There was a tall dark stranger standing in Grace North’s kitchen

And he was…chopping an onion?

Grace stopped short on the threshold of her back door and blinked in disbelief. Twice. At first glance she couldn’t place this man. “Uh, hello there,” she ventured warily.

He paused in midchop to run a lazy eye over her. An approving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You look wonderful, Gracie.”

Ditto, Grace silently noted. He cut a lean and fit figure in worn jeans and faded red T-shirt, exuded strength in a clean-shaven jaw and neatly clipped black hair. Deep sexy voice and twinkling blue eyes ensured the most devastating effect.

Devastating was right. The sudden realization of who he was caused her pulse to jump a mile.

This was Kyle. Kyle McRaney. The man who would one day be her husband…

Dear Reader,

This month, Harlequin American Romance delivers your favorite authors and irresistible stories of heart, home and happiness that will surely leave you smiling.

TEXAS SHEIKHS, Harlequin American Romance’s scintillating continuity series about a Texas family with royal Arabian blood, continues with His Shotgun Proposal by Karen Toller Whittenburg. When Abbie Jones surprised Mac Coleman with the news of her pregnancy, honor demanded he give her his name. But could he give his shotgun bride his heart?

Another wonderful TOTS FOR TEXANS romance from bestselling author Judy Christenberry is in store for you this month with Struck by the Texas Matchmakers, in which two children in need of a home and several meddling ladies play matchmakers for a handsome doctor and a beautiful lawyer. Harlequin American Romance’s theme promotion, THE WAY WE MET…AND MARRIED, about marriage-of-convenience romances, begins this month with Bachelor-Auction Bridegroom by Mollie Molay. And old passions heat up in Leandra Logan’s Family: The Secret Ingredient when Grace North’s first crush, now a single father, returns to town with his precocious little girl and ends up staying under the heroine’s roof.

Enjoy this month’s offerings and come back next month for more stories guaranteed to touch your heart!

Wishing you happy reading,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Family: The Secret Ingredient

Leandra Logan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Leandra Logan is an award-winning author of thirty novels. Like many of her previous works, Family: The Secret Ingredient is set in her home state of Minnesota. She enjoys writing stories with a Midwestern flavor, full of realistic characters of all ages. She presently lives in the historic town of Stillwater with her husband and two children.

Books by Leandra Logan

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

559—SECRET AGENT DAD

601—THE LAST BRIDESMAID

732—FATHER FIGURE

880—FAMILY: THE SECRET INGREDIENT

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

There was a tall dark stranger standing in Grace North’s kitchen.

And he was…Chopping an onion?

Grace stopped short on the threshold of her back door, shoulder weighted by a huge cloth tote bag, keys digging into her palm. She blinked in disbelief. Twice.

Unexpected company did sometimes show up in her absence, let in by her brother who lived next door. But at first glance she couldn’t place this man—or his onion!

“Uh, hello there,” she ventured warily.

He paused in midchop to run a lazy eye over her—the pretty flushed features, vivid green eyes, mass of auburn curls and the denim jumper with a tiny pink T-shirt underneath. An approving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You look wonderful, Gracie.”

Ditto, Grace silently noted. Big time ditto. He cut a lean and fit figure in worn jeans and faded red T-shirt, exuded strength in a clean-shaven jaw and neatly clipped black hair. Deep sexy voice and twinkling blue eyes ensured the most devastating effect.

Devastating is right. The sudden realization of who he was caused her pulse to jump a mile.

This was Kyle. Kyle McRaney.

Clearly oblivious to his impact, Kyle went back to wielding the wide chopping knife around the wooden paddle, working the thick muscles in his arms, dicing the pungent onion to smithereens. Grace took a deep shuddering breath, sliding her tote bag onto her small drop-leaf table. Not to worry. This impossible scenario was one of those dreams starring her girlhood crush. A regular occurrence over the past seven years since his abrupt departure, whenever she was feeling a bit low or unsure of herself.

So Kyle had returned to ravish her thoughts. Strange, she’d never mentally aged him before, given him a haircut and shave. But it was a fine improvement.

So how would it be this time? Passionate loveplay on the table? The sofa? The bed? She anticipated his touch all over her body. Would her senses be keen enough to smell the onion on his hands? Not in any dream of hers, thank you.

He spoke again, gently chiding. “Wasn’t expecting you home so soon.”

Her sculpted brows jumped. “Wasn’t expecting you at all, Kyle.”

“Of course not. This is supposed to be a surprise. I intended to be finished here before you returned.” He winked. “But in any case, happy birthday.”

Ah, that was it. She was indulging in a birthday gift to herself.

“So how was the dentist? Any cavities?”

“No,” she replied dazedly. “It was just a clean and polish.”

“Michael assured me I’d have free rein in your kitchen for at least two hours, so I figured you were having major work done.”

Grace rubbed her temples at his mention of her brother. Michael was never welcome in these dreams. Not once. And the residue from the dental paste still clung to her teeth.

She reached down to pinch herself hard. Ouch! It really hurt!

This was no dream. Kyle was really here. Matured to perfection. Better than ever. She blinked, leaning a hip into the table. Amazing what a thread of silver hair and a few grooves around the eyes could do.

“So how old are you today, Gracie?” he asked conversationally. “Twenty or so?”

“Twenty-four,” she corrected briskly.

“Really.” He grew thoughtful, staring into space. “Why, that’s old enough for…”

She smiled thinly. “Let’s just say it’s old enough.”

He tossed his head back, laughing richly.

How easily he slipped into the tease mode of the old days. It was a swift reminder of how things had been left between them. Not being able to discern between true flirtation and masculine jest had landed her in the heartbreak hotel for an extended stay.

Looking back, it seemed highly unlikely that a man fresh out of college would have fallen for a whimsical schoolgirl of seventeen. Being the sister of Kyle’s college buddy hadn’t helped enhance her womanly image any, either. The guys had shared an apartment near the University of Minnesota campus for four years, but had spent many hours at her parents’ suburban Minneapolis home, witnessing her in the throes of teenage angst. She should have known better, no matter how rich her fantasy life.

Common sense suggested a cool head here. Offering proof that she had truly come of age would perhaps finally give her closure on the trouncing she took at his expense.

Still, hope nudged her as she watched his large hands lever the knife through the hill of chopped onion. His ring finger was bare. Could he and Libby have parted ways?

No one had expected the union with Libby Anderson to happen, much less last. A slender, quiet, intense girl, Libby seemed all wrong for the jovial Kyle from the start. Sure, they were dating casually, and she and Kyle worked at her grandparents’ downtown bar and grill, Amelia’s Bistro, together. But even young Grace was insightful enough to know that the elder Andersons, Andy and Amelia, were working hard to protect their ward Libby from Kyle and all the other males who frequented the college hangout.

Their romance seemed so far off the radar screen that when Kyle had confided to Michael that he intended a surprise proposal, eavesdropper Grace had imagined herself the bride-to-be. She’d played the biggest kind of fool, anticipating a tap at her bedroom window that night, thanking her lucky stars they lived in a one-level home that made elopement ever so convenient.

Michael had been the one to find her at dawn, slumped over in the window seat clutching a handkerchief that would count as something old and something blue. Grace had confided all to him between choked tears, and he had behaved like the best kind of big brother, taking the crisis seriously, rather than making a scene over her incredible naïveté.

It was a mistake they never spoke of again. Kyle and Libby had abruptly moved to Chicago shortly thereafter. Kyle’s absence helped buffer the hurt, allowed Grace to move on.

She could barely believe he was back, in her space, tantalizing her in the same old way. But she couldn’t allow herself to be so easily lured back into his web. He might still be very married for starters. Maybe he didn’t wear his wedding ring when he cooked.

“So, Kyle,” she said on a deep breath, “surely you didn’t fly in just for my birthday. You and Libby must be here for another occasion…” It was an awkward play for information, but he didn’t look offended, just a bit sober.

“Libby’s gone,” he said simply. Trying to lift a smile again, he added. “As for me, I’m back in the Twin Cities for good. Yep. Back to stay. Living in the moment. And at this moment, I’m making my special chili just for you.”

