Suzanna's Surrender

Chapter Four

Coco Calhoun McPike didn't believe in leaving things up to chance particularly when her horoscope that day had advised her to take a more active part in a family matter and to visit an old acquaintance. She felt she could do both by paying an informal call on Holt Bradford.

She remembered him as a dark, hot-eyed boy who had delivered lobster and loitered around the village, waiting for trouble to happen. She also remembered that he had once stopped to change a flat for her while she'd been struggling on the side of the road trying to figure out which end of the jack to put under the bumper. He'd refused – stiffly, she recalled – her offer of payment and had hopped back on his motorcycle and ridden off before she'd properly thanked him.

Proud, defiant, rebellious, she mused as she maneuvered her car into his driveway. Yet, in a grudging sort of way, chivalrous. Perhaps if she was clever and Coco thought that she was – she could play on all of those traits to get what she wanted.

So this had been Christian Bradford's cottage, she mused. She'd seen it before, of course, but not since she'd known of the connection between the families. She paused for a moment. With her eyes closed she tried to feel something. Surely there was some remnant of energy here, something that time and wind hadn't washed away.

Coco liked to consider herself a mystic. Whether it was a true evaluation, or her imagination was ripe, she was certain she did feel some snap of passion in the air. Pleased with it, and herself, she trooped to the house.

She'd dressed very carefully. She wanted to look attractive, of course. Her vanity wouldn't permit otherwise. But she'd also wanted to look distinguished and just the tiniest bit matronly. She felt the old and classic Chanel suit in powder blue worked very well.

She knocked, putting what she hoped was a wise and comforting smile on her face. The wild barking , and the steady stream of curses from within had her placing a hand on her breast.

Five minutes out of the shower, his hair dripping and his temper curdled, Holt yanked open the door. Sadie bounded out. Coco squeaked. Good reflexes had Holt snatching the amorous dog by the collar before she could send Coco over the porch railing.

“Oh my.” Coco looked from dog to man, juggling the plate of double – fudge brownies. “Oh, goodness. What a very large dog. She certainly does look like our Fred, and I'd so hoped he'd stop growing soon. Why you could practically ride her if you liked, couldn't you?” She beamed a smile at Holt. “I'm so sorry, have I interrupted you?”

He continued to struggle with the dog, who'd gotten a good whiff of the brownies and wanted her share. Now. “Excuse me?”

“I've interrupted,” Coco repeated. “I know it's early, but on days like this I just can't stay in bed. All this sun and twittering birds. Not to mention the sawing and hammering. Do you suppose she'd like one of these?” Without waiting for an answer, Coco took one of the brownies off the plate. “Now you sit and behave.”

With what was certainly a grin, Sadie stopped straining, sat and eyed Coco adoringly.

“Good dog.” Sadie took the treat politely then padded back into the house to enjoy it. “Well, now.” Pleased with the situation, Coco smiled at Holt. “You probably don't remember me. Goodness, it's been years.”

“Mrs. McPike.” He remembered her, all right, though the last time he'd seen her, her hair had been a dusky blond. It had been ten years, he thought, but she looked younger. She'd either had a first – class face – lift or had discovered the fountain of youth.

“Why, yes. It's so flattering to be remembered by an attractive man. But you were hardly more than a boy the last time. Welcome home.” She offered the plate of brownies.

And left him no choice but to accept it and ask her in.

“Thanks.” He studied the plate as she breezed inside. Between plants and brownies, the Calhouns were making a habit of bearing gifts. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“To tell you the truth, I've just been dying to see the place. To think this is where Christian Bradford lived, and worked.” She sighed. “And dreamed of Bianca.”

“Well, he lived and worked here anyway.”

“Suzanna tells me you're not quite convinced they loved each other. I can appreciate your reluctance to fall right in with the story, but you see, it's a part of my family history. And yours. Oh, what a glorious painting!”

She crossed the room to a misty seascape hung above the stone fireplace. Even through the haze of fog, the colors were ripe and vivid, as though the vitality and passion were fighting to free themselves from the thin graying curtain. Turbulent whitecaps, the black and toothy edge of rock, the gloomcrowned shadows of islands marooned in a cold, dark sea.

