'm not going to make any pat
promises just to get you back home. But I will try ... try to listen,
try to understand. I want to be part of your new life, as well as the
old."

Merrick never had been one to make promises he couldn't keep. He
seemed reluctant to make promises now. If she moved back home, maybe
she'd only find out just how deeply her marriage was in trouble. But
for the first time, Merrick had said he was at least willing to try.
Was that enough to give them one last chance?

Helene felt bruised deep inside, as if every part of her life had been
shaken up and would never fit together again. Yet she managed to speak
with surprising steadiness. "I'll come home, Merrick, for a while, at
least. Only it has to be under certain conditions ... separate
bedrooms, for one thing. I still need some distance from you."

The look on Merdck's face said he didn't like this idea at all. But
then he surprised Helene. "Fine," he said. "Separate bedrooms." And,
far overhead, a gull sent out another mournful lament.

JULIE DOUGLAS STOOD at the very top of the staircase in Brennan House.
She wore her bridal gown: a rather awful confection of pink rayon that
billowed over her stomach. Julie's mother had insisted that the dress
couldn't be white--a color reserved for real brides. When Mrs. Douglas
had made that remark, Lisa had lost her temper. She'd wanted to slap
the woman. What would Meg have had to say about that? The Hardaway

sisters were starting to show a real talent for getting their
aggressions out in the open.

Nonetheless, Lisa had managed to control herself. And now Julie began
descending the staircase, one step at a time, gripping the railing as
she came. She did not look anything like the nervous but happy bride
of tradition.

Lisa could not escape the contrast to her sister's wedding. Amy had
been nervous, all right, but she'd also been deeply and wonderfully in
love. She'd gone willingly, joyously to her groom. Lisa had no doubt
that Jon and Amy were meant for each other. Yet she doubted very much
if that was true of Julie Douglas and the boy who had impregnated her
with twins.

Lisa stood at the bottom of the stairway, wishing she could do
anything--anything at all--to stop Julie. But Mrs. Douglas also stood
beside Lisa, waiting to take Julie off. The wedding was scheduled to
take place in a small town in the middle of nowhere, as anonymously as
possible. No guests, no celebration, just a minister, two frightened
teenagers and a mother dead set on making her daughter pay for her
mistakes.

Julie took one step, then another. She glanced down toward the bottom
of the staircase. Her gaze caught Lisa's. Lisa tried to smile, tried
to send this young girl a silent message of support. She'd already
spent a lot of time talking to Julie, comforting her, encouraging her
to examine her feelings and decide at least a few things on her own.
But, no matter what Lisa said, it didn't seem to make any difference.

"Can't you hurry up?" asked Mrs. Douglas. "I don't want to be late.
You're not going to mess this up."

Julie stopped halfway to the bottom. She looked at her mother. The
glassy expression in her eyes seemed to clear. "No," she said very
firmly and very clearly.

"What do you mean, no?" demanded Mrs. Douglas. "We don't have all
day for this, Julie."

"No," Julie repeated. She held on to the stair railing with one hand,
and placed her other hand on her stomach. "I'm not getting married."

"Julie " Mrs. Douglas started to go up the steps toward her
daughter.

"Stop." There was something so cold and decisive about Julie's voice
that Mrs. Douglas actually did just that. She stopped.

"I won't do it," Julie said. "I won't get married." She stood very
tall and straight, in spite of her ungainly stomach. "I'm going to
give up my babies for adoption. I'm going to find parents who will
take care of them, and who'll love them." Julie's face twisted a
little then, but she kept right on talking. "After that, I'm going to
college, Morn. If you won't help me, I'll do it on my own. But I'm
going to college, and law school."

At last Mrs. Douglas spoke. "You don't know what you're saying,
Julie. Now, come on down here, and---"

"I know exactly what I'm saying."

"What about your responsibility--"

"I am taking responsibility," Julie said in that cold, hard voice that
seemed grown-up far beyond her years. "I'm doing what's best for the
babies.

And I'm doing what's best for me."

"Julie, you come right here--"

Julie paid no attention to her mother. Instead,

very carefully, she turned around and began climbing upward again. She
moved slowly, and despite the ridiculous gown, she achieved an odd sort
of dignity.

Lisa blinked against the tears that were always too ready to leak out
these days. She was proud of Julie--very proud. She knew what an
incredibly difficult decision this young girl had just made.

