This Heart of Mine (19 page)

"Why didn't you just get a job?"

"I did, but the money kept hanging over me. I hadn't earned a penny of it. Maybe if it had come from someone other than Bert Somerville, I wouldn't have had such a hard time with it, but it felt as if he'd poked his nasty head back in my life, and I didn't like it. Finally I decided to set up a foundation and give it all away. And if you tell anybody, I swear I'll make you regret it."

"You gave away all of it?"

"Every penny."

"How much?"

She fiddled with the drawstring on her shorts. "I don't want to tell you. You already think I'm nuts."

"It's going to be so easy for me to return those sandals."

"Fifteen million, all right!"

He looked as if he'd been face-masked. "You gave away fifteen million dollars!"

She nodded.

He threw back his head and laughed. "You
are
nuts!"

She remembered the somersault dive she'd made off the cliff. "Probably. But I haven't regretted it for a moment." Although now she wouldn't mind having some of it back so she could keep paying her mortgage.

"You really don't miss it?"

"No. Except for the clothes, which I believe I already mentioned. And thank you for the sandals, by the way. I love them."

"My pleasure. Matter of fact, I've enjoyed your story so much, I'll add a new outfit the next time you're in town."

"Done!"

"God, it's heartbreaking to see a woman fight so hard to hang tough."

She laughed.

"Kevin! Hello!"

Molly heard a distinctly Germanic accent and looked up to see a willowy blonde hurrying toward them with a small white box in her hand. The woman wore a blue-and-white-striped apron over black slacks and a V-neck top. She was pretty. Lots of hair, brown eyes, good makeup. She was probably a couple of years older than Molly, nearer Kevin's age.

"Hey, there, Christina." Kevin gave the woman a smile that was way too sexy as he rose to greet her.

She extended the white cardboard box, and Molly spotted a blue seal on the side with say fudge embossed on it. "You seemed to enjoy the fudge last night,
ja
? This is a small present to welcome you to Wind Lake. Our sample box."

"Thanks a lot." He looked so pleased that Molly wanted to remind him it was just candy, not a Super Bowl ring! "Christina, this is Molly. Christina owns that fudge shop over there. I met her yesterday when I came into town to grab a burger."

Christina was more slender than a woman who owned a fudge shop should be. That struck Molly as a crime against nature.

"Pleasure to meet you, Molly."

"Nice meeting you, too." Molly could have ignored the curiosity in her expression, but she wasn't that good a person. "I'm Kevin's wife."

"Oh." Her disappointment was just as blatant as her mission with the fudge box.

"Estranged wife," Kevin cut in. "Molly writes children's books."

"
Ach so
? I've always wanted to write a children's book. Maybe you could give me a few suggestions sometime."

Molly kept her expression pleasant but noncommittal.

Just once she'd like to meet someone who
didn't
want to write a children's book. People assumed they were easy to write because they were short. They had no idea what went into writing a successful book, one that children genuinely enjoyed and learned from, not just something adults had decided a child should enjoy.

"I'm sorry you're going to sell the campground, Kevin. We'll miss you." Before Christina could drool over him any more, she spotted a woman heading into the fudge shop. "I have to go. Stop by the next time you're in town so you can sample my cherry chocolate."

The minute she was out of earshot, Molly turned on him. "You can't sell the campground!"

"I told you from the beginning that's what I was doing."

True, but it hadn't meant anything at the time. Now she couldn't bear the idea that he would throw it away. The campground was a permanent part of him, part of his family, and in a strange way she couldn't analyze, it was beginning to feel like part of her.

He misunderstood her silence. "Don't worry. We won't have to stay around that long. The minute I find someone to take over, we're out of here."

All the way back to the campground, Molly tried to sort out her thoughts. The only deep roots Kevin had left were here. He'd lost his parents, he had no siblings, and he didn't seem inclined to let Lilly into his life. The house where he'd grown up belonged to the church. He had nothing to connect him with his past except the campground. It would be wrong to give that up.

The Common came into sight, and her jumbled thoughts gave way to a feeling of peace. Charlotte Long was sweeping her front porch, an elderly man rode by on a three-wheel bike, and a couple chatted on a bench. Molly drank in the storybook cottages and shady trees.

No wonder she'd experienced a sense of familiarity the moment she'd arrived here. She'd stepped through the pages of her books right into Nightingale Woods.