“It's powerful,” she murmured. “And, oh, lonely. It's his, isn't it?” “Yes.”

She let out a shaky sigh. “If you'd like to see that view, you've only to walk on the cliffs beneath The Towers. Suzanna walks there, sometimes with the children, sometimes alone. Too often alone.” Shaking off the mood, Coco turned back. “My niece seems to feel that you're not particularly interested in confirming Christian and Bianca's relationship, and helping to find the emeralds. I find that difficult to believe.”

Holt set the plate aside. “It shouldn't be, Mrs. McPike. But what I told your niece was that if and when I was convinced there had been a connection of any importance, I'd do what I could to help. Which, as I see it, is next to nothing.”

“You were a police officer, weren't you?”

Holt hooked his thumbs in his pockets, not trusting the change of subject. “Yeah.”

“I have to admit I was surprised when I heard you'd chosen that profession, but I'm sure you were well suited to the job.”

The scar on his back seemed to twinge. “I used to be.” “And you'd have solved cases, I suppose.”

His lips curved a little. “A few.”

“So you'd have looked for clues and followed them up until you found the right answer.” She smiled at him. “I always admire the police on television who solve the mystery and tidy everything up before the end of the show.”

“Life's not tidy.”

On certain men, she thought, a sneer was not at all unattractive. “No, indeed not, but we could certainly use someone on our side who has your experience.” She walked back toward him, and she was no longer smiling. “I'll be frank. If I had known what trouble it would cause my family, I might have let the legend of the emeralds die with me. When my brother and his wife were killed, and left their girls in my care, I was also left the responsibility of passing along the story of the Calhoun emeralds – when the time was right. By doing what I consider my duty, I've put my family in danger. I'll do anything in my power, and use anyone I can, to keep them from being hurt. Until those emeralds are found, I can't be sure my family is safe.”

“You need the police,” he began.

“They're doing what they can. It isn't enough.” Reaching out, she put a hand on his. “They aren't personally involved, and can't possibly understand. You can.”

Her faith and her obstinate logic made him uneasy. “You're overestimating me.”

“I don't think so.” Coco held his hand another moment, then gave it a brief squeeze before releasing it “But I don't mean to nag. I only came so I could add my input to Suzanna's. She has such a difficult time pushing for what she wants.”

“She does well enough.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear it. But with her work and Mandy's wedding, and everything else that's been going on, I know she hasn't had time to speak with you again for the last couple of days. I tell you, our lives have been turned upside down for the last few months. First C.C.'s wedding, and the renovations, now Amanda and Sloan – and Lilah already setting a date to marry Max.” She paused and hoped to look wistful. “If I could only find some nice man for Suzanna, I'd have all my girls settled.”

Holt didn't miss the speculative look. “I'm sure she'll take care of that herself when she's ready.”

“Not when she doesn't give herself a moment to look. And after what that excuse for a man did to her.” She cut herself off there. If she started on Baxter Dumont, it would be difficult to stop. And it would hardly be proper conversation. “Well, in any case, she keeps herself too busy with her business and her children, so I like to keep my eye out for her. You're not married, are you?”

At least no one could accuse her of being subtle, Holt thought, amused. “Yeah. I've got a wife and six kids in Portland.”

Coco blinked, then laughed. “It was a rude question,” she admitted. “And before I ask another, I'll leave you alone.” She started for the door, pleased that he had enough manners to accompany her and open it for her. “Oh, by the way, Amanda's wedding is Saturday, at six. We're holding the reception at the ballroom in The Towers. I'd like for you to come.”

The unexpected curve had him hesitating. “I really don't think it's appropriate.”

“It's more than appropriate,” she corrected. “Our families go back quite a long way, Holt. We'd very much like to have you there.” She started toward her car then turned, smiling again. “And Suzanna doesn't have an escort. It seems a pity.”

