HANTAL HAD SHOWN the house twice, and the second couple had seemed genuinely interested. It was August now, and Parker had to face facts. Her time in Maine was winding down. She sighed, sitting down at the kitchen table, the sun streaming in through the windows.

Two nights ago, she and James and Nicky had gone to Dewey’s, along with half of Gideon’s Cove. Nicky had shown off his impressive belching abilities, though Lavinia had him beat in that area; Parker had held little Luke Beaumont while Chantal and Jonah danced; Maggie sat on Malone’s lap to make room for Collier Rhodes, who’d come in to mingle with the locals.

And every time she’d glanced at James, he seemed to be looking at her, a little smile playing on his face.

They hadn’t slept together since she’d gone to his apartment. There’d been some very hot groping on the couch after Nicky had fallen asleep one night—the things her boy toy could do with his hands, without even taking off her clothes, should be documented and sent to men everywhere—but James didn’t seem to mind that it hadn’t gone further. “Another satisfied customer,” he’d murmured against her neck, and if she hadn’t been so weak and trembly, she would’ve smacked him. Ended up kissing him instead. He’d left with a grin on his face.

During the day, James was around, putting on some final touches to spruce up the little house. The fresh shingles, green tin roof and the pots of flowers had sweetened the place; it might not be a jewel, but it definitely looked like a house. Not a shack.

As for Nicky, well, if he didn’t adore James, he didn’t hate him, either. But while James did have a knack for bringing her son great presents—the lobsterman gloves, a key chain flashlight and a shovel that folded—he wasn’t exactly comfortable around her boy. She caught him watching Nick a lot, almost the way a person once bitten by a dog might watch a puppy, as if he wanted to like her son but wasn’t quite sure how to.

But real life was waiting. Parker had to get a job. Since the ridiculous Ark Angels, she hadn’t managed to send in another idea for a series, and the weekly prodding emails from her editor only made her sweaty. The creative part of her brain felt utterly empty.

We were your one and onlies, Spike informed her.

The truth was, she didn’t really miss writing—Thanks a lot! the HRs said, pouting. She loved working with Lavinia, though; Vin had passed most of the duties off to her and spent her time smoking and reminiscing on the great loves of her life. Her cousin adored Nicky, and the two of them spent a lot of time drawing pictures of swords and maces, Nicky’s latest passion.

Another thing to miss about Gideon’s Cove. Lavinia.

But Parker missed Mackerly, too; missed Lucy and the sweet little town, the bakery, the Mirabellis. And now, she actually had a place to live. The rental deal had gone through, according to the email she’d gotten earlier.

“Nicky!” she called. “Come see our new place. The internet’s back up.” James had brought her an antenna for her Mac, so she no longer had to traipse to the library to go online.

Nick came running into the kitchen; James followed, smelling sharply of wood and paint. “Where is it?” her son demanded.

“It’s about three blocks from Daddy’s restaurant.”

“I’m gonna be a chef,” Nicky announced. “Like Daddy. Or a spy.”

“Or both,” James said.

“Yeah! Both! Which one’s my room, Mommy?”

She clicked on a photo. “I thought you’d like this one. See the slanty ceilings!”

Nicky’s eyes widened in a most gratifying manner. “It’s like a fort! Or jail! Like where Grandpa Harry lives!”

Okay. Change of subject called for. “And here’s the yard,” she said, clicking on another picture. Tidy and tiny, filled with flowers.

“I could definitely hide there,” Nick said. “Mommy, put my room back on, okay?”

“Sure.” She clicked on the photo of his room again. A whole lot smaller than his room at Grayhurst, not that he seemed to care. “When are we going back?” he asked. “I miss Daddy.”

“Probably next week, honey. Right, James?”

She glanced up at him, feeling a pang already. But he’d be heading back to Rhode Island, too, so they’d still see each other. They just hadn’t worked out the particulars.

“Yeah, we’re pretty much done,” he confirmed. His face was somber.

“Can I try the nail gun? Please? I’m really careful,” Nicky said.

She raised her eyebrows at James, who shrugged.

“Only with James holding it, too,” she told her son.

“Yes! Let’s make something, James! Come on, come on!” He grabbed James’s hand and towed him outside. James glanced over his shoulder.

“Be careful,” she said.

“Got it,” he answered. He smiled, and her heart lurched. Her guy, her son, together. She sneaked outside, camera in hand.

James was kneeling behind Nicky, putting on safety glasses. “You don’t want to shoot your eye out, so you always wear these,” he said.

“I love these,” Nicky answered reverently.

“Good. Now we’re gonna hold the nail gun up like this—nope, I’ll hold the shingle, okay? You put the gun right there, where the nail’s gonna go…good boy, now squeeze—”

Bam! The nail went in and Nicky flinched, dropping the gun. James caught it. “Good job, kid.”