Mrs. Douglas, suddenly powerless to control her own daughter, turned
on Lisa. "This is your fault," she accused. "You've put these foolish
ideas in her head."

"I only advised her to follow her own heart," Lisa said calmly.

Once again, Mrs. Douglas seemed to have reached a stop. She didn't
seem capable of saying another word. She had lost the upper hand, and
she appeared to realize it. Today her teenage daughter had all too
quickly become an adult.

The heaviness inside Lisa lifted just a little. Julie did not have an
easy time ahead, but she had taken charge of her life. That was
something important, something significant. Today was one of those
times when Lisa's work actually seemed to make sense. Oh, Matt, if
only you were here, and I could share this moment with you.

But then the heaviness settled back inside Lisa, and she felt the ache
that never seemed to leave.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Lisa pulled into her driveway, dismayed to see
Patrick sitting on her front stoop. He held a bouquet of red roses in
his hand, and he wore a hopeful expression on his face as Lisa climbed
out of her car and approached him,

"I hope roses aren't too obvious a choice," he said. "I spent a long
time in the flower shop, considering my options."

Carrying her briefcase, which suddenly seemed a heavy weight all in
itself, she came up the walk and then sank onto the steps beside
Patrick.

"You look fired, Lisa," he said. "I have an idea, let me take you out
to dinner. How about the Sun-downer? That's where we had our first
date, remember?"

Lisa only gazed at him. And, at last, his overly cheerful expression
began to fade.

"You really have it bad for the guy, don't you?" She wanted to lie,
wanted to say that she'd be over Matt in no time. But she didn't have
any energy for self-deception.

"Yes," she said. "It's pretty bad."

Patrick didn't try to probe her emotions any more than that. He set
the roses down, very care? fully, as if he did not want to bruise
them. "You know, Lisa," he said in a quiet voice, "when we were down
there visiting your family, and you ran into your old boyfriend, I
didn't want to be the usual jealous type. I figured you just had to be
around Matt Connell a few times and you'd see your feelings for what
they were--some fantasy left over from the past. I kept telling myself
that sooner or later you'd see that. I just had to help you along..."
He gave an ironic laugh. "But the

joke's on me, isn't it? Because I helped you right into the guy's
arms."

"I'm sorry, Patrick. I really am. If only you knew...! wish we could
have worked it out." No doubt her sisters were right--Patrick wasn't
the kind of man who'd wind up hurting a woman. "The woman who ends up
with you will be a lucky person," she said. "Oh, you'll drive her a
little crazy, the way you'll always tell her what she's feeling before
she knows it ... but, still, she'll be very lucky."

Patrick stood, regarding her without a hint of a smile. "It's not that
easy, Lisa. Hasn't it ever occurred to you? The way you feel about
Matt Con-nell, maybe that's exactly the way I feel about you."

She wouldn't wish that on anyone. "Please, don't--"

"Hey, don't worry. I finally got the message. I won't be back. I'm
Dead-bolt Dannon, remember? I know when I don't have a lock on things
anymore." There it was, a flash of the old humor--Patrick, his
self-deprecation endearing, but never letting you forget that
underneath was a man who took himself and his feelings very seriously
indeed. If he said that he cared for you, then he genuinely did.

Lisa watched him walk away, and wished with all her heart that it could
have been different. She wished that she could have loved a man
willing to accept her. Instead, as Patrick vanished from view she sat
on her front steps, alone except for the bouquet of red roses beside
her. Alone ... and hurting.

THE ENGINE REVVED, vibrating through the small plane. During the past
few weeks since Bea's death, Matt had spent almost all his time
finishing the restoration job on the old Stinson. Both wings finally
intact, it had been something of an exercise in trigonometry to get the
plane out of the barn. Now it taxied down the abandoned road next to
the barn, a road used by the plane's former owner as a runway. Matt
was inaugurating it as a runway all over again, about to embark on his
first test flight of the Stinson.

He wasn't in the air yet, though. He could still cut the engine, still
call this off. He felt the sweat begin to trickle down his forehead.
Today was an unusually cool day for a Florida summer, but still a film
of perspiration dampened his face, his back. The images flashed before
him, like a movie reel going too fast: the faces of his mother, his
sister, his aunt and cousin, as his father crashed the plane into the
ground.

Now, as if observing someone else, Matt watched himself open the
throttle. The plane gained speed as the engine revved higher. But it
still wasn't too late. He didn't have to do this, didn't have to
confront the images that surely belonged only in his nightmares. He
could stay on the ground, just as he had during the past five years.