The thief called himself by many names. When he had first come to Bar Harbor in search of the emeralds, he had used the name Livingston and had posed as a successful British businessman. He had only been partially successful and had returned under the guise of Ellis Caufield, a wealthy eccentric. Due to bad luck and his partner's fumbling, he'd had to abandon that particular cover.

His partner was dead, which was only a small inconvenience. The thief now went under the name of Robert Marshall and was developing a certain fondness for this alter ego.

Marshall was lean and tanned and had a hint of a Boston accent. He wore his dark hair nearly shoulder length and sported a drooping mustache. His eyes were brown, thanks to contact lenses. His teeth were slightly bucked. The oral device had cost him a pretty penny, but it had also changed the shape of his jaw.

He was very comfortable with Marshall, and delighted to have signed on as a laborer on The Towers renovation. His references had been forged and had added to his overhead. But the emeralds would be worth it. He intended to have them, whatever the price.

Over the past months they had gone from being a job to an obsession. He didn't just want them. He needed them. He found the risk of working so close to the Calhouns only added spice to the game. He had, in fact, passed within three feet of Amanda when she had come into the west wing to talk to Sloan O'Riley. Neither of them, who had known him only as Livingston, had given him a second glance.

He did his job well, hauling equipment, cleaning up debris. And he worked without complaint. He was friendly with his co-workers, even joining them occasionally for a beer after work.

Then he would go back to his rented house across the bay and plan.

The security at The Towers posed no problem – not when it would be so easy for him to disengage it from the inside. By working for the Calhouns, he could stay close, he could be certain he would hear about any new developments in their search for the necklace. And with care and skill, he could do some searching on his own.

The papers he had stolen from them had offered no real clue as yet. Unless it came from the letter he'd discovered. One that had been written to Bianca and signed only “Christian.” A love letter, Marshall mused as he stacked lumber. It was something he had to look into.

“Hey, Bob. Got a minute?”

Marshall looked up and gave his foreman an affable smile. “Sure, nothing but minutes.”

“Well, they need some tables moved into the ballroom for that wedding tomorrow. You and Rick give the ladies a hand.”

“Right.”

Marshall strolled along, fighting back a trembling excitement at being free to walk through the house. He took his instructions from a flustered Coco, then hefted his end of the heavy hunt table to move it up to the next floor.

“Do you think he'll come?” C.C. asked Suzanna as they finished washing down the glass on the mirrored walls.

“I doubt it.”

C.C. brushed back her short cap of black hair as she stood aside to search for streaks. “I don't see why he wouldn't. And maybe if we all gang up on him, he'll break down and join ranks.”

“I don't think he's a joiner.” Suzanna glanced around and saw the two men struggling in with the table. “Oh, it goes against that wall. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Rick managed through gritted teeth. Marshall merely smiled and said nothing.

“Maybe if he sees the picture of Bianca and hears the tape from the interview Max and Lilah had with the maid who used to work here back then, he'll pitch in. He's Christian's only surviving family.”

“Hey!” Rick muffled a curse when Marshall bob-bled the table.

“I don't think he's big on family feeling,” Suzanna put in. “One thing that hasn't changed about Holt Bradford is that he's still a loner.”

Holt Bradford. Marshall committed the name to memory before he called across the room. “Is there anything else we can do for you ladies?”

Suzanna glanced over her shoulder with an absent smile. “No, not right now. Thanks a lot.”

Marshall grinned. “Don't mention it.”

“Some lookers, huh?” Rick muttered as they walked back out. “Oh, yeah.” But Marshall was thinking of the emeralds.

“I tell you, bud, I'd like to –” Rick broke off when two other women and a young boy came to the top of the stairs. He gave them both a big, toothy smile. Lilah gave him a lazy one in return and kept walking.

“Man, oh, man,” Rick said with a hand to his heart. “This place is just full of babes.”

“Pardon the leers,” Lilah said mildly. “Most of them don't bite.”

The slim strawberry blonde gave a weak smile. At the moment a couple of leering carpenters were the least of her worries. “I really don't want to get in the way,” she began in a soft Southwestern drawl. “I know what Sloan said, but I really think it would be best if Kevin and I checked into a hotel for the night.”