“I did it!” Nicky’s face was alight with joy. Men and their tools, Parker thought with a smile. She raised her camera and took a stealth picture.

“Can I do more?” Nicky asked James.

“Sure. Nice and careful, now, and try not to drop the gun.”

“It makes a loud noise.”

“It does. You’re right.”

Parker went back inside, feeling a wicked case of the Warm Fuzzles. Nauseating term, excellent feeling. Her menfolk, bonding. It’d be good for them both.

The photo of Nicky’s attic room was still on the computer screen.

A jail, like where Grandpa Harry lives.

A bit hesitantly, Parker picked up her phone.

James hadn’t mentioned Harry lately. She herself hadn’t talked to her father for a while. Well. Being a minimum-security place, inmates were allowed to get phone calls pretty liberally. She figured she’d give it a shot.

“Harry Welles, please? This is his daughter speaking.”

A few minutes later, her father’s commanding voice came on the line. “Parker. Is anything wrong?”

“Hi, Harry. No, everything’s fine. I had a second, figured I’d call.” A breeze blew in from the cove, fluttering the kitchen curtains.

“Oh.” There was a pause. Another bang from the nail gun came from the side of the house. “How’s my grandson?” Harry asked.

“He’s wonderful. He’s here, in Maine with me. He had a great time in Yosemite.”

“Good.”

Another breeze. Nice day, the sun shining, temps in the upper seventies.

“So how are you, Harry?”

“I’m fine.”

“Got enough to read?” It was the only question that came to mind.

He sighed. “Yes.”

Parker glanced at the computer. “Nicky and I found a place to live. In Mackerly. We’ll be heading back next week.”

“I see. He’s starting school?”

“Yes. After Labor Day.”

“Wish him luck for me.”

“I will.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. She waited to see if her father would offer any other subject, but there was only silence. “Well, take care, Harry.”

“You, too.” He hung up.

A memory of her father picking her up from Stanhope Academy on the Upper West Side came to her. She’d been in second grade, wore a white shirt and green plaid skirt as a uniform. Her father rarely came to get her from school, and the sight of him there, so unexpected and so impressive, had practically lifted her off the pavement. “Daddy!” she’d said, running to him, and she remembered how small her hand felt in his. How safe Harry had made her feel.

Back then, her father had been her favorite person in the world.

She swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat.

Parker went back outside. “Boys,” she said, “I think we should go on a picnic.”

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER, Parker, James, Nicky and Lavinia were at a lake somewhere west of Gideon’s Cove. Beauty and Nicky were already wet, having dashed in the second they’d gotten there. Nick hurled sticks as far as his little arm would let him, which wasn’t terribly far, but Beauty charged in each time. James and Vin were sitting on a blanket, laughing. Those two were BFFs, practically.

Pine trees surrounded the lake in a dense wall, broken only by the occasional boulder. There was a dock about thirty yards out, and three teenage boys had canoed out there. They were shoving each other and laughing, falling in occasionally, diving like otters, constantly in motion. She snapped a few photos. Maybe this could be her new job—photographer. Or, given her actual skill set, cashier at Wal-Mart, if Wal-Mart would kindly hire her.

“Mom! Mommy! Watch me! I’m a dolphin! I’m dolphin diving!” Nicky yelled. She watched, laughed and snapped a few shots. “Now I’m a shark, Mommy! See? See my fin! I’m eating a seal!” Nicky thrashed around, causing Beauty to yelp in ecstasy.

The sun beat on her hair. No need for highlights after this summer, though she probably had a few new wrinkles after all the wind and sunshine. A few more muscles, too, though the eleven pounds hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I’m hungry,” Nick said, sloshing onto shore. “Vinny, can I please have some chips?”

“Sure, gorgeous,” Lavinia said, offering Nick the bag. Parker looked out at the deep blue lake, so pure and inviting.

“Vin? Want to go swimming?” she asked.

“Hell, no,” her cousin answered.

Parker sighed. “James, that leaves you.”

“Hell, no,” James echoed.

“Hell, no,” Nicky said, falling to his knees and digging in the sand like a dog. Beauty joined the effort.

“Come on, James,” Parker said. She took off her sweatshirt and slid out of her shorts.

“That bathing suit is not fair,” he murmured.

“You look like one of those whatchamacallits,” Vin said, taking off her post-cataract-surgery sunglasses. “Sports Illustrated models.”

“Right. Just with stretch marks and the cellulite I got for my last birthday.”

“You’re perfect,” James said.

“Aw,” Vin said. “Go with her, Jamie. Buddy system and all.”

He shook his head.

“Are you scared, James?” Nicky asked, pausing in his digging.

“Yep,” he answered.

“Really? But you’re a grown-up, aren’t you?”