If this wasn’t a dream, it oughta be, she decided. Trying not to allow her weak knees to wobble noticeably, Grace advanced on the narrow alleyway that held her appliances and limited counter space. Sure enough, there was a shiny steel kettle on a front burner, holding a bubbly reddish concoction. Like the onion, the kettle and its contents were new.

“Look good?”

She sniffed appreciatively. “You’ve managed to overpower any traces of last night’s pizza. Though it does seem a little early for lunch. Barely ten.”

“It’s all in the planning. You’ll see.”

“But when?”

His controlled expression softened. “Still the demanding princess I see. But Michael wouldn’t want me giving everything away.”

No, he wouldn’t. One thing she could be certain of, however, was that her brother was trying once more to alter her life somehow. As far as Michael was concerned, she lived in a state of chaos, from her in-house clothing design business cluttering every room, to her lack of domestic skills, to her varied tastes in men.

She mulled the minor facts she had. Kyle was a fantastic chef who had, on occasion, worked for pay preparing meals for her folks’ lavish parties. He earned cash for college in any number of cooking related jobs. He’d done a bit of everything at Amelia’s Bistro, from slapping together sandwiches to bartending.

Still, this catered affair was, today of all days, strange and unnecessary. Michael knew full well their parents had a formal dinner party planned at the family’s Lake Minnetonka home tonight.

“I don’t think I’d be stepping on Mike’s toes by telling you your kitchen here is a bit of a disgrace,” Kyle complained in mock sternness. “Barely enough food to keep a mouse alive. Cheap, mismatched utensils. Outdated stoneware dishes and jelly jar glasses. You have money flowing from your ears. I just don’t get it.”

Grace laughed in the face of reality. “I am after a more homey feel. When we were kids, we were scared to death of breaking something precious. Nothing in this kitchen is precious.”

“You do have wonderful appliances, though.” He lifted up the handle of the paddle shaped board and carried it to the stove, using the knife’s shiny blade to scrape the onion bits into the kettle. He then hovered over the brew with a wooden spoon, adjusting the burner’s flame. “These gas stoves are far superior to electric ones.”

“Really? Why?” Grace sidled up to him, placing red manicured fingertips on his arms.

“A true flame makes for quick and even heat.”

No lie. She closed her eyes, carrying herself off to an erotic place. The red hot pepper steam was seeping into her pores, making her burn everywhere. Suddenly his broad shoulders seemed the full breadth of the tight alley in which they stood. Time and space were squeezed short.

It took a lot of nerve to raise her gaze to his with cool smoothness. To keep her hand on his arm even as he glanced at it with some surprise. But Grace managed. What she lacked in culinary skills, she made up for in nerve.

A thread of sexual tension pulled tight between them. She could almost feel him wince from the imaginary tug.

“Care to join me for a taste?” he asked flirtatiously.

“All right.”

He rooted through the cutlery drawer with a low unexpected whistle, pulling out a tablespoon. He held the curved scoop end flush against her nose, as a magician might doing a spoon trick. “You realize you don’t even have eight full place settings?”

“I do so have them,” she spouted, swatting the arm she’d just caressed.

“Not a matched set,” he persisted.

“See if I care.”

“A challenge I just may accept.” Cupping one hand on her chin, he used the other to dip the spoon into the chili, guide it to her mouth.

“Blow.”

“Huh?”

“Gently,” he encouraged. “On the chili. Don’t want to burn your tongue.”

Trembling with awareness, she allowed him to guide the spoon between her lips. The chili proved thick and satisfying, though a bit spicier than she was accustomed to. A trace line of perspiration quickly formed on her brow.

So much for playing it cool.

He’d set the spoon on the stove top, in no hurry to move his face or hand away from her. “This is a lot of fun,” he murmured, “tormenting you all over again.”

“You and Michael never did play fair with me,” she complained. “The endless teasing about my hair, my clothes…”

“You make us sound awful.”

“Precisely!”

He massaged her chin with his roughened palm. “Well, shouldn’t hurt to give you a hint. In a way, I’m Michael’s birthday present to you.”

His tone was unmistakably provocative. If he thought she was still harmless fun, though, he was in for a big surprise himself. She touched his collarbone, skimming a flame tipped fingernail along his throat. Kissing Kyle full on the mouth, without the old excuse of mistletoe was growing just too tempting. “Well, happy birthday to me,” she said huskily. Moving her hand to his neck and she began to pull him down. Their lips brushed in a featherlight fencing.

Then the back screen door slammed.

“Grace, what the hell are you doing to him?”

The pair broke free at the sound of Michael North’s boom.

Grace turned slowly to confront her brother saucily. “Once you give a birthday present, you have no control over how it’s handled.”

Michael broke into a wide attractive grin, which greatly resembled his sister’s. They also shared the same sparkling green eyes and reddish brown hair. He was huskier though, and about a foot taller than she. They also parted company in choice of day wear. While Grace dressed the part of the free spirited artist, Michael dressed formally, befitting his position at the family’s accounting firm. Today it was a navy gabardine suit.

“He wasn’t supposed to tell you anything, brat,” Michael complained. “I wanted the pleasure.”

“Mike,” Kyle broke in urgently, his eyes darting the room. “What about—”

Michael gave a glance out the screen. “Right out here on the stoop.”

Kyle sighed in relief.

“What’s out on the stoop?” Grace asked coyly.

“Never you mind.” Michael kept watch out the door, primed to keep his sister at bay. “We’re playing a game.”

Grace inhaled in anticipation. She had an idea of what could be out there. The gift she’d asked for!

“So, you give the whole show away?” Michael demanded of his pal.

“Not yet. But she was just about to pry the answers right out of me. With her wiles. When did Gracie get wiles, Mike?”

Grace tapped her foot on the hardwood floor. “Fellas, my patience is running thin.”

“You’re gonna love this, sis. Kyle’s the gift for the girl who has everything.”

Her heart tripped dangerously. “Meaning?”

“I’ve hired him to supply you with some sorely needed nutrition, to make sense of this topsy-turvy kitchen.”

“What?” she asked lethally.

“That’s right. Kyle’s your personal chef—for three whole months. He came today to give you a sample of his wares.”

“But I’m rarin’ to start for real immediately,” Kyle said. “It would be best if I came two or three days during the work week. That’ll give me time to shop, prep enough meals to see you through.”

Michael knew Grace well enough to read disappointment behind her placid expression. “You know you eat poorly. Your fridge rarely has more than a bag of apples and assorted yogurts. And who can even speculate as to what lurks in some of your cupboards. Outdated packages full of MSG, saccharine and assorted dyes.”

Kyle was here only because Michael hired him.

Deep inside Grace was mortified, sinking from tempting vamp to an incompetent squirt with much of her personal laundry out to dry.

Doubtless, they’d mulled over her shortcomings in detail. No court in the land would convict her of killing them both—with the thump of a frying pan!

But what had she expected? A burst of passion? Admission of a blunder in choosing Libby over her? She scorned her own romantic foolishness.

“I eat just fine, thanks,” she asserted frostily, thrusting a finger at the fridge. “Right now, there happens to be a large carton of Chinese take-away at the ready! Bet you anything!”

Michael raked a hand through his thick hair, regretful. “That’s way too impulsive a bet. You’re always too impulsive.”

“Why would I lie about fried rice?”

“Sure, the fried rice was there. But I ate it for breakfast, while Kyle got his bearings.”

“You did that to me, on my birthday?” she asked hollowly.

Michael cringed. “Sorry.”

“I think you’ll enjoy the meals once you get used to them—to me,” Kyle inserted hesitantly.

Was she to be his new source of income, his new career choice? Last Grace heard, Kyle was managing some fancy restaurant in downtown Chicago. What had happened to that job? To his dream of one day owning his own eatery?

“Is this what you really want to do for a living?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Don’t be silly,” Michael scoffed, embarrassed.