Instead of heading along the lake where she might meet someone, Lilly followed a narrow path that led into the woods beyond the Common. She'd changed into a pair of slacks and a square-neck, tobacco-brown top, but she was still hot, and she wished she were thin enough to wear shorts. Those little white ones that had been a permanent part of her wardrobe on
Lace, Inc
. They'd barely covered her bottom.

Weeds brushed her legs as the trees opened into a meadow. Her toes felt pleasantly gritty inside her sandals, and some of the tension she'd been carrying all day began to ease. She heard running water from a stream and turned to look for it, only to see something so out of place that she blinked.

A chrome diner's chair with a red vinyl seat.

Lilly couldn't imagine what it was doing in the middle of the meadow. As she began to walk toward it, she saw a creek with ferns growing among the reeds and mossy rocks. The chair sat on a lichen-encrusted boulder. Its red vinyl seat sparkled in the sunlight, and there was no visible rust, so it had been put there recently. But why? Its perch was precarious, and it wobbled as she touched it.

"Leave that alone!"

She spun around to see a big bear of a man crouched in bars of sunlight at the edge of the meadow.

Her hand flew to her throat.

Behind her the chair splashed into the creek.

"Damn it!" The man jumped to his feet.

He was huge, with shoulders as wide as twelve lanes of L.A. freeway and a scowling, rough-hewn face that belonged on the villain in an old B Western.
I got ways of makin' a woman like you talk
. The only thing missing was a week's worth of stubble on that grim jaw.

His hair was a Hollywood stylist's nightmare or daydream, she wasn't sure which. Thick and graying at the temples, it grew too long at the collar, where it looked as if he might have swiped at it with the knife he undoubtedly kept in his boot. Except he wore a pair of battered running shoes instead, with socks that slouched around his ankles. And his eyes—mysteriously dark in that deeply tanned, dangerously lined face.

Every casting agent in Hollywood would salivate over him.

All those thoughts were scrambling through Lilly's head instead of the one thought that should have been there:
Run
!

He strode toward her. Beneath his khaki shorts his legs were brown and strong. He wore an old blue denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. "Do you know how long it took me to get that chair right where I wanted it?"

She backed away from him. "Maybe you have too much leisure time."

"Do you think that's funny?"

"Oh, no." She kept backing. "Not funny. Definitely not."

"Does it amuse you to spoil a whole day's work?"

"Work?"

His eyebrows shot together. "What are you doing?"

"Doing?"

"Stand still, damn it, and stop cowering!"

"I'm not cowering!"

"For God's sake, I'm not going to hurt you!" Grumbling under his breath, he stalked back to where he'd been sitting and picked up something off the ground. She took advantage of his distraction to edge closer to the path.

"I told you not to move!"

He was holding some kind of notebook, and he no longer seemed sinister, just incredibly impolite. She regarded him with all the imperiousness of Hollywood royalty. "Someone's forgotten his manners."

"Waste of energy. I come here for privacy. Is that too much to ask?"

"Not at all. I'm leaving right now."

"Over there!" He pointed an angry finger toward the creek.

"Pardon me?"

"Sit over there."

She was no longer frightened, just annoyed. "I don't think so."

"You ruined an afternoon's work. Sitting for me is the least you can do to make up for it."

He was holding a sketch pad, she realized, not a notebook. He was an artist. "Why don't I just leave instead?"

"I told you to sit!"

"Has anyone ever mentioned that you're rude?"

"I work hard at it. Sit on that boulder and face the sun."

"Thanks, but I don't do sun. Bad for the complexion."

"Just once I'd like to meet a beautiful woman who isn't vain."

"I appreciate the compliment," she said dryly, "but I passed the beautiful woman mark a good ten years and forty pounds ago."

"Don't be infantile." He whipped a pencil from his shirt pocket and began to sketch, not bothering to argue with her any longer, or even to sit down on the small camp stool she spotted a few feet away. "Tilt your chin. God, you really are beautiful."

He uttered the compliment so dispassionately that it didn't seem flattering. She resisted the urge to tell him he should have seen her in her prime. "You're right about my vanity," she said, just to needle him. "Which is why I'm not going to stand here in the sun any longer."

The pencil continued to fly over his sketch pad. "I don't like models talking when I'm working."

"I'm not your model."