“This late in the season, you couldn't check into a tent. And we want you here. All of us. Sloan's family is our family now.” Lilah smiled down at the dark – haired boy who was gawking at everything in sight. “It's a wild place, isn't it? Your uncle's making sure it doesn't come crashing down on our heads.” She walked into the ballroom.

Suzanna was standing on a ladder, polishing glass, while C.C. sat on the floor, hitting the low spots. Lilah bent to the boy. “I was supposed to be in on this,” she whispered. “But I played hooky.”

The idea made him laugh, and the laughter, so much like Alex's, had Suzanna glancing over.

She was expecting them. Their arrival had been anticipated for weeks. But seeing them here, knowing who they were, had her nerves jolting.

The woman wasn't just Sloan's sister, nor was the boy just his nephew. A short time before, Suzanna had learned that Megan O'Riley had been her husband's lover, and the boy his child. The woman who was staring at her now, the boy's hand gripped in hers, had been only seventeen when Baxter had charmed her into bed and seduced her with vows of love and promises of marriage. And all the while, he had been planning to marry Suzanna.

Which one of us, Suzanna wondered, had been the other woman?

It didn't matter now, she thought, and she climbed down. Not when she could see the nerves so clearly in Megan O'Riley's eyes, the tension in the set of her body, and the courage in the angle of her chin.

Lilah made introductions so smoothly that an outsider might have thought there was nothing but pleasantries in the ballroom. As Suzanna offered a hand, all Megan could think was that she had overdressed. She felt stiff and foolish in the trim bronze – colored suit, while Suzanna seemed so relaxed and lovely in faded jeans.

This was the woman she had hated for years, for taking away the man she'd loved and stealing the father of her child. Even after Sloan had explained Suzanna's innocence, even knowing the hate had been wasted, Megan couldn't relax.

“I'm so glad to meet you.” Suzanna put both hands over Megan's stiff one.

“Thank you.” Feeling awkward, Megan drew her hand away. “We're looking forward to the wedding.”

“So are we all.” After a bracing breath, Suzanna let herself look down at Kevin, the half brother to her Children. Her heart melted a little. He was taller than her son, and a full year older. But they had both inherited their father's dark good looks. Unconsciously Suzanna reached out to brush back the lock of hair that fell, the twin of Alex's, over Kevin's brow.

Megan's arm came around his shoulders in an instinctive move of defense. Suzanna let her hand drop to her side.

“It's nice to meet you, Kevin. Alex and Jenny could hardly sleep last night knowing you'd be here today.”

Kevin gave her a fleeting smile, then glanced up at his mother. She'd told him he was going to meet his half brother and sister, and he wasn't too sure he was happy about it, He didn't think his mother was, either.

“Why don't we go down and find them?” C.C. put a hand on Suzanna's shoulder, gently rubbing. Megan noted that Lilah had already flanked her sister's other side. She didn't blame them for sticking together against an outsider, and her chin came up to prove it.

“It might be best if we –”

She never got to finish. Alex and Jenny came clattering down the hall to burst into the room, breathless and flushed. “Is he here?” Alex demanded. “Aunt Coco said he was, and we want to see –” He cut himself off, skidding to a halt on the freshly polished floor.

The two boys eyed each other, interested and cautious, like two terriers. Alex wasn't sure he was pleased that his new brother was bigger than he was, but he'd already decided it would be neat to have something besides a sister.

“I'm Alex and this is Jenny,” Alex said, taking over introductions. “She's only five.”

“Five and a half,” Jenny put in, and marched up to Kevin. “And I can beat you up if I have to.”

“Jenny, I don't think that'll be necessary.” Suzanna spoke mildly, but the lifted brows said it all.

“Well, I could,” Jenny muttered, still sizing him up. “But Mom says we have to be nice 'cause we're family.”

“Do you know any Indians?” Alex demanded.

“Yeah.” Kevin was no longer gripping his mother's hand for dear life. “Lots of them.”

“Want to see our fort?” Alex asked.

“Yeah.” He sent a pleading glance at his mother. “Can I?” “Well, I –”

“Lilah and I'll take them out.” C.C. gave Suzanna's shoulder a final squeeze.