Kyle remained polite. “It’s only a sideline I started up in Chicago—”

“He’s got huge plans,” Michael cut in with cheery faith, again peeking out to the stoop. “He’s back in town at Amelia Anderson’s invite. She’s opened up her home and is offering him a whack at reopening Amelia’s Bistro.”

“How nice.” Grace sized Kyle up with a pasted smile of confusion. The Andersons had disapproved so strongly of Kyle proposing to their granddaughter that they’d driven the young couple out of state. Even when Andy died, there was no sign of the prodigal couple at the funeral. And now the marriage to Libby was over as well. What would compel the steely Amelia to give Kyle of all people a break?

“That’s pretty exciting news,” she said carefully. “The place has been closed for a couple of years now, hasn’t it?”

“Since Andy’s death,” Michael confirmed. “Anyway, Amelia is getting older and needs extra income to preserve her lifestyle, so she’s decided to sell out. In a flash of brilliance she realized that Kyle is just the man to resuscitate the place.”

“That’s pretty flexible of her,” Grace noted dubiously.

Kyle was faintly amused. “It does seem like a miracle. And Mike’s very kindly stepped in as a silent partner to help me make the down payment,” he added gratefully. “A second miracle.”

“Michael silent in any capacity is the miracle!”

Suddenly the ping-ping-ping of the back doorbell broke through their laughter.

Michael answered the summons, cracking open the door. “Hey, do I know you?”

“Yeah,” a small voice peeped.

“You want to come in?”

“Yeah.”

Michael ushered in a small girl with a cream-colored kitten in her arms.

Grace clasped her hands joyfully. “I thought this was your game.”

“Just what you ordered, sis. Pure-bred Himalayan long hair. Delivered by the cutest girl in town.”

Grace focused on the child. She was a cute one, dressed in a pink short set, with shiny black hair cut below her chin and fringed across her forehead, striking blue eyes, dimpled cheeks. Grace impulsively held her arms out wide. “May I hold the kitten?”

“Tomorrow, honey,” she crooned in a patronizing mimic. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Grace mouth twitched. The child’s imitation of some adult was quite good. “Did Michael buy the kitten from you, sweetie?”

“No.”

“Is this another trick, Michael?”

As Grace glared at her brother, the child scooted by, darting in between Kyle’s legs. “My kitty, Daddy. Tell that girl.”

Grace’s mouth dropped open. “This is your daughter, Kyle?”

“That’s right.” With open joy he scooped the girl up in the curve of his muscled arm, lines of concern and tenderness grooving his matured face. She cuddled against his chest, nuzzling the kitten’s flat face into his throat.

Feelings swelled in Grace, some of which she couldn’t immediately identify. But clearly she was upstaged in her own home, on her day, by impossible competition.

“This is Grace, Button,” Kyle was saying gently. “I told you all about her, remember?”

The child burrowed her face into Kyle’s red T-shirt. “No.”

“Mike is her brother. You two just went next door to get the kitty from his house.”

Button shook her head, keeping her face hidden.

Kyle addressed Grace over his daughter’s head. “Sorry, Button has been going through some adjustments. No is a favorite response.”

Button raised her face then, lower lip protruded. “Don’t talk ’bout me!”

“We won’t.” Kyle set Button on her pink canvas shoes. “But you must give the kitten to Grace.”

“No, Daddy, no.” Her black-soled shoes danced on Grace’s flooring, leaving some smudges.

“Betsy…” he said more firmly.

“Please?” Grace squatted to the child’s level. She finally handed Grace the kitten with an Arctic stare.

“Thank you very much, Betsy, er, Button.”

“Button’s just a nickname,” Kyle explained. “You know, cute as…”

“I see.” Grace met Button’s gaze again. “I never had a nickname like you.”

She placed a hand on her small hip. “I never had a kitty.”

“It’s my birthday today and all I wanted was a kitten.”

Button was unimpressed as she continued to stroke the kitten’s long pale hair.

“How old are you?”

Button worked with her small wiggly hands, eventually holding up three fingers straight, working to bend a fourth at the knuckle.

“Ah, three.”

“And half.”

“A nice big girl.”

Button thawed a little and began to wander around the kitchen, her eyes dropping covetously to a new litter box and white cushioned basket tucked away near the dishwasher. “Your mommy home?”

Grace straightened up. “My mommy doesn’t live here.”

“Why?”

“Because she has a nice big house of her own.”

“My mommy’s in heaven,” Button confided in a reverent whisper.

Grace was stopped cold. Kyle said Libby was gone, but she hadn’t considered…death. Just selfish things like desertion or abandonment. Things for which Grace could criticize her.

“It was a car accident,” Kyle explained in a low tone.

Grace gasped softly. “Oh, no, just like her parents years ago.”

“Not exactly. They mercifully died instantly. Libby lingered in a coma for several weeks. There was never much hope. Too much internal damage.”

Generally quick with words, Grace was at a loss. To think she woke up far too jaded to expect any birthday surprise.

Chapter Two

“Here’s one to ya, birthday girl.”

Michael sidled up close to Grace with a pair of fluted glasses brimming with champagne. He handed one off to her with a flourish and a wink.

“Thanks.”

They sipped the quality vintage and scanned the formally dressed guests mingling in their parents’ opulent living room that evening.

“I see you slipped a few of your artsy uptown buddies onto the guest list,” he teased.

There were a few of Grace’s most current friends scattered round. But the majority of the guests were the more established ones: a Minneapolis bank vice president, a prominent St. Paul surgeon, corporate executives from both sides of the Mississippi River, all contemporaries of the elder Norths, included at all North functions. Not wishing to upset her conservative parents, she’d chosen only those likely to blend in, at least to some degree, with the elegant ambiance of the buffet dinner.

Grace and Michael long ago accepted that their parents, Victor and Ingrid, were serious social climbers who would eagerly use any family occasions to enhance social connections. They’d shared their most personal milestones with acquaintances they might not see again for months.

“So, you like my gifts, Gracie?” Michael asked.

“I adore the kitten.”

“As for the magic chef?”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up now,” Grace murmured firmly behind her practiced party smile. “But springing a widowed Kyle on me that way was a dumb stunt.”

Michael rolled back on his heels. “I thought it would be fun for the both of you, honestly.”

Grace didn’t allow his genuine surprise to salve her annoyance. “Not only did you set up that—that situation in my own private space, but you then went on your merry way.”

“Merry? I had a lunch date with dad and a very important client we’re wooing. Nothing merry about that.”

“I was at a complete loss after you walked out, stranded there with—them,” she blurted out.

“You, mistress of your own universe, need backup?” Michael regarded her with a keener interest that made her squirm in her tight red beaded dress.

An administrative assistant from their father’s accounting firm interrupted them then, anxious to make points with Michael, presently a vice president of North Enterprises.

Michael, a company man at the drop of a coin, turned to address the associate. A chip off the old block, father’s ideal offspring, Grace thought wryly. Sometimes his position as favored son entrenched in the family business bothered her, but not at the moment. She welcomed the chance to consider Michael’s assured interrogation. It was her own fault, of course. She couldn’t resist scolding him for his stunt and now he was curious about her burst of emotion.

She gulped champagne from her fluted glass, trying to once again put her position into perspective by reviewing the events of the morning. Kyle hustling around to get his prized chili into microwavable containers and clean up after himself. Button wheeling around the cluttered and compact town house with Grace’s precious gift locked in her small arms: the prized pure-bred Himalayan, which Button insisted upon christening just plain Kitty.

How much should she confide to Michael about the unsettling feelings she was experiencing? Could she even define them to her own satisfaction?

There were solid obstacles to Kyle’s invasion. Grace didn’t want anyone tampering with her messy life. She’d deliberately set up her fashion design business in her home because she liked the aura of creative chaos and enjoyed mixing business and pleasure in one big jumble of clutter. It was plain to see that Kyle had a frightening sense of orderliness. During his brief visit he’d actually started to rearrange her pathetic kitchen inventory more to his liking, touching everything, silently judging everything with grumbles and mumbles. Surely his tongue hurt from all that tsking.

Who’d have ever guessed at such a turn of events: her first intense crush barging into her creative nest to—to put things away!