Just as she was about to turn away for the last time, he jabbed his pencil in the pocket of his work shirt. "How do you expect me to concentrate when you won't stand still?"

"Pay attention: I don't care whether you concentrate or not."

His brow furrowed, and she had the feeling he was trying to make up his mind whether he could bully her into staying. Finally he flipped his sketch pad shut. "We'll meet here tomorrow morning then. Let's say seven. That way the sun won't be too hot for you."

Her irritation turned to amusement. "Why not make it six-thirty?"

His eyes narrowed. "You're patronizing me, aren't you?"

"Rude and astute. A fascinating combination."

"I'll pay you."

"You couldn't afford me."

"I seriously doubt that."

She smiled and turned onto the path.

"Do you know who I am?" he called out.

She glanced back. His expression couldn't have been more threatening. "Should I?"

"I'm Liam Jenner, damn it!"

She sucked in her breath. Liam Jenner. The J. D. Salinger of American painters. My God… What was he doing here?

He could see that she knew exactly who he was, and his scowl turned smug. "We'll compromise on seven then."

"I—"
Liam Jenner
! "I'll think about it."

"You do that."

What an obnoxious man! He'd done the world a favor by being so reclusive. But still…

Liam Jenner, one of the most famous painters in America, wanted her to sit for him.
If only she were twenty and beautiful again.

Daphne put down her hammer and hopped back to admire the sign she'd nailed to her front door.

It read NO BADGERS ALLOWED (and this means vous!). She'd painted it herself just that morning.

Daphne's Lonesome Day

"Use the stepstool to check that top shelf, will you, Amy?" Kevin said from the pantry. "I'm going to move these boxes out of the way."

As soon as they'd returned from town, Kevin had enlisted Amy's help taking inventory of their food supplies. For the past ten minutes she'd been darting assessing glances between the pantry where he was working and the kitchen counter where Molly was preparing for the tea. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer.

"It's sort of interesting, isn't it, that you and Molly got married about the same time as me and Troy."

Molly set the first slice of Bundt cake on the Victorian cake platter and listened to Kevin dodge. "Molly said she was going to need more brown sugar. Anything up there?"

"I see two bags. There's this book I read about marriage…"

"What else?"

"Some raisin boxes and a thingy of baking powder. Anyway, this book said that sometimes couples who, like, have just got married have a hard time adjusting and everything. Because it's such a big change."

"Is there any oatmeal? She said she needed that, too."

"There's a box, but it's not a big one. Troy, like, thinks being married is awesome."

"What else?"

"Pans and stuff. No more food. But if you're having trouble adjusting or anything, I mean, you could talk to Troy."

Molly smiled at the long silence that followed. Eventually, Kevin said, "Maybe you'd better see what's left in the freezer."

Amy emerged from the pantry and gave Molly a pitying glance. There was something about the teenager's sympathy and those hickeys that was getting under her skin.

Tea wasn't nearly as much fun without Kevin. Mrs. Chet—actually Gwen—didn't try to hide her disappointment when Molly said he had another commitment. She might have cheered up if she'd known that Lilly Sherman was staying there, but Lilly didn't appear, and Molly wasn't going to announce her presence.

She was setting out the pottery mixing bowls so she'd be ready for breakfast the next morning when Kevin came in through the back carrying groceries. He dodged Roo, who was trying to make a meal of his ankles, and set the bags on the counter. "Why are you doing that? Where's Amy?"

"Stop it, Roo. I just let her go. She was starting to whimper from Troy-deprivation."

No sooner had she said it than she spotted Amy flying across the yard toward her husband, who must have sniffed her on the wind, because he'd appeared out of nowhere.

"There they go again," Kevin said.

Their reunion was more passionate than a perfume commercial. Molly watched Troy dip his mouth to the top of Amy's exposed breast. She threw back her head. Arched her neck.

Another hickey.

Molly smacked a Tupperware lid back on its container. "She's going to end up needing a blood transfusion if he doesn't stop that."

"She doesn't seem to mind it too much. Some women like it when a man puts his mark on them."

Something in the way he looked at her made her breasts prickle. She didn't like her reaction. "And some women see it for what it is—the pathetic attempt of an insecure man to dominate a woman."

"Yeah, there's always that." He gave her a lazy smile and headed back out the side door for the rest of the groceries.