“They'll be fine,” Suzanna assured Megan as her sisters hustled the children along. “Sloan designed the fort, so it's sturdy.” She picked up her rag again to run it through her hands. “Does Kevin know?”

“Yes.” Megan turned her purse over and over in restless hands. “I didn't want him to meet your children without understanding.” She took a deep breath and prepared to launch into the speech she'd prepared. “Mrs. Dumont –”

“Suzanna. This is hard for you.”

“I don't imagine it's easy, or comfortable for either of us. I wouldn't have come,” she continued, “if it hadn't been so important to Sloan. I love my brother, and I won't do anything to spoil his wedding, but you must see that this is an impossible situation.”

“I can see it's a painful one for you. I'm sorry.” Her hands lifted then fell. “I wish I had known sooner, about you, about Kevin. It's unlikely that I could have made any difference as far as Bax is concerned, but I wish I had known.” She glanced down at the rag she was gripping too tightly, then put it aside. “Megan, I realize that while you were giving birth to Kevin, alone, I was in Europe, honeymooning with Kevin's father. You're entitled to hate me for that.”

Megan could only stare and shake her head. “You're nothing like I expected. You were supposed to be cool and remote and resentful.”

“It would be hard to resent a seventeen year old girl who was betrayed and left alone to raise a child. I wasn't much older than that when I married Bax. I understand how charming he could be, how persuasive. And how cruel.”

“I thought we'd live happily ever after,” Megan said with a sigh. “Well, I grew up quickly, and I learned fast.” She let out another long breath as she studied Suzanna. “I hated you, for having everything I thought I wanted. Even when I'd stopped loving him, it helped get me through to hate you. And I was terrified of meeting you.”

“That's something else we have in common.”

“I can't believe I'm here, talking to you like this.” To relieve her nerves she wandered around the ballroom. “I imagined it so many times all those years ago. I'd face you down, demand my rights.” She gave a soft laugh. “Even today, I had a whole speech planned out. It was very sophisticated, very mature – maybe just a little vicious. I didn't want to believe that you hadn't known about Kevin, that you'd been a victim, too. Because it was so much easier to think of myself as the only one who'd been betrayed Then your children came in.” She closed her eyes. “How do you deal with the hurt, Suzanna?” “I'll let you know when I figure it out.” Smiling a little, Megan glanced out of the window. “It hasn't affecied them. Look.”

Suzanna walked over. Down in the yard she could see her children, and Megan's son, climbing into the plywood fort.

Holt gave it a lot of thought. Up until the moment when he dragged the suit out of his closet, he'd been certain he wasn't going. What the devil was he supposed to do at a society wedding? He didn't like socializing or making small talk or picking at those tiny little canape's. You never knew what the hell was in them anyway.

He didn't like strangling himself with a tie or having to iron a shirt. So why was he doing it?

He loosened the hated knot of the tie and frowned at himself in the dusty mirror over the bureau. Because he was an idiot and couldn't resist an invitation to the castle on the cliffs. Because he was twice an idiot and wanted to see Suzanna again.

It had been over a week since they had planted the yellow bush. A week since he'd kissed her. And a week since he'd admitted that one kiss, however turbulent, wasn't going to be enough.

He wanted to get a handle on her and thought the best way was to observe her in the midst of the family she seemed to love so much. He wasn't quite sure if she was the cool and remote princess of his youth, the hot – blooded woman he'd held in his arms or the vulnerable one whose eyes were haunting his dreams.

Holt was a man who liked to know exactly what he was up against, whether it was a suspect, a dinky motor or a woman. Once he had Suzanna pegged, he'd move at his own pace.

He didn't want to admit that she'd gotten to him with her fervent belief in the connection between his grandfather and her ancestor. More, he hated to admit that the visit by Coco McPike had made him feel guiky and responsible.

He wasn't going to the wedding to help anyone, he reminded himself. He wasn't making any commitments. He was going to please himself. This time he didn't have to stop at the kitchen door.