Furthermore, Grace was unaccustomed to having children in her home, save for the young actors who came for costume fittings. They were older of course and proud of behaving professionally. Button had proven what was best described as a blissful tornado. Smudging her elegant hardwood flooring, dumping a knapsack full of toys into the center of her living room. She even brought her own music in the form of a battery-operated boom box. Kyle claimed she couldn’t nap without the tinny singsongs, but she never did take a nap.

It had taken all of Grace’s resolve to endure. After two full hours, she’d finally feigned an appointment and dashed out. Some birthday gift. They’d actually chased her out of her own home! The helpless feeling left her frustrated and uneasy.

“Sorry, Gracie,” Michael said. “Pick up where you left off.”

Not wanting to appear completely bulldozed by the McRaneys, she went on to relate a condensed version of the afternoon’s events, mainly chiding him for not getting her approval for such a setup in advance.

“I probably handled the presentation all wrong,” Michael admitted. “I was just so excited to hear from him after so many years. He’d really cut ties, you know. Wanted a fresh start with Libby and I respected that decision. Finally, even the Christmas card exchange fell to the wayside. When he called to confide his new plans to me, I instinctively sprang into action. He suggested I warn you, but I thought, no, why not tease you like the old days. If it’s any consolation, he did get into the fun of it. Not many laughs for him this past year. That’s about how long Libby’s been gone,” he added.

“So how long has Kyle been back in the Cities, anyway?”

He gazed up at the high ceiling. “Oh, a couple of weeks—give or take a week.”

“Three weeks! How could you possibly lock up your excitement for that length of time?”

He was not the least bit offended. “I come by my self-control genetically. You are the odd one out, the impulsive wild mind.”

She folded her arms across her beaded bodice. “Maybe you should know better than to try and tame a wild mind.”

“Is that a threat? Hey, you aren’t seriously considering giving Kyle the brush-off, are you?”

“I haven’t decided what to do—about his services.” Her voice wobbled a little, betraying more than she intended.

Michael promptly reevaluated her. “This isn’t some kind of payback over that elopement misunderstanding is it? C’mon, he doesn’t even know you cared. And you aren’t exactly damaged goods who hid in a closet. You’ve dated a small army of men, probably broken a half-dozen hearts.”

She raised a yielding hand. “I am steady as a rock concerning him, don’t you worry.”

But she wasn’t. And she knew she looked more hurt than angry. A dangerous sign with an unfulfilled crush. “If I stretch it, I can imagine the faded bruise to your ego, but don’t try and tell me that you actually have lingering affection for Kyle.”

It didn’t seem so wrong in her imaginings. Why, she’d been indulging herself for years. But now, in light of Michael’s dismay, she felt like a vulnerable teenager again. A waiter passed by with a bottle of champagne and Grace jammed her glass into the vicinity of his scarlet cummerbund for a refill.

Michael paused until the waiter moved on. “It would be tough for Kyle to discover your secret right now, Grace. His plate is full already.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought twice before posting him in my home.”

“Okay, I should’ve considered your feelings. But he needed ready cash for living expenses. And he sure wasn’t about to take a handout—from me or anyone else. C’mon, the man wants to cook you some meals, organize your utensils. Just let him.”

“I’ll consider it, if you stop trying to second-guess me. I have Kyle firmly in perspective. I’m certainly no fool for him.”

Michael grunted to the contrary. They fell silent then, scanning the guests. “Hey, look,” Michael said moments later in a boyish guileless tone, “Mr. Wonderful is here after all.”

Grace sipped and whirled at the same time, her painted red lips lifting at the corners, her eyes lighting. She faded slightly when centering upon the man standing in the arched doorway with her father. Both were dressed in dark suits, Victor’s dark head dipped down to his pale one. Victor had an arm clamped around his shoulders, as if frightened he might somehow escape.

“You look surprised,” Michael observed. “Of course you knew I was referring to Dickie Trainor, your date.”

“He isn’t my date for tonight,” she was swift to clarify. “Mother invited him and his parents as always, because they’re old family friends.”

“But admit it, you assumed I meant Kyle.”

“Just shut up.”

“Gracie. How can you be a natural born North, the way you revel in passion, scheme the impossible? We are a practical people with perfectly useful left brains.” He gestured to his glass. “Old painful memories should hold a fizz as long as this champagne.”

Actually, Grace had spotted Dickie a full fifteen minutes ago, working the room with her father. Presently they’d paused to chat with Dickie’s parents, who were stationed near her mother. Gales of laughter rose as tall slender Ingrid related some story with an elegant flutter of hands and a nod of her blond chignon. Like Victor, Ingrid’s touch ultimately landed on Dickie, namely his lapel.

“Mother’s stroking him like a collie,” Michael observed with a chuckle.

“Wish they wouldn’t make such a fuss over Dickie,” Grace lamented.

“It’s your own fault. A few dates with the guy and they’re seeing husband material.”

“That’s way too premature.”

Michael bared his teeth. “Still, you lit the fire.”

“Yeah, a forest fire with a tiny matchbook.”

Grace sighed in resignation. It started out so casually with Dickie Trainor. She needed an escort for a leukemia fund-raiser at the Meadowlark Country Club. The sensitive artist she was dating at the time didn’t meet her parents’ club standards as he insisted upon meditating at odd moments in a high-pitched hum and limited his diet to brown rice and chopstick utensils. Henceforth, old reliable Dickie was tapped. A date for the opera followed, as did a basketball game with his law firm friends and a couple of dinners. Dickie was taking the initiative with increasing regularity. Just the same, it was still at the harmless stage.

“Look out, here comes our proud papa with his catch of the year,” Michael teased. “Got ’em hooked right under the gills.”

Grace smiled as the pair approached.

“This is the end of the line for you, young man,” Victor North announced, clapping Dickie on the back.

“Hello, Grace.” Dickie Trainor kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry I wasn’t here at the start. I was just telling your father, there was a glitch in the trial today. I had to meet with the whole legal team.”

“That Freeman case makes the newspaper every day,” Michael observed politely. “Must be pretty exciting to be on the defense team of such a high-profile extortion case.”

“Well, I’m pretty low on the totem pole at Frazer and Dupont, mostly in the background, doing fact checking in the law library.” Despite his protests, Dickie held a certain air of smugness.

“Still, makes our accounting firm look like quite the snore,” Victor said, appraising Dickie as he might a humidor of fine Cuban cigars. “Don’t you agree, Grace? You’re always looking for zip out of us. Dickie must meet your standards for zip.”

“Zippidy do dah,” she said with forced brightness.

Victor moved away soon thereafter, drawing a hapless Michael along. Dickie plucked an appetizer from a waitress toting a silver tray and devoured it. “Skipped lunch. I’m starving.”

“We’ll be eating soon,” she assured.

He shook his head with wonder as he gazed upon Victor’s retreating figure. “Your folks are treating me like royalty these days. Can’t say it isn’t flattering. I suppose it’s because I make a better impression than I used to.”

No doubt. Dickie had evolved into a polished attorney, a gorgeous specimen. It was a far cry from his brainy nerd days. Three years older than Grace and two years younger than Michael, he’d never really connected with either of them—or her folks.

The transformation had happened during his stint at Harvard Law School. The country club was abuzz when he returned full of confidence and arrogance, eager to make up for time lost as a nervous wallflower, to use his family’s wealth and social standing to his best advantage.

“You look especially beautiful tonight, Grace,” he said reverently, his eyes roving her curvy shape, set to advantage in the tight red dress.

“I’ve pulled a neat trick,” she confided. “Mother jumped to the conclusion that this gown is an original Valentino gown, but I made it myself.”

He gaped. “You just can’t resist bucking the system, can you?”

Generally speaking, Grace felt she was actually being quite cooperative with the North regime. Though her business was a strange venture in contrast with the family accounting firm, she was actually making a go of it, turning a profit. And she was giving the favored Dickie a real chance, wasn’t she? It was possible that Dickie’s conservatism might add balance to her existence in the long run. And he did seem to enjoy showing her off as his exciting bohemian find, someone a bit different than the left brain type his associates favored.