While he unloaded, he asked Molly if she wanted to go into town for dinner, but she declined. There was only so much Kevin temptation she wanted to expose herself to at one time. She headed back to the cottage, feeling good about her self-discipline.

The sun looked like a big lemon cookie in the sky, which made Daphne hungry. Green beans! she thought. With a nice topping of dandelion leaves.
And strawberry cheesecake for dessert

This was the second time today the critters had popped into her head. Maybe she was finally ready to get back to work—if not to write, then at least to do the drawings Helen wanted and free up the rest of her advance.

She let herself into the cottage and found a well-stocked refrigerator and a cupboard stacked with supplies. She had to give Kevin credit. He was doing his best to be considerate. She wasn't crazy about the fact that she was starting to like him so much, and she tried to work up some anger by reminding herself he was a shallow, egotistical, overpriced, Ferrari-driving, kidnapping, poodle-hating womanizer. Except she hadn't seen any evidence of womanizing. None at all.

Because he didn't find her attractive.

She grabbed her hair and let out a muffled scream at her own utter patheticness. Then she fixed a huge dinner and ate every bite.

That evening she sat on the porch gazing down at the pad of paper she'd found in a drawer. Would it hurt to move Daphne and Melissa just a little farther apart? After all, it was only a children's book. It wasn't as if America's civil liberties rested on how close Daphne and Melissa were standing to each other.

Her pencil began to move, at first hesitantly, and then more quickly. But the sketch that appeared wasn't the one she'd planned. Instead, she found herself drawing Benny in the water, fur dripping into his eyes, his mouth agape, as he looked up at Daphne, who was diving off the top of a cliff. Her ears streamed behind her, the beaded collar of her denim jacket flapped open, and a pair of very stylish Manolo Blahniks flew from her paws.

She frowned and thought of all the accounts she'd read of young people being permanently paralyzed from diving into unfamiliar water. What kind of safety message would this send small children?

She ripped the paper from the pad and crumpled it. This was the sort of problem all those people who wanted to write a children's book never considered.

Her brain had dried up again. Instead of thinking about Daphne and Benny, she found herself thinking about Kevin and the campground. This was his heritage, and he should never sell it. He said he'd been bored here as a child, but he didn't have to be bored now. Maybe he just needed a playmate. Her brain skittered away from thinking about exactly what playing with Kevin would involve.

She decided to walk to the Common. Maybe she'd sketch some of the cottages just for fun. On the way there, Roo trotted over to greet Charlotte Long and impress her with his dead dog imitation. Although fewer than half the cottages were occupied, most of the residents seemed to be out for an evening stroll, and long, cool shadows fell like whispers across the grass. Life passed more slowly here in Nightingale Woods…

The gazebo caught Molly's attention.

I'll have a tea party! I'll invite my friends, and we'll wear fabulous hats and eat chocolate frosting and say, "
Ma chère
, have you ever seen such a bee-you-tee-ful day?"

She settled cross-legged on the beach towel she'd brought with her and began to sketch. Several couples strolled by and stopped to observe, but they were members of the last generation with manners, and they didn't interrupt her. As she drew, she found herself thinking about all her years at summer camp. The frailest thread of an idea began to form in her mind, not about a tea party but about—

She closed her notebook. What was the use of thinking so far ahead? Birdcage had contractual rights to two more Daphne books, neither of which they'd accept until she'd made the revisions they'd demanded of
Daphne Takes a Tumble
.

The lights were on when she returned to the cottage. She hadn't left them that way, but she wasn't too worried.

Roo immediately started barking and made a dash for the bathroom door. It wasn't latched, and the dog bumped it open a few inches with his head.

"Calm down, poochy." Molly pushed it open the rest of the way and saw Kevin, all bare-naked beautiful, stretched out in the old-fashioned tub, legs crossed and propped on the rim, a book in his hands, and a small cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth.

"What are you doing in my bathtub?" Although the water came all the way to the top, there weren't any soap bubbles to hide him, so she didn't go closer.

He pulled the cigar from the corner of his mouth. No smoke curled from it, and she realized it wasn't a cigar but a stick of candy—chocolate or root beer.

He had the gall to sound irritated. "Now, what do you think I'm doing? And would you mind knocking before you barge in?"

"Roo barged in, not me." The dog ambled out, his job done, and headed for his water bowl. "Why aren't you using your own tub?"

"I don't like sharing a bathroom."

