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  “Oh, no, she wouldn’t,” Alex said even though his mind instantly registered the truth of what Chase implied. “I mean, she couldn’t think…”

  Chase leaned back against the bed, his hands beneath his head. “You know Mom’s become a real matchmaker in the last few years.”

  He did. His mother had recently discovered she was a positive genius at manipulating people together if she thought they’d hit it off, even just as friends. And once she’d found out she was good at it, she’d thrown herself into the enterprise. Most often, she guessed right, so she hadn’t had any calamities…yet. But he and Michelle? Wow. Way too much to get past. The fact that she was his best friend’s little sister, for one. Kyle would cut off Alex’s hand if Alex touched her. And his more sensitive parts, too. Then, there was the difference in their intellectual abilities—namely, she was brilliant and he wasn’t. Plus, all the travel with his job made relationships difficult.

  Nope. As much as he hated to disappoint his mother, she wouldn’t win this one.

  “And you know how Mom would like to have grandchildren,” Chase said.

  “You’ll have to take care of that. I’m going to be too busy and on the road for the next several years.”

  “Are you sure?” Chase said. “NFL players become fathers all the time.”

  “Yeah, and they aren’t home for the pregnancy. No thanks.” Not that he didn’t want kids. When you grew up in a family like his you’d want exactly the same life for yourself. Not in high school or college, of course, when all guys valued what they called “their freedom.” But eventually, even a jock matured and developed a need for closeness—someone to come home to and children to carry on your name and traditions.

  Trouble was, he pretty much sucked at the closeness part. It made him vulnerable. It seemed every time he opened up to someone, his ego got put through the shredder. He might have humiliated Michelle in the cottage that day, but he’d had the same done to him on numerous occasions until he’d learned to keep control of the situation at all times so no one saw any weakness in him.

  “One of us is going to have to give up what Mom calls ‘our lifestyle,’ and settle down with someone,” Chase said. “You’re the older brother, so I nominate you.”

  “You’re more stable in your career than I am.” Alex would play for several more years, if injury didn’t stop him. When he did retire, maybe he could adopt some kids on his own rather than just mentor them. That might get Mom off his back.

  “What about the supermodel?” Chase asked. “I notice you didn’t bring her home for the celebration.”

  “Not likely. We broke up.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chase said.

  “Don’t be. Story of my life.” Another failed relationship. His fault, just like the others. He couldn’t make himself risk letting a woman close.

  “Okay, big brother. If Mom tries her matchmaking, I’ll run interference for you,” Chase said. “But I can see why she would think Michelle’s fair game. Our Mickey has definitely grown up in the last eight years, in very obvious ways.”

  Alex glared at his brother. If Chase had noticed Michelle’s amazing curves, he could keep his interest to himself. Alex had warned off other young pups with bad intentions, and he could do it to his brother, too.

  Chase laughed. “You should see the look on your face.”

  He’d give Chase more than a look if he tried to lure Michelle into his stable of women. Chase might have a bookish career ahead of him in the publishing firm, but he made the rounds of the clubs in San Francisco, and his good looks, fast car, and fine tastes in food and wine made him popular with the ladies. Michelle had been shy in high school and had spent the rest of her time in academia. She still needed Alex’s protection, and she’d get it.

  He groaned inwardly. That overprotectiveness was how they’d gotten into this mess.

  “Don’t worry.” Chase rose and gave Alex’s shoulder a playful punch. “She only has eyes for you.”

  “You’re being silly.”

  “Not at all. Heat practically radiated off the BMW when you pulled up the drive.”

  “Now you’ve gone beyond silliness to lunacy,” Alex said.

  “Have I?” Chase made a great show of glancing around the room. “Nice place for a seduction.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Only question…who’s going to be the seducer and who the seducee?”

  Alex clenched his hands into fists by his side. “I mean it.”

  Chase laughed again and ducked out of the cottage. Just in time. If he’d said one more word in that direction, Alex would have had to teach him a lesson.