She would be the first to admit she was still confused about what she truly wanted. That left her exploring her inner self, trying to adjust her priorities without selling out to everything her parents expected.

“So, have you spoken to Heather yet?” Dickie asked, perusing the room eagerly.

“No.”

“Well, I have. Just left her and Nate outside. We were trying to set up a tennis date and thought we better clear it with you.”

Grace compressed her lips. Dickie was taking too much on for a casual date. Heather was Grace’s lifelong best friend and therefore her territory. It was tough enough to accept Nate, Heather’s new husband.

“Wouldn’t it have been right to consult me first, Dickie?”

He was blindly dismissive. “Oh, Heather mentioned another engagement tonight, so I jumped in. C’mon, let’s find them.” He took her hand and slowly steered them through the clustered guests. It was protocol to speak to each and every attendee, so Grace pulled rank on Dickie and touched base with as many guests as she could along the way.

Heather and Nate Basset were out on a spacious deck facing Lake Minnetonka, sharing a smooch against the sunset. They made a nice-looking couple, Grace thought, tall, fair, athletically built. Unlike Grace, Heather had not a minute of doubt about her destiny. She made her parents consistently proud with all the right academic achievements in school, gladly worked for her family’s hotel, and married a man of similar social standing, a rising star in the real estate game.

Heather sensed their presence and broke free of Nate. “Birthday girl!” she lilted, scooting across the deck in her flouncy silver dress and heels.

“You’re just glad we’re both twenty-four,” Grace teased with a hug.

“It is a long month for me between our birthdays,” Heather admitted, “until you catch up.”

“It used to be a long month for me,” Grace retorted. “When we were kids, you took so much pleasure in being the oldest!”

Nate stepped up to give her a congratulatory handshake. Like Dickie, his hands were thin and manicured. Her thoughts strayed to Kyle’s strong, rough, capable hands, doing a variety of tasks around her house. Why, the elbow grease he’d put into buffing away all of Button’s shoe scuffs was masterful. But such thoughts were useless distraction, a fantasy leading nowhere. Kyle was far from the reckless mate she’d once imagined. He had burdens, responsibilities.

“What do you think, Grace?” Nate asked. “About duking it out at the club tomorrow?”

“Saturday? Guess that would be fine.”

Dickie gave a quick call to the club on his cell phone, then announced, “We’ve got a court for five.”

“Great.” Nate glanced at his watch. “Hate to break this off, but we have another stop to make tonight.”

Heather leaned into Grace, whispering in her ear. “Hear from Michael there’s a new man in town playing with your staples. Sounds kinky. Can’t wait for details tomorrow.”

Grace felt a tug of loss. Before her marriage, Heather would’ve called her within hours for details. So this was how they’d be kicking off the start of their twenty-fifth year, Heather cuddling up with Nate, she with her kitten. Grace hadn’t felt this empty since…the night of Kyle’s elopement.

The buffet dinner proved a lavish feast of salmon, salads and breads, her birthday cake a white tiered monstrosity of near bridal potential.

Over cake she was forced to endure boring remembrances of previous celebrations. Accuracy varied among the storytellers. One vivid account of a pool party drenching was not hers, but Michael’s. Another of her tripping headfirst into her own sweet sixteen cake was, unfortunately, her own. Another story followed about a clown gone haywire that was completely unfamiliar. But that’s what you got when you invited acquaintances to family affairs, muddled inconsequential memories.

Each year Grace made a silent vow that she would not inflict the same sort of traditions on her own children. Celebrations would be limited to family and close friends. People who gave a damn.

It was close to eleven o’clock when the guests began to drift into the cathedral-style foyer for coats and handbags, salutations and farewells echoing off the marble. Grace was at the door to personally wish everyone a safe ride home.

Soon thereafter only Dickie lingered with the family. Ingrid urged them into the study for a brandy and a look at all the gifts assembled there on a long table. She served the brandy herself, from a small teak bar in the corner of the room.

“To my lovely daughter.” Victor stood in the center of the room, lifting his glass in toast. “Many happy returns.” Applause rose as Victor bestowed a light kiss on Grace’s forehead. A man of stern character and stiff posture, it was all the intimacy Grace ever expected from him, a peck to the forehead, a light palm on the small of her back.

The interaction triggered a vision of Kyle handling his daughter Button at the very difficult moment that afternoon when she was laying claim to Kitty. He’d scooped her up in his arms with warm confidence, getting his way with a loving firmness. It had been nothing short of magic.

Perhaps she wasn’t feeling a reawakening of her crush after all. Maybe on some level she was just envious of their father-daughter bond. She recalled thinking that Victor North would have never allowed such impertinence from her even at age three, or encouraged such close contact. And it had stung a little bit to see another father doing the right thing. Yes, she could handle Kyle from that angle, as the kind of father every girl dreams of.

The group sank into soft leather chairs as Grace began to open her gifts. Her parents presented her with a lovely emerald necklace encrusted with diamonds. Dickie gave her a pearl necklace she’d admired while shopping with her mother. Grace was torn between gratitude and suffocation over the precision shopping.

Her friends contributed mostly small humorous gifts. She knew it was awkward for them, wrestling over what to give the rich girl with enough money to open a bank. The rest of the lot were impersonal gifts undoubtedly picked out by secretaries and assistants, gift certificates to shops, a vase, chocolates, a pen set. Some of the things would be routed to the women’s shelter downtown.

“So how do you like your brother’s contribution?” Ingrid inquired, reaching out to inspect a silk scarf.

“You mean Kyle McRaney?”

Ingrid slipped the scarf over her pale chignon, unusually playful. “Now there’s a gift impossible to return!”

Grace swallowed hard, averting Dickie’s curious look. “But I am thinking of returning him. If Michael still has the receipt that is.”

Dickie perked up immediately. “What’s all this, Ingrid?”

“You remember Michael’s old college roommate, Kyle McRaney?”

“He’s back in town, isn’t he? Trying to buy the Andersons’ bistro?”

“How do you know that?” Michael asked.

Dickie shrugged elegantly. “Heard it someplace. Lot of buzz downtown, you know. Everyone knows of Amelia’s Bistro, and the fact that he is Amelia’s grandson-in-law.”

“Surprised you remember Kyle,” Michael pressed. “Never hung around Amelia’s, did you?”

“I was never one of the golden crowd welcomed in there,” he said stiffly, his poise making an unusual slip. “Though I did visit on occasion, I found it too dark and loud to study. Also didn’t care to be teased about my acne.”

“Oh, it’s long gone,” Ingrid oozed, brushing his chiseled jaw.

“Yes, it cleared up during my sophomore year at the university. Unfortunately by then I was known as Mr. Pock by twisted Star Trek fans at Amelia’s and every other cool hangout in the Twin Cities. But—never mind. What has Kyle to do with Grace’s birthday?”

Victor, always anxious to steer clear of one’s frailties past or present, spoke up quickly. “Seems Kyle’s a cook of some kind. Michael hired him to make three months’ worth of meals for Grace.”

“Kyle’s a restaurant manager, Father,” Michael corrected, “with a business degree similar to my own.”

Victor frowned, always annoyed with censure. “Well, he always liked to cook. He is cooking.”

Michael was out of practice in building up his old friend in his parents’ critical eyes, but fell swiftly back into the groove. “It’s been his dream since college to open an eatery and finally he has a chance with the bistro. Amelia’s selling it to him.”

“Kyle certainly hasn’t had it easy,” Ingrid mused. “I remember when his father abandoned the family your first year of college. If I’m not mistaken, his mother briefly cleaned house for the Hendersons before fleeing the city too.”

“He did strike out with both parents. The old man skipped mainly because he charged up some big gambling debts with local bookies. Subsequently Kyle’s mother got tired of being harassed for the same debts and skipped out as well. Luckily Kyle was too young to be harassed. But he did have to make his own way after that. Barely eighteen.”

Victor clamped a cigar between his teeth and lit it. “Must admit, Kyle always had guts.”