“Grown-ups can be scared, too.”

“I swim a lot,” Nick said. “I could probably swim ten or thirty miles. It’s not scary.”

“No, it’s not scary. I only think it is,” James said.

Parker studied his face. “Have you been swimming at all since…then?” she asked quietly.

“Nope.”

“Will you come now?”

He hesitated. Glanced at Nick.

“Whoever goes swimming with me gets ten kisses,” Parker announced. “Nicky? Want ten kisses?”

“No,” he said. “You kiss me all the time. I want ten dollars. Or ten lobster claws. Or ten nail guns!”

“Lavinia?” Parker asked.

“I’m with the kid. Ten bucks, maybe. For fifty bucks, definitely.”

“James?”

He looked out to the water. “How far do I have to swim for these ten kisses?” he asked.

“To the raft.”

“She won’t kiss you, James,” Nicky explained, his tone tolerant. “She’s not your mommy.”

“Go on, you two,” Lavinia said. “I’ll watch the kid.”

James glanced at Lavinia, then back at Parker. With a sigh, he pulled his T-shirt over his head.

“Now we’re talking perfect,” Lavinia said, lighting up a cigarette and squinting appreciatively. “Very nice, Jamie.”

Parker took his hand and towed him to the water’s edge, where he stopped. “Come on, James. You can do it.”

“I hate the water.”

“I know.” She went in up to her knees, still holding his hand. “Come on.”

His jaw was tight, and no smile lightened his face at the moment. Took a few steps in. “You’re doing great,” she said, going in a bit deeper, not letting go of his hand. He followed, reluctantly.

When they were waist deep, Parker stopped to let him get acclimated. His face was a little pale under his tan. She swam out a few feet, then turned to look at him. “Harvard Varsity Swim Team, James. Third Olympic alternate. Red Cross certified in lifeguarding.”

“Very impressive,” he murmured, his eyes on the raft. The three boys had gotten back in their canoe and were now fishing in the middle of the lake.

“You can do it,” she said. “You have to someday.”

“Do I?”

“Yep.” Parker swam out a little farther and started to tread water. “Swim to me, beautiful man,” she said. “I’ll take care of you.”

His eyes were dark and a little tormented. “Not fair,” he said, and with that, he dived under the water. He surfaced just past her and swam, steadily, if a little desperately. One yard. Four. Ten. Parker kept pace easily off his right, her eyes never leaving him. When he reached the raft, he grabbed onto the ladder and waited for her to get up first, then followed, water streaming, his hair nearly black with the wetness, drops of moisture sliding down the planes of his face. He didn’t look at her, just sat, breathing hard.

Parker slipped her hand in his. He was shaking. Probably not from cold.

“You did it,” she whispered.

“Hated every second.”

“And you did it,” she repeated.

He still didn’t look at her, just stared back at the shore. Nicky waved. “See? It’s not scary!” he yelled, and James waved back.

The planks of the raft were dry and gray, and the water lapped softly at the edges. A seagull called from overhead. Lavinia coughed, then said something to Nicky. The sound of his laughter floated out to them.

“Shit,” said James. “I have to swim back, don’t I?”

“’Fraid so,” she answered.

Finally, he looked at her, squinting a little in the sun, and studied her face. “When do I get to collect my prize?” he asked.

She glanced at Nicky, who was occupied with digging. “Now works for me,” she said, her legs tingling a little.

He leaned over and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss. “That’s one,” she said when he pulled back.

“Ew! Gross!” her son yelled from shore. Shoot. Busted.

“You’re right, Nick,” James yelled back, grinning. “I should’ve asked for ten dollars!”

“I told you so!”

“I woulda held out for at least twenty,” Lavinia called.

James looked back at Parker, the drops of water sliding down his brown skin. His smile faded, and his eyes were serious. “I love you,” he said.

Then he pushed off the raft and was in the water, swimming back to the safety of the shore, leaving her feeling fragile and precious and completely new.

* * *

FROM WHERE HE LAY on the dock back home, James could hear Parker singing “Home on the Range,” which was apparently her son’s favorite bedtime song. Lavinia had left an hour or so before, and Parker’s voice and the gentle slap of the waves were the only sounds. Overhead, the sky was a dark purple, a sliver of crescent moon slicing through the clouds that slipped past.

Happiness wasn’t a feeling he was used to. He’d been pretty content the past few years, grateful to Harry, glad to be able to provide for Mary Elizabeth. He’d had fun, sure—Leah had been fun, as had been dinners with Harry, playing basketball with the guys on Saturday mornings, catching the occasional baseball game.

But that was nothing compared with this. Today, he’d been part of something.

A family.

The kid wasn’t his, but the little guy’s wriggling delight at finally being able to use the nail gun, the way he’d grabbed James’s hand…it had touched some part of James he’d thought had been erased eighteen years ago.