She didn't point out what had to be obvious—that he seemed to be sharing this one with her. She noticed that his chest looked just as good wet as it did dry. Even better. Something about the way he was watching her made her feel edgy. "Where did you get that candy?"

"In town. And I only bought one."

"Nice going."

"All you had to do was ask."

"Like I knew you were going to buy candy? And I'll just bet there's a box of the beautiful fraulein's fudge tucked away somewhere."

"Close the door on your way out. Unless you want to get naked and climb in here with me?"

"Thanks so much, but it looks a little small."

"Small? I don't think so, sweetheart."

"Oh, grow up!"

His chuckle followed her as she spun around and slammed the door.
Slytherin
! She headed for the small bedroom. Sure enough, his suitcase was there. She sighed and pressed her fingers to her temple. Her old headache was coming back.

Daphne put down her electric guitar and opened her door.

Benny stood on the other side.

"Can I use your bathtub, Daphne?"

"Why do you want to?"

He looked scared. "I just do."

She poured herself a glass of sauvignon blanc from the bottle she found chilling in the refrigerator, then carried it out to the porch. Her black cropped top wasn't warm enough for the evening chill, but she didn't bother going inside to get a sweater.

She was rocking in the glider when he appeared. He wore a pair of gray sweat socks with a silky-looking robe that had dark maroon and black vertical stripes. It was the kind of robe a woman would buy for a man she loved sleeping with. Molly hated it.

"Let's host a tea in the gazebo before we leave," she said. "We'll make an event of it and invite everyone in the cottages."

"Why would we want to do that?"

"For fun."

"Sounds like a real thrill ride." He sat on the chair next to her and stretched his legs. The hair on his calves lay damp against his skin. He smelled like Safeguard and something expensive—a Brinks truckload of broken female hearts.

"I'd rather you didn't stay here, Kevin."

"I'd rather I did." He took a sip of wine from the glass he'd brought out with him.

"Can I sleep at your house, Daphne?"

"I guess. But why do you want to?"

"Because mine has a ghost."

"You can't hide from Lilly forever," she said.

"I'm not hiding. Just picking my own time."

"I don't know much about getting annulments, but it seems as though this might compromise ours."

"It was compromised from the beginning," he said. "The way my attorney explained it, the grounds for a legal annulment are misrepresentation or duress. I figured you could claim duress. I sure wasn't going to argue."

"But the fact that we're together now makes that doubtful."

"Big deal. We'll get a divorce instead. It might take a little longer, but it'll accomplish the same thing."

She rose from the glider. "I still don't want you to stay here."

"It's my cottage."

"I have renter's rights."

His voice slid over her, soft and sexy. "I think being around me just makes you nervous."

"Yeah, right." She managed a yawn.

Amused, he nodded toward her wineglass. "You're drinking. Aren't you afraid you'll attack me again in my sleep?"

"Oops. Relapse. And I didn't even realize it."

"Or maybe you're afraid I'll attack you."

Something licked at her deep inside, but she played Ms. Cool, wandering over to the table to wipe up a few bread crumbs with the napkin she'd left there. "Why should I be? You're not attracted to me."

He waited just long enough before he replied to make her nervous. "How do you know who I'm attracted to?"

Her heart did a provoking little skipper-dee. "Oh, my gosh! And here I thought my command of the English language would drive us apart."

"You're such a wise-ass."

"Sorry, but I like my men with more depth of character."

"Are you trying to say you think I'm shallow?"

"As a sidewalk puddle. But you're rich and gorgeous, so it's okay."

"I am not shallow!"

"Fill in the blank: The most important thing in Kevin Tucker's life is—"

"Football is my career. That hardly makes me shallow."

"The second, third, and fourth most important things in Kevin Tucker's life are football, football, and oh my god, football."

"I'm the best at what I do, and I'm not apologizing."

"The fifth most important thing in Kevin Tucker's life is—Oh, wait now, that would be women, wouldn't it?"

"Quiet ones, so that leaves you out!"

She was halfway to a great comeback when it hit her. "I get it. All the foreign women…" He looked wary. "You don't want someone you can truly communicate with. That might get in the way of your primary obsession."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. I keep telling you: I date lots of American women."

"And I'll bet they're interchangeable. Beautiful, not too bright, and—as soon as they turn demanding—out the door."

"The good old days."