Not a small compliment from Victor. Michael smiled faintly before continuing. “This personal chef work is only a temporary sideline for extra cash. Kyle started it during Libby’s layup in the hospital, when he was forced to quit his job and care for Button. It allowed him flexible hours and time with Button—er ah, Betsy.”

“Button is an odd name,” Ingrid complained. “Why do people do that to a child?”

“She’s cute as a button, that’s all,” Michael said defensively. “She’s bright and wonderful.”

“What a super gift for you, Grace,” Dickie interjected, holding his emptied glass steady as Victor promptly refilled it. “Wholesome food in your kitchen. It gives a hungry man hope, a life preserver for the future.”

Not for the first time, Grace felt he was making too many assumptions, talking way too big for his legal briefs. So did Michael, by the smirk he flashed her. Predictably, her parents sat there glowing.

“Dickie does have a stake in this, of course,” Ingrid agreed. “He could benefit from the meals as well. I do worry that you can’t entertain properly, Grace.”

Victor glanced at his wife. “That chopstick phase was particularly odd.”

“I never ate with chopsticks on a regular basis,” Grace protested. “You caught Gunther and I at that once. Experimenting…”

Ingrid turned to Dickie, as aghast as if she’d caught them exploring the Kamasutra. “They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, humming and eating out of wooden bowls.”

“That was Gunther’s birthday,” Grace announced with a defiant lift of her chin. “Sometimes it’s just nice to think of a person’s desires on that special day.” Her hint went over every head, except for Michael’s, who flashed her a maddening grin.

Suddenly, Grace had enough. She forced a yawn, then stifled it. “It’s been a wonderful birthday. Thanks to all of you.”

“Heading home then?” Ingrid asked.

“Yes. I’ll pick up these gifts sometime soon.”

“I can drive you,” Dickie volunteered.

“That’s all right. I have my car. Stay on with Father.”

“Yes, indeed, son,” Victor concurred. “You haven’t even had a cigar yet. And I’d love to hear more about the Freeman case. Anything you’re not sworn to secrecy over, anyway.”

“So, Grace,” Michael intervened guilelessly. “Can we count on you taking Kyle’s nutrition makeover?”

We? Grace gritted her teeth. He had a nerve putting her on the spot in front of the folks and Dickie.

“Surely you can’t come up with one sensible reason for declining,” Ingrid challenged.

Of course she couldn’t. Her feelings for Kyle, for her guarded space, wouldn’t come close to registering with her impervious socialite mother who put appearances first. There was no choice but to give in.

Feeling it was high time she left, Grace stood up and made her excuses. Scooping up her emeralds and pearls she smiled down sweetly at her brother. “Now, Dad, don’t let Michael get away without telling you his exciting news. He is putting big bucks behind Kyle’s bistro deal! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Is that true son?” Victor’s silvered head rose sharply. Glaring at his son, he puffed smoke like a locomotive. “You actually made a decision that crucial without consulting me?”

Michael whitened. “I am nearly thirty! And when you hand over money to your children, it becomes theirs. Just ask the IRS.”

Grace winked at Michael as Victor fell into one of his standardized lectures on wise investment. And away we go, interfering smarty-pants…

Chapter Three

Grace took her time navigating through the dark winding roads of the opulent Lake Minnetonka neighborhood, indulging in the guilty pleasure of escape.

She hadn’t meant to burn Dickie there at the end by not accepting his ride. But all in all, he was better off with her folks. They’d ply him with smokes and liquor and compliments until his large hungry ego was bloated to the max.

Not as good as sex, but as good as he was bound to get from any of the Norths tonight.

As it was, bed was a place she and Dickie hadn’t been together yet. But not for Dickie’s efforts. He had begun putting on the subtle pressure to take their relationship to the “stage of consummation.” And lovemaking put in such articulate terms didn’t do a thing to entice her.

She stared out onto the wide manicured lawns, thick with mature trees. Methods aside, Grace decided she was in no hurry to consummate their relationship. It seemed a bad sign for any lasting union. But passion wasn’t predictable, couldn’t be measured like the temperature on a thermometer. Perhaps a relationship that was slow heating up wouldn’t burn out so fast. Who knew?

At last she turned off into her Edina town house development, passing small neat yards fronting beige, blue and white duplex structures. She didn’t always roll by the front of the attached structure she shared with her brother; it depended upon which entrance she used to the community. As it happened, she was doing so tonight. And to her surprise, there was a familiar black Jeep parked at her front curb—with a security car alongside, its roof aglow with flashing lights.

Grace pulled up in the rear and alighted to the street. On highs heels she clattered up between the vehicles to join the security man standing there. She recognized him immediately as one of three uniformed men who patrolled the community round the clock.

“Ben! Hello!”

“Evening, Miss North.” He tipped the brim of his gray hat to her.

She pulled the shawl covering her bared shoulders tighter against the evening chill. “Trap a dangerous invader on my property?”

“Seems harmless enough.”

“Harmless?” she gasped in doubt.

“Well, he knows you were in Minnetonka. And knows it’s your birthday. Has the cake to prove it.”

A peek into the Jeep revealed Kyle, looking very glad to see her.

Without a doubt, she could become addicted to that look.

She shuffled her heels like a little girl in tennis shoes. “You came all the way back here to bring me a cake?”

He rubbed his chin. “Yeah.”

“Gee.”

“I never expected to run into you,” he admitted. “Michael gave me a spare key to your place, so I just expected to be in and out in a flash.”

“Well, come in now,” she urged.

Ben cleared his throat. “I suggest you park round back, son. In Miss North’s driveway.”

“Yes,” Grace agreed more firmly. “Follow me round back.”

“THANK GOD YOU CAME along when you did!” Kyle had eased the truck up close to the open garage door and was moving to join her in the garage.

“It’s not that serious. Ben would’ve called me at my parents’ place and you would’ve been cleared.”

“That would’ve been a little embarrassing for me,” he admitted, ducking into the garage. “I haven’t even seen your parents since my return. Hardly a great way to reconnect, collared like some vagrant.”

She flashed a sympathetic smile, then jabbed the remote to lower the garage door and beckoned him to the service door connected to the house.

She led him through the mudroom to the kitchen. Palming the wall, she flipped the switch controlling the overhead fixture.

“Aren’t you afraid of waking your kitten?”

Grace gestured to the empty basket beside the dishwasher. “She has decided my space is far superior to her own. Found my bed and just stretched out flat.”

Kyle had a sudden and vivid image of doing much the same. Startled by the idea, he avoided her eyes. Instead he concentrated on the cake keeper on the table. He whisked off the lid to reveal a homemade two-layer chocolate confection. It was slightly uneven and held a birthday salutation etched in white icing, which was signed off with a K and a very squiggly B.

Grace gasped, placing a hand at the sweetheart neckline of her dress, on the soft skin of her rising breasts. “It’s absolutely beautiful!”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Kyle’s eyes centered not upon the cake, but her breasts, imagining his own hand checking out her heartbeat. Heaven help him, she was a sex goddess in that dress.

For the first time in his life, Kyle envied a bed-hogging kitten.

She peeled off her shawl and moved closer to the table, yet unaware of her sensual impact. “I haven’t had a wonderful homemade cake since camp. I can’t believe you went to the trouble. That you did this for me.”

Clearly, the gesture meant something special to her. To think he actually had some impact on this pampered, beguiling princess. Seemed impossible.

“Button helped,” he erupted. “No big deal.” In fact, the cake was sort of an afterthought that deserved little attention, just an impulsive gesture to seal their deal. Moreover, he’d thought it a good exercise for Button to do something kind for someone she didn’t particularly like yet. He could only imagine the monster cake she just bit into at her official party.

Arms folded over her chest, Grace was presently giving him the once-over. Lost in her, he’d forgotten about his own sorry state of dress. Allowing Button to run the egg-beater had left his decent shirt and slacks speckled with cake batter. Having little clean laundry he’d thrown on a faded gray T-shirt and some very sorry blue jeans with fabric so thin, they left little to the imagination.

There as a strange light in her green eyes now, suggesting hunger, delight, desire.