Why change now?

He felt a tightening in his gut, a sick sensation,

and now the sweat seemed to drench him. He pushed the throttle full
open, and the plane lifted, heading into the wind. Matt was too
anxious, forcing the climb. Easy. There's no way to get this over
quickly And then, suddenly, Matt didn't want it oYer quickly. He felt
the air take the plane, felt it buoy him. A remembered sensation from
long ago came over him, a feeling of rightness that swept away
everything else. It was as if a fever had just broken, leaving him
damp and tired but healthy. Suspended in the sky, he felt at home.

"Did it," he uttered under his breath. He eased back in his seat, only
now realizing how knotted his muscles had been. He took a deep,
relaxing breath, and it seemed to him that it had been years since he'd
breathed this way retaking the air full into his lungs, savoring it,
actually permitting himself to enjoy a moment without questions or
self-recriminations.

Was it really this simple? All he'd needed was to be up in the sky
again, riding the air like a kite? But he knew, of course, it wasn't
that simple. It was only that he got a little better perspective up
here. Coming back to Hurricane Beach at Bea's request, seeing Lisa
again ... these events had started him on a voyage he hadn't been able
to discern until now. Where the voyage would end--that was something
else entirely. Recognizing that he was actually on his way somewhere,
not just marking time one day to the next... that was enough for now.

Matt knew he would return from this flight safe and sound today. Just
as he knew, if he'd been flying that plane five years ago, he would
have returned his own family safe and sound. For the first time, this
knowledge didn't tear a hole in him. He felt a great sadness, and yes,
great regret. But he also looked out the windshield of his old Stinson
bush plane, and he saw how clear the sky was, seeming to stretch all
the way into the future.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

STRANGE HOW CEMETERIES were usually places of such lush beauty trees
and grass softening the stark lines of the gravestones. Maybe all the
greenery was a testament to hope, a stubborn assertion that life must
continue. Matt didn't know. He just stood beside the vine-covered
gate at Hurricane Beach's one small cemetery, and watched as his cousin
Joanne knelt to put a fresh bunch of daisies and carnations on her
mother's grave. She put another bunch on her sister's grave, then
turned and spotted Matt.

"What are you doing here?" she asked resentfully.

"They're my family, too," he answered in a quiet voice. "And I happen
to know you come here every Sunday, Jo."

"What of it?" She was as prickly as always, even here in this peaceful
setting.

"Bea probably wouldn't mind a few flowers, even though you were both
too pigheaded to see how alike you were."

"You always do have a way with words," Joanne muttered. She
straightened and gazed across at Bea's headstone, placed neatly side by
side with Grandpa Connell's.

"You loved her, too. Otherwise you wouldn't be so ticked off at
her."

"You don't know a damn thing about what I feel, Matt."

"I know how much you miss them," he said, trying hard to ignore his
cousin's attitude. "Paige, and your mother. I miss them, too. Maybe
it's something we share."

Joanne sank back down beside her mother's grave, hands clenched. "I
don't want to share anything with you."

"Maybe you don't have a choice. I've been thinking about it a lot the
last few days, Jo. The way you've seemed bound and determined to
destroy your own life. Drinking too much, alienating everyone around
you, finally trying to ruin the brass works along with everything else
that's one way to grieve. I chose another---shutting myself off. But
I have it on good authority that I ought to stop punishing myself.
Because that's what I've been doing. Punishing myself for being the
survivor..."

Joanne bent her head, as if to protect herself from his words. He
expected another scathing remark from her, but instead her voice came
in a jagged rise and fall.

"I was supposed to go on that trip with all of you. I only changed my
mind at the last minute, just so I could be with a guy I thought I was
in

love with. So I stayed. I didn't go with my family..."

Matt understood at last. "Sounds like you've been punishing yourself,
too," he said. "For surviving."

She stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. '-"I should have died. Not
Paige. Not my little sister."

Matt took a step closer. "But you didn't die, Jo. You and I, we're
the ones left, and we have to make the best of it. For their sake, we
have to do it. So, here's what I think. For a while after the crash,
you tried to go on just as before--you tried to keep everything
together. But grief has a way of getting the upper hand sometimes. So
eventually you went on self-destruct, and you tried to take the brass
works down with you. Maybe you just wanted to prove to Bea that you
didn't deserve to be one of the survivors. Who knows. But you loved
the brass works when you were a kid, and I suspect you still love it,
in spite of everything."