  …

  Michelle might have stepped through a time warp when she entered the Staffords’ kitchen. Sure, a few things had changed. Vinyl flooring only lasted so long, and the new surface had a different pattern. But the Staffords had the same table, worn and nicked in places and with enough seating for twice the size of their family. Their hospitality extended to anyone who passed by looking for a good meal or an ear to listen to a tale of woe, and so they needed the space. The aromas went right back to her childhood. The pork roast and macaroni and cheese Emma had promised. Michelle took it all in with a deep breath and couldn’t help but smile.

  “God, that smells delicious,” she said.

  “Doesn’t it?” Kyle said from his place at the table. “I don’t suppose I could sneak a piece of that pie now, huh?”

  Emma turned from the stove and waved a wooden spoon at him. “That’s dessert, young man. You’ll wait.”

  Michelle’s smile went inward, warming her on the inside. It felt like she was a teenager again. A time when she only had to escape to this house to find acceptance, even love. For the next several days she could let herself bask in those feelings again. If only she didn’t have to tiptoe around Alex, she could revert to an earlier, more comfortable time…before that encounter in the cottage.

  Mr. Stafford—Jim—pulled out a chair for her, and as soon as she took her seat, Emma set a cup of tea in front of her. People often said that husbands and wives came to resemble each other after many years of marriage. That was certainly true of the Staffords, both were tall and slender, their age only indicated by the gray of their short hair and lines of laughter around their eyes. The only difference lay in Jim’s more chiseled features as compared to Emma’s softer ones. Both had the clear blue eyes they’d passed on to their sons.

  “Tell us everything,” Emma said. “From the day you left until right now. We want to hear it all.”

  Michelle took a sip of her tea. “That’s a lot to cover.”

  “We have days,” Jim said, as he took a seat near hers. Emma joined him, and the two of them sat, seemingly waiting for an explanation of eight years of her life.

  She glanced at Kyle. “Didn’t you fill them in?”

  “On what?” Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know much more than they do.”

  She studied her brother. The two of them hardly resembled each other, his red hair and green eyes so different from her brown and brown. Still, he’d been her protector since early childhood, and he’d added Alex shortly after that.

  At that moment, Alex’s brother, Chase, showed up at the threshold to the dining room. He was a smaller, less muscular version of Alex and another good guy, although she’d never become as close to him as to his brother. Alex. Always Alex. She’d never managed to get him out of her mind, even after all this time.

  Chase went to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water, and twisted off the cap. Then he closed the door with his butt and leaned against it. “Good. I’m not too late for the interrogation.”

  “Come over here and sit down, son,” Jim said. “We don’t need your cynicism right now.”

  “Not a cynic. Just a realist,” Chase said, but he did as his father had asked and took a seat at the end of the table. “You’re going to pump Mickey for information. She needs someone on her side.”

  Michelle lifted her cup to her mouth, mostly
to hide her smile. Chase had always served as the family’s gadfly. That hadn’t changed, either.

  “We haven’t seen Michelle for years. It’s normal to ask what she’s been up to,” Emma said. “A few calls isn’t enough. We need details.”

  “Let’s see…I got my bachelor’s and then went on to graduate school,” she said. “That turned out okay, so I did a post-doc at Hawthorn, just outside of Boston. Then they hired me as a regular part of the research staff.”

  “They must have been impressed,” Jim said.

  “I hope so.” And she might as well add her latest news. She hadn’t mentioned it to the staff at Hawthorn except for Jeff, who’d had to cover for her at the lab. And she hadn’t told anyone else out of superstition that if she said the words aloud the position of her dreams might go up in smoke. She shouldn’t be so superstitious. She was a scientist, after all. Sharing with the Staffords wouldn’t jinx her.

  “I’m up for a faculty job at Cardmouth University,” she said.

  Jim whistled between his teeth. “One of the best schools in the country.”

  “So you’re going to be a prof, huh?” Alex asked from the entry to the rear hallway.