It was one thing for a male deprived of intimacy for a full year to feel lustful in these circumstances, but Grace…Surely she wouldn’t use her imagination on him this way, would she?

Dammit, this was little Gracie, the lanky tagalong. And he was unsure of her thoughts!

It was a struggle to trigger lucid conversation, but he managed. “So how was the big party?”

She shrugged, sinking into a chair at the table. “Probably as you remember. Routine.”

Kyle did remember, having helped with the catering on occasion. Never before had he ever been concerned over whether or not she had a date, though. The relief that she’d proven to be alone out on the street tonight had been overwhelming. For no good reason, he was very glad indeed.

She was staring up at him in curious amusement. “All in all, Kyle, you’ll find you haven’t missed much around here.”

Kyle sank into a chair beside her. Setting his elbow on the table he propped up his chin and stared her down. “For starters, I missed watching you grow up.”

She shot him a pained look. “I wasn’t exactly a baby when you left.”

“Guess not,” he slowly relented. “But I was graduating college and you were still too young to vote. There must be some events worth a report.”

She deadpanned him. “I am voting now.”

He laughed richly. “Still quick with the wit. But seriously, fill me in.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything that will help me get my balance round here, help me belong again.”

SHE SIGHED CONTENTEDLY. “Well, Michael and I have shared this duplex since my senior year at St. Catherine’s. I have a degree in theater arts, but my first love is fashion design. Did a lot of work for the plays there, discovered I was more comfortable offstage creating the costumes.”

“Far away from the North accounting empire.”

“Oh, yes. That’s exclusively Michael’s forte.”

“Wondered which way he would fall. When we were roommates, he seemed more interested in juggling girls’ phone numbers than any other kind of numbers.”

“He works way too hard now. You’ll be good for him, Kyle. Maybe you can rediscover his playful side.”

“What do you do for fun these days? Still pal around with Heather Crain?”

“Definitely. Though she’s Heather Basset now. Married a very nice guy from our old crowd, a real estate agent.”

“That scrawny blonde with the blue eye shadow and inline skates is married?” He wiped some imaginary sweat from his brow. “Look out!”

She huffed in frustration. “You always end up impossible, Kyle.”

“Okay, I’ll back off. Just one last thing. All the instances that I’ve thought of you over the years, believed you were perfectly happy, breaking boys’ hearts, was I on the right track?”

He’d thought of her over the years? The news made her melt into the hard wooden chair. “You were close. But I’m still sorting things out.”

“Guess a fair amount of confusion goes with the territory.” He sobered, raking a hand through his jet hair. “I too am still sorting.”

Her face crinkled tenderly. “I’m so sorry about Libby.”

“Yeah.”

“It must be hard, raising Button on your own.”

“Amelia will be helpful.”

“How old is she now?”

“Late sixties, I think.”

“Wow.”

He shook a finger at her. “Gotta warn you, she wouldn’t care for your doubtful look. Button’s given her a new lease on life. She is a challenge Amelia intends to conquer.”

Grace conjured up a picture of the tall, broad-shouldered woman with deep lines around her eyes, her hair in a long salt and pepper ponytail. “She did seem like the invincible kind,” she heartily assured.

“Perfectly said.”

“Would I be prying too much if I asked you how you ever connected with Amelia again? It must have been terribly hard.”

“The initial call with the news of Libby’s death, the existence of a secret great-granddaughter was very difficult.” He paused, wincing. “Amelia was stunned, then harsh over our defection—as was her right. But amazingly she showed up in Chicago for the funeral. After that, her visits became a regular thing. Eventually I must’ve passed some kind of benchmark, for she made me a proposition—move in with her, reopen the bistro and try to make a go of it.” He marveled over the memory. “She put it in such a way as to make it sound like a favor to her, a second chance at family. I’m not the smartest man around, but I did see a hell of a deal there for all three of us.”

She patted his hand. “A terrible twist of fate for you, losing Libby.”

“Maybe I could’ve averted the disaster. Looking back, there are things I’d have done differently. But hey, no one can turn back the clock.”

He clapped his hands together then, as if to break the mood. “Hey, this is way offtrack. Part of my reason for coming is to firm up our deal, decide my weekly hours. You dashed out so fast today, we never settled things.”

“Well, demands of the job.” She bit her lip self-consciously. Bailing out in a panic was kind of embarrassing now.

“I would prefer to come Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, from nine to whatever,” he said, unaware of her discomfort. “Probably work sometime after the noon hour, depending on the meal prep. I promise not to be too big a pest,” he added jokingly.

“Hah! You’ve already rearranged my kitchen.”

He was disgustingly gleeful. “For your own good, trust me.”

She smacked the table hard. “You think I’m going to fall for that old line all over again? You and Michael always had me running in circles, washing your car, running your errands—to learn!”

“This time you will benefit, princess, I swear.”

She smiled lamely as he waved a white paper napkin in truce. “Somehow, I doubt it.”

“For the record,” he went on huskily, “if you don’t know it yet, Grace, I am so thrilled to have this job. I need to make the money somehow, and a sweet distraction like you is an unusual bonus.”

“Glad to help,” she said haltingly. “Anything I can…” Her mouth went dry as cotton.

His blue eyes brightened. “Anything?”

Her heart tripped alarmingly. “What have you in mind?”

“I wasn’t going to impose this soon, but if you know something about wallpaper…”

“What about wallpaper, Kyle?”

“The bistro needs some and I am a dunce when it comes to decorating.”

“Oh.” She was sinking in quicksand, pure and simple. “Well, I guess I could help with that.”

“Busy tomorrow?”

“I can spare some time,” she stumbled.

“Super. You’re the best.” He shifted in his chair. “Suppose I should be going. Unless you’d like to share this cake first.”

“I’d love to,” she retorted, “if I could find my knife set.”

“It might have been a knife set once, Gracie. Now, it’s a pile of ragged steel blades with dried wooden handles.” He eyed her knowingly. “You aren’t supposed to put them in the dishwasher.”

“Oh, never mind.” With a crooked grin she dragged a manicured finger into the thick fudgy frosting.

He was aghast. “Hey, you didn’t learn that at home.”

“Did it at summer camp. Have you ever tried it?”

He opened his mouth to protest, only to find her finger full of frosting smack dab on his lower lip. With artist’s flair she began to frost his mouth. “There now. No cleanup.”

Kyle snagged her wrist, aghast. “You did that to the boys at camp?”

“Never you mind.” With a squeal she tried to wrench from his firm grasp. Shaking with laughter they stood up and began to tangle for control. In their struggle Kyle pulled her against his chest. Then the laughter died off.

This was her chance. To steal the kiss that had eluded her over and over, as recent as today when Michael stormed in here. Tired of fretting over her every move, she stood on tiptoe to lock lips.

Clasping a hand to her head, meshing the frosting between their lips, Kyle savored the taste of Grace. Her lips were so warm and soft. He was tempted to plunge his tongue into her mouth, until he remembered who she was, where their relationship belonged.

“God, Grace.” With a heaving breath, he let her go. He searched her face in a shell-shocked way. “That was…”

Her mouth curved naughtily. “Much better than camp.”

“I was going to label it an accident.”

As much pride as she had, she couldn’t let that go unchallenged. “I’d rather you consider it a nice experiment.”

He sighed indulgently. “Fair enough. It’s something I wanted to try too, since the moment I saw you.”

“Now you sound apologetic!”

He lifted his brows, perplexed. “You’re taking a great little kiss and beating it to death.”

“Oh, you—you—kitchen cop!”

He broke into spontaneous laughter. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“Yes. Now find my knives and cut that cake!”

Tension broken, they began moving about the kitchen like a couple, dodging one another with a twist, a turn and a laugh. Kyle produced a knife and two forks while Grace opened the refrigerator. “I don’t believe it. You brought me a carton of milk!”

He’d brought it earlier with all the other groceries. How scary that she hadn’t even noticed. As Michael intimated, her meal schedule must be a disaster. “Can’t have chocolate cake without milk,” was all he dared to say.