But now, the time before the tragedy kept running through his head. Christmas mornings, fishing trips, running for the school bus with his three brothers, telling Mary Elizabeth stories well past her bedtime. He’d been part of a family once, and when that family fell apart because of him, he’d assumed that was it. When you’re told over and over by the father you once worshipped that you don’t deserve to be loved…it sinks in. It seems true.

James had simply thought that some people were cut out for family life. Others, like him, were not.

Until today. Today, he’d had a family—Lavinia and Parker and her son. Today, a kid had held his hand. By the time they’d gotten back from the lake, Nicky had been sound asleep in his booster seat, and James had lifted him out, cradling the little guy’s sweaty head, shifting his limp weight onto his shoulder and carrying him inside as Parker held the door. The four of them had had hot dogs and salad for dinner, and he and Vin had done the dishes while Parker and Nicky fished off the dock.

It felt better than he could have ever imagined.

Maybe, he thought, maybe it was time to let the past go and stop blaming himself for Mary Elizabeth. Maybe being an irresponsible twelve-year-old kid didn’t warrant a life sentence.

Earlier today, he’d gotten the call from New York. The job offer had been finalized, the package details had come through today; the pay was close to what Harry paid him, signing bonus, sweet benefits…all thanks to Harry’s recommendation. Last month, he would’ve taken that job without hesitation. Last week, even.

Things were different now. For him, certainly. For Parker, too. Whatever she wanted, however she wanted it to be, that was all fine with him, so long as he could be near her.

Mine.

Kind of a caveman word. It fit, though. She was his. He’d seen it in her eyes today on the dock.

He heard the back door close, and Beauty came trotting down the new stairs and flopped down next to him on the blanket. Then the dock rocked a little harder, and the other beauty came, her long hair down, wearing a white dress, her feet bare. “Shoo, puppy,” she said, and the good dog obeyed. Parker sat down next to him. “Nicky’s asleep. Tired from all that swimming.” She paused. “He wouldn’t wake up if there was a buffalo stampede through his room. I’m just mentioning that.” She was smiling.

“Good to know.” He felt himself smiling, too, and reached up to touch her cheek.

Parker reached down and started unbuttoning his shirt. Yep. Best day ever.

But next week was looming; New York wanted an answer by Friday, and today was Wednesday. He put his hand over hers. “Parker, I should tell you something.”

She lifted her eyes to his. “So serious, Thing One. You’re not pregnant, are you?” She grinned.

“Uh…no. Are you?” He jerked into a sitting position, the same icy rush of terror he’d felt today just before diving under the water washing over him.

“Me? No, no, I was…I was kidding.” She frowned.

“Okay. Great. Try not to kill me, Parker.”

Her eyes narrowed a little. Shit. “But if I was—I’m not, don’t worry—would that be horrible?”

“Uh…” These were the conversations that doomed many a man. “I don’t know. I mean, no. Not horrible.”

Beauty, maybe guessing that James had given the wrong answer, crept closer to him and curled at his side.

“Not horrible.” Parker glanced out at the water. “Okay, maybe this isn’t time for a big conversation, but maybe it is, too. Look, obviously the summer-fling idea has grown into…more. And this afternoon at the lake, I believe you made a certain declaration.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I did.”

“I’m not proposing or anything, James.” She squeezed her little finger. “I just assumed you meant in a long-term, monogamous kind of way.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“You weren’t just drunk with fear?”

He grinned. “Well, there was that. And the sight of you in your bikini. Though, admittedly, you look better out of it.”

She smiled, then looked down at her hands. “Well, someday, maybe, I could see possibly having another baby. Adopting, maybe. Or the other way.”

“With me.”

She closed her eyes. “No, James, with the guy who rotates my tires. I mean, I’m not asking for anything carved in stone, okay? But I like children. And I don’t want to rule out— Well, I’m thinking someday in the distant future, I mean, not too distant, since I’m thirty-five. But not tomorrow, either.” She was squeezing her little finger half to death. “You know what? I shouldn’t have said anything. I have no idea how we got on this subject. Can we forget I ever said anything?” She pulled her hair onto one side of her neck and looked out at the lobster boats.

“I’m in.”

Now who the hell said that?

She blinked a few times. Looked back at him. He didn’t look away.

“You’re in. Like, you’d be interested in a family. Maybe. Someday.”

“Yes.”

He remembered the first time he’d seen her, holding her son.

Pictured the scene again. This time, though, the baby was his, too, and he was the one at her side.

Mine.

He took her hand and kissed it, then looked at her face. “I want to ask you something.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

“You wearing anything under that dress?”

She burst out laughing, the sound bouncing out over the water. “Why don’t you find out, Thing One?”