  At the sound of his voice, her head snapped up. She’d heard it often enough in her dreams, the real thing couldn’t help but rattle her.

  “I-I don’t know,” she fairly stammered. “The competition’s fierce.”

  “Even for a woman whose work might produce a new and better treatment for Parkinson’s?” Alex asked.

  Her jaw dropped at that remark. He knew what her research was about?

  He gazed at her evenly, almost daring her to make an issue of that fact. Her heart raced, more than his mere presence could explain. Though she discussed her work with her colleagues every day and wrote papers for the outside world to read, that this man had made himself familiar with this part of her life felt intimate.

  And sure enough, the other four now looked at her as if she was someone great who’d been dropped in their midst.

  “Is that true?” Jim asked.

  “We’re nowhere near anything like a cure…that is, not even near a drug…” Now she really was stammering, and her cheeks had heated. “It might turn out to be nothing at all.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.” Emma reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “If you’re working on it, it’ll be great.”

  “Absolutely,” Alex said, his gaze boring into hers.

  Michelle forced her fingers to loosen their grip on her teacup and set her hands on the table in front of her. No one spoke, as if Alex had frozen the moment in time. Finally, Chase broke the silence by slapping Kyle on the shoulder. “Come help me set up the tables on the patio.”

  “The party’s days away,” Kyle answered. “And I’m hungry now.”

  “Dinner won’t be for a while,” Emma said. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  Kyle got up, grumbling that it still might rain in June and followed Chase from the room. They had to pass Alex on the way out, and the two brothers exchanged a look. Lord only knew what they’d been discussing about her.

  Finally, Emma went back to the stove, and Alex took her place at the table, right across from Michelle.

  She groped for a safe topic of conversation with Alex sitting so close. No nearer than he’d been in the car, but that had felt like torture. She’d ached so much to touch him that her mind had played tricks on her, imagining that she already had. The scar at his temple mocked her—reminding her of the day he’d gotten it. Alex bleeding and her hysterical. Him putting his arm around her to soothe her.

  “So,” she blurted finally. “Have things changed much in town? Everything looks pretty much the same.”

  “Wheeler’s Mill Preservation Society,” Jim said. “We’re maintaining the history of the place.”

  “Jim started it five years ago,” Emma said as she opened the vegetable bin of the refrigerator and pulled out greens for a salad.

  “Are you sure I can’t do that for you?” Michelle asked.

  “Sit.” Emma waved a hand at her. “Visit.”

  “I hope to play a more active role in the Society when I retire in a year or two,” Jim said.

  “You, retire?” Michelle said.

  Jim leaned back in his chair and ruffled his fingers through his gray hair. “About time I turned the publishing company over to someone younger.”

  “Chase will take over,” Alex said. He crossed his arms over his broad chest in an obvious defensive gesture.

  It was usually expected for the older son to take over the family business, but it wasn’t written in stone anywhere. So Alex wouldn’t become a publisher of fine fiction and non-fiction books. What was the big deal?

  “Alex has more important things to do than sit behind a desk.” Jim clapped his son on the shoulder.

  “Yeah. Tackle a guy carrying a ball,” Alex said. “Mom, are you sure you don’t need help?”

  Interesting. A subject he wanted to avoid. Why would he be ashamed of being one of the country’s most elite athletes?

  “I’m fine,” Emma said. “I didn’t turn frail overnight, you know.”

  Jim gave her one of his world-class smiles. He’d passed that on to his sons, too. “The feed store’s still open, although they do more dog grooming than anything else these days.”

  “And you’ll remember Betty Swift,” Emma said, now peeling a cucumber.

  “The beauty parlor. Of course,” Michelle answered.

  “Her daughter runs the shop now. She’s turned it into a spa.” Emma set aside the peeler and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “I made reservations for us on Saturday. The full treatment.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Michelle said. “I can’t wait.”

  “I always wanted a daughter to do girl things with. Now I have you back,” Emma said.