It wasn't a long drive, but he took his time, drawing it out. His first glimpse of The Towers bounced him back a dozen years. It was, as it had always been, a fanciful place, a maze of contrasts. It was built of somber stone, yet it was flanked with romantic towers. From one angle, it seemed formidable, from another graceful. At the moment, there was scaffolding on the west side, but instead of looking unsightly, it simply looked productive.

The sloped lawn was emerald green and guarded by gnarled and dignified trees, dashed with fragile and fragrant flowers. There was already a crowd of cars, and Holt felt foolish handing over the keys to his rusted Chevy to the uniformed valet.

The wedding was to take place on the terrace. Since it was about to begin, Holt kept well to the back of the crowd of people. There was organ music, very stately. He had to force himself not to drag at his tie and light a cigarette. There were a few murmured comments and sighs as the bridesmaids started down a long white runner spread over the lawn.

He barely recognized C.C. as the stunning goddess in the long rose – colored dress. Yeah, the Calhoun girls had always been lookers, he thought, and skimmed his gaze over the woman who walked behind her. Her dress was the color of sea foam, but he hardly noticed. It was the face – the face in the portrait in his grandfather's loft. Holt let out the breath between his teeth. Lilah Calhoun was a dead ringer for her great-grandmother. And Holt wasn't going to be able to deny the connection any longer.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, wishing he hadn't come after all. Then he saw Suzanna.

This was the princess of his youthful imagination. Her pale gold hair fell in soft curls to her shoulders under a fingertip veil of misty blue. The dress of the same color flowed around her, skirts billowing in the breeze as she walked. She carried flowers in her hands; more were scattered in her hair. When she passed him, her eyes as soft and dreamy as the dress, he felt a longing so deep, so intense, he could barely keep from speaking her name.

He remembered nothing about the brief and lovely ceremony except how her face had looked when the first tear slipped down her cheek.

As it had been so many years ago, the ballroom was filled with light and music and flowers. As for the food, Coco had outdone herself. The guests were treated to lobster croquettes, steamship round, salmon mousse and champagne by the bucket. Dozens of chairs had been set up in corners and along the mirrored walls, and the terrace doors had been thrown open to allow the guests to spill outside.

Holt held himself apart, sipping the cold, frothy – wine and using the time to observe. As his first visit to The Towers, it was quite a show, he decided. Mirrors tossed back the reflection of women in pastel dresses as they stood or sat or were lured out to dance. Music and the scent of gardenias filled the air.

The bride was stunning, tall and regal in white lace, her face luminous as she danced with the big, bronzed man who was now her husband. They looked good together, Holt thought idly. The way people were meant to, he supposed, when they were in love. He saw Coco dancing with a tall, fair man who looked as if he'd been born in a tuxedo.

Then he looked back, as he already had several times, at Suzanna. She was leaning over now, saying something to a dark – haired little boy. Her son? Holt wondered. It was obvious the kid was on the verge of some kind of rebellion. He was shuffling his feet and tugging at the bow tie. He had Holt's sympathy. There couldn't be anything much worse for a kid on a summer evening then being stuck in a mini tuxedo and having to hang around with adults. Suzanna whispered something in his ear, then tugged on it. The boy's mutinous expression turned into a grin.

“Still brooding in corners, I see.” Holt turned and was once again struck by Lilah Calhoun's resemblance to the woman his grandfather had painted. “Just watching the show.”

“It is worth the price of a ticket. Max.” Lilah laid a hand on the arm of the tall, lanky man at her side.

“This is Holt Bradford, whom I was madly in love with for about twentyfour hours some fifteen years ago.”

Holt's brow lifted. “You never told me.”

“Of course not. At the end of the day I decided I didn't want to be in love with the surly, dangerous sort after all. This is Max Quartermain, the man I'm going to love for the rest of my life.”

“Congratulations.” Holt took Max's offered hand. Firm grip, Holt mused, steady eyes and a slightly embarrassed smile. “You're the teacher, right?”

“I was. And you're Christian Bradford's grandson.” “That's right,” Holt agreed, and his voice had cooled.