She scowled at him. "Stop trying to tell me how I feel, Matt."

"Here's the deal," he went on inexorably. "We're going to start over.
This is how it'll work from now on. You're going to handle the
day-to-day running of the company. I'll be a silent partner. But I'll
remain silent only if you stop alienating everybody, stop firing people
who've been working for us their entire lives."

"Hold on--"

Matt continued to ignore her. "No selling off of company property, not
to Palmer Boyce, not to anyone. Start proving you're a good manager
again, Jo. I know you have it in you--once you decide to start living
instead of punishing. It can be done. I know ... because I've decided
to give myself a second chance."

He couldn't tell if he was getting through to Joanne. She just stared
at him, and more than ever he saw the similarities with Bea--the same
intractable expression, the same belligerent set to the jaw.

"The bottom line is, Bea did leave you half the company." He walked
over to his grandmother's grave, and regarded the earth that still
appeared fresh and dark, the grass not yet beginning to grow here.
"Much as she carped and complained about you, Jo, she must have loved
you underneath it all," he murmured. "Why else split the ownership
straight down the middle? And maybe she had a plan in mind, too. Maybe
she figured that if the two of us had to go on wrangling over the
brass-works, we finally would start acting like family."

"That's only speculation," Joanne said with ill grace. "She was a
nasty old woman. And my fifty percent says I can fight you, Matt. I
don't have to agree to Your terms."

"You have a couple of choices," he said. "Fight me and I'll be at the
brass works every day, making your life miserable. Start living again,
and I really will be a silent partner."

"Damn you, Matt. I don't want this. I want to hate you ... that's
what I really want." Her voice ended in a whisper.

"Sure, you can go on hating me. Or you can finally forgive me for
being a survivor--just like you."

She didn't say anything. She stayed where she was, kneeling among the
graves for a very long while. Matt didn't speak, he just waited. And
at-last she stood again, facing him. Her expression was brittle.

"You really will be a silent partner?" she asked.

"As long as you keep up your part of the bargain, I'll keep up mine."

Joanne hesitated, but then gave a brusque nod. "Deal." She seemed
ready to let it go at that, but

Matt stuck out his hand,

"Let's shake on it."

Joanne looked disgusted, but she did take his hand, and then, briefly,
they shared an awkward hug. Then she turned away from him. "I did
come here for some privacy," she said pointedly. "See you later,
Matt."

He supposed he couldn't expect much more from her, at least for now.
But they had a beginning, and that was enough.

Now Matt had to take a step toward one more new beginning ... the most
important beginning of all.

SOMEONE WAS KNOCKING at Lisa's front door two low raps, one right after
the other. The sound intruded vaguely. Lisa glanced at her
wristwatch, surprised to see that it was almost seven-thirty. The
evening had flown with blessed quickness. She'd engrossed herself in
paperwork for a grant application. She hadn't touched a cent of Matt's
money yet. Finances were getting pretty tight at Brennan House, but
that was the way it had to be. She'd go on filling out grant
applications, and look for other sources of funding as best she could.
Anything so she wouldn't be dependent on Matt. Perhaps the man haunted
her dreams, and every waking moment of her life, but that didn't mean
she had to take his money.

Someone knocked at her front door again--those two quick raps. "I'm
coming, I'm coming," she muttered, pushing her chair back from her
desk. It was probably only a salesman of some sort. Certainly no one
else would come calling, these days Lisa had virtually no social life.
She crossed her living room, went to the door and looked through the
peephole.

There he stood on her porch ... Matt Connell. She blinked, and looked
again. No, there couldn't be any doubt. It was him. Suddenly Lisa
felt the way she did just after a run--trying to catch her breath while

her pulse raced and her body tingled.

She leaned against the doorjamb for a moment. And then, fingers
trembling, she undid both locks and swung the door open.

"Hello, Matt," she said, proud of the casual tone in her voice.

"Hello, Lisa," he said. He was wearing jeans and one of his soft faded
shirts, the kind you wanted to run your hands over. His dark hair was
swept back from his forehead, as if the gulf breeze

had just had its way with him. But Florida was a thousand miles away,
give or take.

"It's a long drive," she said, and then wondered why her heart couldn't
stop this ridiculous thudding.