Twirling round she grabbed two plates and mismatched glasses from the cupboard. The tall one was plastic, bearing the likeness of Michael Jordan, the stout glass bore a picture of Wilma Flintstone. She filled them with milk and brought them to the table.

“Take your pick.”

Kyle sank the knife into the cake with practiced strokes and eased layered slices on two plates. “My heart is with Wilma, but I am thirsty. Guess I’ll go for Jordan.”

They settled in cozily at the small round table.

His mouth curved warmly. He reached out and touched some of the smaller auburn curls at her temple. “Never expected to celebrate the tail end of your birthday this way.”

“Mmm…” The feel of Kyle’s roughened fingertips on her face was exquisite. She leaned into his hand as her new kitten might.

But this couldn’t be the beginning of something. Kyle was here because Michael had hired him to nurture her. He was widowed a year, full of secrets and troubles, with a small girl to raise.

She shouldn’t dare to hope for anything.

But neither should he be running the pad of his thumb down her jawline with that dreamy expression. “So, I’ll

call you first thing tomorrow.”

“Really?” she sighed.

“Sure. About the wallpaper.”

“Oh. Right. Whatever you want. Whatever you say.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Gracie I know.”

She sighed in resignation. As if he knew her at all.

IT WAS NEARLY ONE O’CLOCK in the morning when Kyle rolled down Amelia Anderson’s sedate Golden Valley street of modest homes and aged trees. Reaching her Cape Cod home, he expertly pulled into her narrow driveway. He’d swung into this drive so many times during college, when Libby was alive and living here with her grandparents, that dodging the plank fencing against the neighbor’s property and parallel hedge siding Amelia’s yard had become a practiced art.

Kyle parked and shut off the engine, his thoughts turning to his late wife, who had felt trapped here as child under Amelia’s suffocating tutelage. How gladly he’d played the hero, coming to rescue her by night, arranging their elopement, whisking her off to a new independent life in Chicago.

Since then, he’d come to feel more like a thief than a hero. How naive he’d been—they’d both been—to consider only their feelings in the equation. There were many factors over the years that caused him to reflect, all the lonely holidays, the lack of any new long-term relationships. Many of the friends they’d made eventually moved on or had extended families of their own to focus on. Unlike his own dysfunctional parents who’d basically ignored him, Libby’s grandparents—if a bit possessive—had at least wanted her in the bosom of their family.

He emerged from the Jeep, happy enough with the state of the union. Dashing across the shadowed lawn he noted that light streamed through the bay window from the living room. Perhaps Amelia had fallen asleep in her chair again, television droning, a knitting project for Button askew in her lap.

He unlocked the front door and stepped over the threshold into the small living room. The scene was partially as he expected. Amelia was in her recliner all right, her long gray hair loose round her shoulders, dressed in her long terry cloth robe, feet up, skein of pale yellow yarn in her lap. But she proved wide-awake, knitting needles clicking madly upon half a dainty mitten. Kyle often teased her about knitting in July, guessing Button’s size six months into the colder weather, but Amelia assured him she knew these things.

“You’ve been gone a good long while.” She regarded him over the tops of her reading glasses. Her lips puckered in disapproval. Kyle sighed, hanging his zip sweatshirt in the small hallway closet. He knew she was trying to be less controlling, but it was an ongoing effort. Old habits were tough to break.

“Grace showed up before I could leave.” He moved closer, hovering over Amelia’s chair. “So we ate some cake and firmed up plans.” And then she kissed me, with the gusto of a barroom floozy and the sweetness of a prom queen. I felt dismay, shock and complete helplessness for a matter of about sixty seconds.

He could feel a blush rising from his neck. Hopefully, his suntan would disguise it a bit. Avoiding her survey he stretched his arms over his head and glanced around. To his alarm, there lay Button, dressed in her frilly cotton nightie, curled up in the window seat. “What the…” He stalked across the room.

“I would have carried her to her room myself…”

“You know better, Amelia.” He gave the old woman a worried backward glance.

“I do know the limitations of this old body. Did what I could under the circumstances, though. Covered her with a blanket, rested her head on a sofa pillow.”

Kyle scooped up the child in his muscled arms with ease and strode back to sit in the chair adjoining Amelia’s. “Why can’t she go to bed like other people?” he asked, perplexed.

Amelia shook her head. “She’s inconsistent on that score, it’s true.”

He sensed her hesitancy. “But?”

“Well, Kyle, you said you’d be back in an hour. She believed you. Decided to keep watch for your car.”

“Oh.” He gulped, reaching down to push black silken hair from Button’s cherub face. “Daddy is too blame, isn’t he?” With a sleepy moan Button twisted in his lap, sucking harder on her thumb.

“You are her everything,” Amelia chided. “And small children interpret things quite literally.”

He rubbed his mouth, sheepish. “Seems I slipped up.”

“Mothers have better radar for such things than fathers,” she granted. “You can’t hope to get every move right.”

Kyle sensed some disapproval in her voice that suggested he could’ve done better, but he kept on smiling.

“So, tell me, was the cake a success?” she asked in a kinder tone.

“Yes.” Kyle cuddled Button against his chest, sniffing her hair, which smelled faintly floral. “Grace appreciated it very much.”

Amelia adjusted her needles thoughtfully. “I remember the girl quite clearly, tagging along after you at the bistro. Bubbly, pretty. Curly reddish brown hair. Full of cheer and questions. Seemed crazy about you.”

She did? Kyle’s heavy black brows jumped.

Amelia didn’t acknowledge his reaction, if she noticed. “I never had much contact with the parents though. They came into the bistro a few times to get their son, Michael, gift certificates or to pick up the girl. Struck me as the cold fish type.”

“They are restrained,” Kyle admitted. He was deliberately careful in his wording. Victor and Ingrid had never treated him badly, but he had a sense that he didn’t quite make their grade. It was a vague feeling that didn’t warrant his resentment. Resentment took energy and he’d learned to reserve it only for extreme cases.

Her forehead furrowed as she inspected her stitching. “Don’t get me wrong about the Norths. I’m sure they’re decent. But you’d best keep in mind that the rich are different. Many of them have never felt the raw panic of facing mounting bills. It sets people apart, the yearning for more.”

The advice never stopped flowing. But he did have some recourse here, which he used gently. “We can be grateful to Michael for funding my payment to you,” he said. “He’ll be a good partner, as he’s far more interested in his father’s accounting firm and won’t be bossing us around. And working for Grace will allow me more time with Button and some extra cash. Just so you know, we’re set up for Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Amelia stuffed her knitting in the canvas bag beside her chair and released the footrest on her chair. “I generally do have activities to fill some of those days. How will you manage? Perhaps I should cancel—”

“You shouldn’t,” he said adamantly, touched by her distress. “Our general deal is that you watch Button evenings and weekends, while I’m busy at the bistro. The weekdays are all yours, to follow your own schedule, no matter what.”

“I don’t expect that, and you shouldn’t guarantee it.”

He chuckled, gazing upon the bundle in his arms. “Guess you’re right.”

Button stirred in his arms then. Focusing on Kyle, she threw her arms around him. “You come back.”

“I always come back, honey.”

She pressed her soft little nose against his. “No heaven, Daddy.”

“Now, Button,” Amelia reasoned succinctly, “your father is not going to heaven any day soon. He was delivering a cake. You know that.”

Kyle squeezed her tight, exchanging a concerned look with Amelia. Button had been so insecure since Libby’s death, afraid she’d lose him to heaven too. “You did a good job on the cake, baby. Grace loved it.”

She set her chin stubbornly. “How’s Kitty?”

“Kitty was sound asleep, just like you should be.”

“My kitty,” she whispered fiercely.

“No, Button. You can visit Kitty, but she belongs to Grace.”

With pouty lips she crashed against Kyle’s shoulder and fell back asleep. He expelled a lung full of air. “That went well.”

Amelia regarded him sympathetically. “Lighten up. Isn’t your fault you got dealt this bad deck. Most fathers can slip away a few hours and not be concerned that their three-year-old will write them off as dead. It’s no one’s fault. We’re just left with…a situation. One we can surely handle.”

Kyle tried to appear convinced.

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