“Don't worry, we're not going to hound you as long as you're a guest.” Studying him, Lilah ran a fingertip around the rim of her glass. “We'll do that later. I'll have Max show you the scar he got while we were having our little publicity stunt.”

“Lilah.” Max's voice was soft with an underlying command.

Lilah merely shrugged and sipped champagne. “You remember C.C.” She gestured as her sister joined them.

“I remember a gangly kid with engine grease on her face.” He relaxed enough to smile. “You look good.”

“Thanks. My husband, Trent. Holt Bradford.”

It was Coco's dance partner. Holt noted as the two men summed each other up during the polite introductions.

“And the bride and groom,” Lilah announced, toasting the couple before she drank again.

“Hello, Holt.” Though she was still glowing, Amanda's eyes were steady and watchful. “I'm glad you could come.” As she introduced Sloan, Holt realized he'd been surrounded quite neatly. They didn't press. No, the emeralds were never mentioned. But they'd joined ranks, he thought, in a solid wall of determination he had to admire, even as he resented it.

“What is this, a family meeting?” Suzanna hurried up. “You're supposed to be mingling, not huddling in a corner. Oh. Holt.” Her smile wavered a bit. “I didn't know you were here.”

“Your aunt invited me.”

“Yes, I know, but –” She broke off and put her hostess's smile back in place. “I'm glad you could make it.”

Like hell, he thought and lifted his glass. “It's been...interesting so far.”

At some unspoken signal, her family drifted away, leaving them alone in the corner beside a tub of gardenias. “I hope they didn't make you uncomfortable.”

“I can handle it.”

“That may be, but I wouldn't want you badgered at my sister's wedding.” “But it doesn't bother you if it's someplace else.”

Before she could retort, small impatient hands were tugging at her skirt. “Mom, when can we have the cake?”

“When Amanda and Sloan are ready to cut it.” She skimmed a finger down Alex's nose.

“But we're hungry.”

“Then go over to the buffet table and stuff your little face.” He giggled at that but didn't relent. “The cake –”

“Is for later. Alex, this is Mr. Bradford.”

Not particularly interested in meeting another adult who would pat his head and tell him what a big boy he was, Alex pouted up at Holt When he was offered a very manly handshake, he perked up a bit.

“Are you the policeman?” “I used to be.”

“Did you ever get shot in the head?”

Holt muffled a chuckle. “No, sorry.” For some reason he felt as though he'd lost face. “I did catch one in the leg once.”

“Yeah?” Alex brightened. “Did it bleed and bleed?” He had to grin. “Buckets.”

“Wow. Did you shoot lots of bad guys?” “Dozens of them.”

“Okay! Wait a minute.” He raced off.

“I'm sorry,” Suzanna began. “He's going through a murder – and – mayhem stage.”

“I'm sorry I didn't get shot in the head.”

She laughed. “Oh, that's all right, you made up for it by telling him you shot lots of bad guys.” She wondered, but didn't ask, if he'd been telling the truth.

“Suzanna, would –”

“Hey.” Alex skidded to a halt, with two other children in tow. “I told them how you got shot in the leg.”

“Did it hurt?” Jenny wanted to know. “Some.”

“It Wed and bled,” Alex said with relish. “This is Jenny, she's my sister. And this is my brother, Kevin.”

Suzanna wanted to kiss him. She wanted to pull Alex up in her arms and smother him with kisses for accepting so easily what adults had made so complicated. Instead, she brushed a hand over his hair.

The three of them bombarded Holt with questions until Suzanna called a halt. “I think that's enough gore for now.”

“But, Mom –”

“But, Alex,” she mimicked. “Why don't you go get some punch?” Since it seemed like a pretty good idea, they trooped off.

“Quite a brood,” Holt murmured, then looked back at Suzanna. “I thought you had two kids.”

“I do.”

“Seems to me I just saw three.”

“Kevin is my ex – husband's son,” she said coolly. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

He put a hand on her arm. Another secret, he thought, and decided he would dig up that answer, as well. Not now. Now he was going to do something he'd thought about doing since he'd seen her walk down the white satin runner in the floaty blue dress.

“Would you like to dance?”