"This time I flew," he said. "That old Stinson is a real pleasure in
the air."

"That's great," she said. "I'm happy for you, Matt. I'm glad you
restored your plane, and that you're flying again. That really is
great. But I'd still like to know what you're doing here ... on my
doorstep."

"I've just been a damn fool, Lisa. That's what I'm doing here. I love
you!"

"Oh ... well..." Her voice sounded strange... wobbly. "Could you ...
um, repeat that?"

"I love you." His own voice was husky, his eyes darkening even as he
gazed at her.

"In that case, I guess you'd better come in." Because at last she saw
it--that look in his eyes. The one she'd wanted to see for so long.
The look of a 'man in love

Only one second later, and she was in his arms, pressed close to him,
her mouth hungrily seeking his. They kissed as if it were the first
time. No, better than the first time. Lisa was no longer an awkward
sixteen-year-old, Matt was no longer a cocky eighteen-year-old boy.
They were a man and a woman who needed each other, and who weren't
afraid to show it.

They showed it now, all right--with breathless murmurs of endearment,
with one intoxicating kiss after another. At last they landed on the
sofa, still tangled in each other's arms.

"Oh, Matt ... I love you, too." Lisa felt as if she had just laid down
a heavy burden. If Matt weren't holding her, she might float right off
the ground for joy.

"Lisa ... I'm damn sorry for what I put you through."

"You did take an awfully long time getting up here to ConnecticUt."

Tenderly he smoothed the hair back from her face, his touch warm
against her cheek. "I meant, all those years ago, when I left you.
Expecting a baby..."

"It was pretty bad," she admitted. "The worst part was wondering if I

had somehow caused the miscarriage..."

"Our child," he said, and she heard the sorrow in his voice. "Lisa,
when you told me about it, at first all I could do was blame myself.
All I could do was tell myself that it was one more way I'd failed,
one' more way I'd messed up. I'd left you all on your own, expecting a
child. Thinking about it, I raked myself over the coals pretty
thoroughly."

She ran her hand over his well-worn shirt. The material was as soft as
she'd imagined, but underneath she felt the strength of his muscles.
Matt Connell ... a strong man indeed, one who knew how to endure. But
maybe it was time he learned about happiness, too. "I suspect you've
punished yourself enough," she murmured.

"That's just it. I got up there in that bush plane,

surrounded by sky... and I figured a few things out. Such as the fact
that I had a choice. I could go on blaming myself, telling myself that
I didn't deserve you ... or I could try to start over. Do it right
this time."

She traced a finger over one of his eyebrows. '"I think we already
have a good start."

He framed her face with both hands and kissed her again. That was fine
with her. As far as she was concerned, all the words had been said.
But when it came to kissing, you couldn't have too much of that, not
when the man of your dreams had come to you at last. But Matt, once a
person of few words, seemed to have plenty more to say.

"Here's the thing, Lisa. Bea left me fifty percent of the brass works
but Joanne's going to run the place. And that means I'm going to have
some time on my hands. Lots of time."

"I have a good idea," she murmured, twining her hands around his neck,
and bringing his lips close to hers again.

He gave her another lingering kiss, but then he went right on
talking--making up for lost time, she supposed.

"Lisa, I spent too many years away from airplanes. That's what I've
always loved--flying. And I have an idea I'd like to teach flying,
too. I'd set up my own school, right here in Danfield, maybe."

She heard the excitement in his voice, the enthusiasm. "Matt, it
sounds wonderful. I'll be your first student. With you, maybe even I
could learn to love flying--"

"There's more."

"More?"

"Lots more. Bea left her house in Hurricane Beach to me. I can't
picture living there ... it has too many memories for a new beginning,
I guess. But it's a pretty big place--it could hold quite a few
teenagers who need a temporary home." He smiled somewhat wryly. "Of
course, we'd have to get an air-conditioning system put in."

She grinned. "You really do have big plans for us, don't you? It's a
wonderful idea, Matt, but I don't know if I'm ready for Hurricane Beach
again. not just yet, anyway. If we could just start here, in Danfield
it so happens there's a house on Highland Drive. It's been sitting
empty for a little while, but I think that's where we should start our
branching out. Brennan House Number Two."

He gazed at her seriously. "You really will accept my help now?"

"The way I look at it, things have changed dramatically. You and I,
we're going to be a team from now on. Share and Share alike."