  “Girl stuff sounds great.” In fact, she’d wanted a pedicure to accompany the open-toed shoes with the impossible heels. She’d be almost as tall as Alex in them, her nose grazing his chin if they danced.

  Casual, remember? She’d have to find some way to act nonchalant if he put his arms around her. She’d planned everything so carefully to show him she wasn’t Mickey any longer but a woman. She’d grown up and moved on, and he couldn’t hurt her again. Maybe she’d even make him want her—just a little—and then walk away from him. If she could accomplish all that, this trip would end up worth the anxiety.

  Emma went to the window and put her hand on the sill to call to Kyle and Chase. “Dinner in two minutes.”

  “I’ll set the table.” Michelle started to rise, but Alex’s hand came down on her arm. The first time they’d actually touched since she’d arrived. The contact had the same reassuring gentleness as ever, but a jolt of excitement shot through her as well.

  “I’ll do it.” His face gave nothing away, although a slight widening of his eyes might have suggested he felt the connection. But then, she could so easily have imagined that.

  “You’re a guest,” he said.

  “Mickey’s not a guest,” Jim said.

  “She’s not Mickey anymore, Dad.” Alex didn’t explain that remark but rose and went to the silverware drawer—the same one she’d put spoons and forks away in when she’d been a kid. In a moment, the other two appeared and helped Emma serve, while Michelle and Jim sat like potentates.

  The food was everything she’d remembered. Pork roast with a crisp skin and succulent meat, with a side of applesauce for spice. Creamy cheese sauce on the macaroni, topped off with buttered breadcrumbs. Garlic green beans with salad on the side. She stuffed herself shamelessly, but then, so did everyone else. For a moment, no one spoke while Emma ate delicately and smiled at their obvious enjoyment of her cooking.

  Finally, Kyle groaned and leaned back against his chair. “Marry me, Mrs. Stafford.”

  They all laughed, Jim the loudest. Kyle had made that request since the age of ten. He still did it the same way, even calling Emma Mrs.
Stafford.

  “Maybe she’ll say yes this time if you pour us some of your wine,” Jim said.

  Kyle slapped himself on the forehead. “How could I forget?”

  “You were busy stuffing your face,” Chase said.

  Kyle got up and went to the sideboard where he’d left a pair of bottles open to air the wine before dinner. After grabbing them, he went around the table filling glasses. “Old vine zinfandel. I bought the grapes from a crazy coot in the Sierra foothills who’s been in business longer than I’ve been alive.”

  Chase lifted his glass to the light so he could study the wine’s color. “Cuvée crazy coot.”

  “Don’t mock until you’ve tasted it,” Kyle said as he resumed his seat.

  Michelle took a sip, and the flavors of fruit and herbs exploded on her tongue. “My brother made this?”

  “This is really good,” Chase said with no hint of irony in his voice, just honest admiration. “I had no idea red would go so well with pork?”

  “Zin goes with everything,” Kyle proclaimed as he lifted his glass in a toast. They clinked glasses, and Alex’s gaze held hers over the rims. She took a gulp of her wine and set it down a bit too fast. Damn, but the man could rattle her.

  Jim took another bite of his pork and chewed, studying Kyle. “The winery going well?”

  “You know what they say about my business—the best way to make a small fortune is to start with a large one.” Kyle twirled his glass by the stem and smiled at his handiwork. “It’s good.”

  “Then, both you kids turned out well.” Jim’s gaze went the length of the table, and his eyes softened as it fell on his wife of thirty-five years. The two of them had had a big role in how Kyle and Michelle had grown up. Oh how it had hurt to stay away all this time. Phone calls only went so far to keeping in touch with the only real parents she’d ever had. No matter what happened now, she’d be back, even if she’d have to coordinate her visits to when Alex was on the road.

  With the main course done, Emma got up to clear the dishes. Chase and Kyle helped her, and then Kyle got the pie from the freezer and set it on the table.