"I insulted you, in case you didn't realize it."

"I insulted you back, in case you didn't realize it."

She smiled. "I'm sure you don't want to stay under the same roof with someone who's so demanding."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily. As a matter of fact, living together could have some advantages." He rose from the glider and gazed at her with an expression that conjured up images of sweaty bodies and messy sheets. Then he reached into the pocket of his robe, breaking the spell which had probably all been in her imagination anyway.

He pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. It took her only a moment to recognize the drawing she'd made of Daphne diving into the water.

"I found this in the trash." He smoothed it out as he came toward her, then pointed down at Benny. "This guy? He's the badger?"

She nodded slowly, wishing she hadn't discarded the drawing where he could find it.

"So why did you throw it away?"

"Safety issues."

"Uhm…"

"Sometimes I use incidents in my own life for inspiration."

His mouth quirked. "I can see that."

"I'm really more a cartoonist than an artist."

"This is a little too detailed for a cartoon."

She shrugged and held out her hand to take it back, but he shook his head. "It's mine now. I like it." He slipped it his pocket, then turned back toward the kitchen door. "I'd better get dressed."

"Good, because staying here won't work."

"Oh, I'm staying here. I'm just going into town for a while." He paused and gave her a crooked smile. "You can come along if you'd like."

Her brain sounded a warning. "Thanks anyway, but my German's rusty, and too much chocolate makes my skin break out."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."

"Just remember,
liebling
, the alarm goes off at five-thirty tomorrow morning."

She heard him come in sometime after one, so it was a pleasure banging on his bedroom door at dawn. There had been rain overnight, but as they walked silently down the lane, they were both too groggy to appreciate the freshly washed, rosy-gray sky. While Kevin yawned, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and avoiding puddles. Only Roo was happy to be up and about.

Molly fixed blueberry pancakes, and Kevin sliced uneven chunks of fruit into a blue pottery bowl. As he worked, he grumbled that someone with a 65-percent pass completion record shouldn't have to do kitchen duty. His complaining stopped, however, when Marmie strolled in.

"Where did that cat come from?"

Molly dodged his question. "She showed up yesterday. That's Marmie."

Roo whimpered and crawled under the table. Kevin grabbed a tea towel to dry his hands. "Hey, girl." He knelt and stroked the animal. Marmie immediately curled against him.

"I thought you didn't like animals."

"I love animals. Where did you get that idea?" Marmie put her paws on his leg, and he picked her up.

"From my dog?"

"That's a dog? Jeez, I'm sorry. I thought it was an industrial-waste accident." His long, lean fingers slid through the cat's fur.

"Slytherin." She slapped the lid back onto the flour container. What kind of man liked a cat more than he liked an exceptionally fine French poodle?

"What did you call me?"

"It's a literary reference. You wouldn't understand."

"Harry Potter. And I don't appreciate name calling."

His reply irritated her. It was getting harder and harder to convince herself he was just a pretty face.

The Pearsons were their first customers. John Pearson consumed half a dozen pancakes and a serving of scrambled eggs while he updated Kevin on the couple's so-far-fruitless search for Kirtland's warbler. Chet and Gwen were leaving that day, and when Molly peered into the dining room, she saw Gwen casting come-hither glances at Kevin. A little later she heard a commotion from the front of the house. She turned off the heat and rushed into the foyer, where the forbidding man she'd seen on the Common the day she'd arrived was growling at Kevin.

"She's a redhead. Tall—five feet nine. And beautiful. Somebody said they saw her here yesterday afternoon."

"What do you want with her?" Kevin asked.

"We had an appointment."

"What kind of an appointment?"

"Is she here or not?"

"I thought I recognized that snarl." Lilly appeared at the top of the stairs. Somehow she managed to make her simple periwinkle linen camp shirt and matching walking shorts look glamorous. She began to descend, every inch the queen of the screen, then stalled awkwardly as she spotted Kevin. "Good morning."

He gave her a brusque nod and disappeared into the dining room.

Lilly retained her composure. The man who'd come to see her stared toward the dining room, and Molly realized he was the one she'd passed coming out of the woods her first day here. How did Lilly know him?

"It's eight-thirty," he grumbled. "We were supposed to meet at seven."

"I mulled it over for a few seconds and decided I'd rather sleep in."

He glared at her like a surly lion. "Let's get going. I'm losing the light."