That seemed all he needed to hear. But a shadow crossed his face for
an instant. "Lisa, I wish I could share this moment with my family.
I'll always miss them and I'll always regret that I couldn't save
them."

"And I'll always miss the chances you and I lost together ... the child
we lost. But we have new chances now, Matt."

"Lots of chances." He tilted her face toward his,

his eyes a smoky blue as he gazed at her. "Here's to the future."

Warmth spread through her, a happiness entirely new. "Our future, my
love."

EPILOGUE

HELENE WALKED SLOWLY through the rooms of Sea Haven. She knew every
nook and cranny, every detail of the place. That nick in the
plaster-work, barely visible--that was from the time Amy had been an
inquisitive eight-year-old and had experimented with setting off a
firecracker in the house. Those sturdy bookshelves--Merrick had built
them himself when they'd first moved into the house. And the spoon
back chair... Helene had been thrilled when she'd unearthed it at a
secondhand shop. She'd had it reupholstered, restored to all its
former Victorian splendor, and then she'd added it lovingly to her
home.

But Sea Haven didn't feel like her home anymore. It had been almost
two weeks since she'd moved back in with Merrick. Each of them kept to
a separate bedroom. Each of them treated the other with a cool
politeness. No ... it didn't feel like home.

This morning Helene couldn't seem to sit still. She kept wandering
through the house. Merrick, as if to give her a wide berth, had
retreated to the patio. As she passed a window, she caught a glimpse
of him. He sat in one of the lawn chairs,

ostensibly reading the newspaper. She wondered if he felt as
uncomfortable as she did, as ill at ease in his own house.

She felt, quite literally, heartsick. Could they ever repair the
damage between them? At this moment, it did not seem possible.

Footsteps heavy, she climbed to the second floor. Here she passed the
empty rooms where her daughters had once brought life into Sea Haven.
Laughter, chatter, doors banging open and shut... whispers late at
night, when the girls were supposed to be asleep. Helene had cherished
those the most, the secret whispers she had pretended not to overhear.
But now the rooms were silent. Her three girls had gone on to their
own lives. Amy, so happy with her new husband, Jon. And Lisa, newly
engaged to marry Matt Connell. Somehow; Helene hadn't been surprised
about that. She was just glad that Lisa had found her own happiness.
And that left Meg, who'd returned once again to her busy life in
Nebraska. Meg ... Helene guarded a special part of her soul for Meg,
her oldest daughter, the one who had known far too much heartache of
her own.

As if from a great distance, Helene heard the doorbell ring downstairs.
She paid no attention to it. There was no one she wanted to see. Even
her friendships brought no satisfaction these days. The fit was all
wrong. She was someone who'd tried to break out of a mold, but could
not find the new pattern for her life. Everything felt so uncertain,
so tenuous.

She wandered into her solitary bedroom, picked up a book and tried to
concentrate on it. She'd made no progress at all when Annie appeared
in the doorway. Annie, usually so capable, now seemed downright
flustered.

"You'd better come--you'd better see--" Annie could hardly seem to get
the words out.

"Whatever is the matter?" Helene asked.

"I thought I'd tell Mr. Hardaway first. But then I thought--maybe you
should be the firs tm Annie took a deep breath. "You'd just better
come!"

Thoroughly mystified, Helene followed the housekeeper down the stairs
and to the front door. Standing on the porch was a dark-eyed,
dark-haired teenage boy. He was at the lanky stage, when he didn't
quite seem to know what to do with his arms and legs. And he had an
odd expression on his face--half scared, half challenging, '

Annie recovered some of her usual aplomb. "Very well, young man," she
said sternly. "You tell Mrs. Hardaway exactly what you told me."

The boy turned to Helene, staring at her hard as if to see something

beyond her outward features. How peculiar... "I think ... I know I
used to live here," he said. "My name is Eric ... except it used to be
Derek. Derek Noah Carson. And I used to live at Sea Haven, Guffview
Road, Hurricane Beach, Florida."

The world Seemed to flit. Helene suddenly found herself holding on to
solid, dependable Annie. As if it had been yesterday, she remembered a
four-year-old little boy carefully reciting his name, and

the address of his grandparents' house, should he ever get lost. My
name is Derek Noah Carson. And I live at Sea Haven, Gulfview Road...
Could this boy really be the son

Megan Hardaway never thought she'd see again ? Be sure to look for the
exciting finale to the Sisters trilogy