very table in the exclusive Palm Beach restaurant was occupied and people waiting for tables were crowded into the bar and in the foyer at the front.

The telephone at the maitre d's desk rang and he picked it up. He listened to the caller, frowning because he couldn't hear. "I'm sorry, who is it you wish to speak to?" he asked, cupping his hand over his free ear in an effort to block out the noise. "Yes, the Maitland party is here now. I'll call her to the phone."

The maitre d', whose name was Roland, was new at the Remington Grill. He located the table reserved for the Maitland party on his chart, then he threaded his way through the restaurant to a table at the back.

Three women were seated there: One of them was a stunning blond in her early thirties; one of them was an elegantly dressed blond in her late forties who looked enough like the other woman to be her mother; and one of them was a dark-haired teenager in an appalling outfit who didn't look like she belonged with the other two women or amidst the exclusive clientele of the Remington Grill, either.

Since Roland wasn't certain whether the caller had asked for Mrs. or Miss Maitland, the maitre d' took the safe path. "Pardon me, Ms. Maitland," he said to the three laughing females. "I have a telephone call at the desk for you."

All three women looked inquiringly at him.

"For which one of us?" the teenager inquired.

"For Ms. Maitland," Roland emphasized, a little annoyed at the trouble he was being put through.

"You're new here, so let me explain," the teenager said pertly, clearly relishing his predicament. "You see, I am Miss Maitland, and this"—she nodded to the younger blonde—"is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Noah Maitland. And this"—she indicated the older blonde—"is my sister-in-law's mother, who is Mrs. Douglas Maitland. However," she added, laying down her trump card with a mixture of glee and pride, "she is also, my mother."

Roland's brows levitated with suppressed ire. "How delightful."

Sloan slid her chair back and took pity on the man. "That call is probably for me. Noah telephoned from Rome and said he might be able to come home tonight instead of tomorrow."

Noah walked quietly upstairs and deliberately surprised his three-year-old daughter in her bedroom. "Daddy!" she exclaimed, rushing toward him in her robe and pajamas while the housekeeper disappeared into an adjoining room. "You're back early!"

Normally, Noah would have swept her into his arms, but he was hiding a present for her behind his back, so he grinned at her instead.

"Aunt Courtney was here today!"

"I can tell," he said tenderly.

She tipped her head to one side and it made her long blond corkscrew curls dance. "How can you tell?"

"Your dreadlocks."

Sloan found Noah on the terrace with their daughter on his lap. They were sitting in the moonlight, whispering about something. "Daddy's home!" Ashley exclaimed.

Noah looked up and saw Sloan, and his eyes were warm with love and a silent greeting.

"We've been telling secrets," Ashley confided. Beaming, she leaned close for Noah to whisper another secret to her. Then she looked at him and said, "Can I tell Mommy that one?"

"Yes," Noah said solemnly.

Ashley matched his tone. "Daddy says he loves you very, very, very much."