"If you search hard enough, I'm sure you'll be able to find it. In the meantime I'm eating breakfast."

His brow furrowed.

Lilly turned to Molly, her expression frosty. "Would it be possible for me to eat in the kitchen instead of the dining room?"

Molly told herself to rise above Lilly's hostility, then decided the heck with it. Two could play this game. "Of course. Maybe you'd
both
like to eat there. I've made blueberry pancakes."

Lilly looked miffed.

"Do you have coffee?" he barked.

Molly had always been drawn to individuals who didn't care about earning the approval of others—probably because she'd spent so much time trying to earn her father's.

This man's outrageous crankiness fascinated her. She also noticed that he was very sexy for someone his age. "All the coffee you can drink."

"Well, all right then."

Molly felt a little guilty and returned her attention to Lilly. "Feel free to use the kitchen anytime you want. I'm sure you'd rather avoid facing your fans first thing in the morning."

"What kind of fans?" he demanded.

"I'm fairly well known," Lilly said.

"Oh." He dismissed her celebrity. "If you insist on eating, could you hurry up about it?"

Lilly addressed Molly, but only to aggravate him, she was certain. "This unbelievably self-absorbed man is Liam Jenner. Mr. Jenner, this is Molly, my… nephew's wife."

For the second time in two days Molly found herself starstruck. "Mr. Jenner?" She gulped. "I can't tell you what a pleasure this is. I've admired your work for years. I can't believe you're here! I just—You have long hair in that photograph they always print of you. I know it was taken years ago, but—I'm sorry. I'm babbling. It's just that your work has meant a lot to me."

Jenner glowered at Lilly. "If I'd wanted her to know my name, I'd have told her myself."

"Lucky us," Lilly said to Molly. "We finally have a winner for our Mr. Charm pageant."

Molly tried to catch her breath. "That's all right. I understand. I'm sure lots of people try to violate your privacy, but—"

"Maybe you could skip the adulation and just lead the way to those pancakes."

She gulped some air. "Right this way. Sir."

"Perhaps you should fix crab cakes instead," Lilly said.

"I heard that," he muttered.

In the kitchen Molly pulled herself together enough to direct Lilly and Liam Jenner to the round table that sat in the bay. She raced to rescue the scrambled eggs she'd abandoned and toss them on a plate.

Kevin came through the door and glanced toward Lilly and Jenner but apparently decided not to ask any questions. "Are those eggs ready yet?"

She handed him the plates. "They're overdone. If Mrs. Pearson complains, charm her out of it. Would you bring in some coffee? We have kitchen guests. This is Liam Jenner."

Kevin nodded at the artist. "I heard in town that you had a house on the lake."

"And you're Kevin Tucker." For the first time Jenner smiled, and Molly was startled by the transformation of those craggy features. Very sexy indeed. Lilly noticed, too, although she didn't seem as impressed as Molly.

He stood and extended his hand. "I should have recognized you right away. I've been following the Stars for years."

As the two men shook, Molly watched the temperamental artist turn into a football fan. "You had a pretty good season."

"Could have been better."

"I guess you can't win them all."

As the conversation turned to the Stars, Molly gazed at the three of them. What an odd group of people to have come together in this isolated place. A football player, an artist, and a movie star.

Here on Gilligan's Isle.

She smiled and took the plates from Kevin, who seemed to be enjoying the conversation, then plopped them on a tray and delivered them to the dining room. Luckily there were no complaints about the eggs. She filled two mugs from the coffee urn, picked up an extra cream and sugar, and carried it all back to the kitchen.

Kevin was leaning against the pantry door ignoring Lilly while he spoke to Jenner. "… heard in town that lots of people are visiting Wind Lake hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Apparently you've been a boon to local tourism."

"Not by choice." Jenner took the coffee Molly set in front of him and leaned back in his chair. He looked easy in his skin, she thought. Solidly built, a little grizzled, an artist disguised as a rugged outdoorsman. "As soon as word got around that I'd built a house here, all kinds of idiots started showing up."

Lilly accepted the spoon Molly handed her and began stirring her coffee. "You don't seem to think much of your admirers, Mr. Jenner."

"They're impressed by my fame, not my work. They start babbling about how they're so honored to meet me, but three-quarters of them wouldn't know one of my paintings if it bit 'em on the ass."