Fortunately for Frisco, she didn't spot it until they were on their way out of the furniture store.

She sat down on it and went into Russian princess mode. Frisco was so tired, and his knee and head ached so badly, he sat down, too.

"Kneel in front of the Russian princess," Tash commanded him sternly.

Frisco put his head back and closed his eyes. "Not a chance, babe," he mumbled.

After Tash's bath at Mia's place, he'd taken her home, then they'd both suited up and headed to the beach for the kid's first swimming lesson. The current had still been quite strong, and he'd kept his fingers solidly locked on Tash's bathing suit the entire time.

The kid was fearless. Considering that she hadn't even seen the ocean before yesterday, she was entirely enthusiastic about the water. At the end of the week, she'd be well on her way to swimming like a fish.

Frisco shook his head. How on earth had Sharon's kid managed to live to the ripe old age of five without having even seen the ocean? Historically, the Franciscos were coastline people. His old man had worked on a fishing boat for years. Vacations were spent at the water. Frisco and his two older brothers had loved the beach. But not Sharon, he remembered suddenly. Sharon had d.a.m.n near drowned when he was hardly any older than Natasha was now. As an adult, Sharon moved inland, spending much of her time in Las Vegas and Reno. Tash had been born in Tucson, Arizona. Not much beachfront property there.

After the swimming lesson and a forty-five-minute lecture on why Tash had to follow Frisco's rules, they'd dragged themselves home, had lunch, changed and gone shopping for furniture for Frisco's second bedroom.

They'd found this particular store in the Yellow Pages. It was right around the corner, and--the advertis.e.m.e.nt boasted--it had free, same-day delivery. Frisco had picked out a simple mattress, box spring and metal-framed bed, and Tash had chosen a pint-size bright yellow chest of drawers. Together, they'd found a small desk and chair and a pet.i.te bookshelf.

"Can we get this, Frisco?" Tash now asked hopefully.

He snorted as he opened his eyes. "A.pink couch? Man, are you kidding?"

As usual, she answered his rhetorical question as if he'd asked it seriously. "No."

"Where the h.e.l.l would we put it?" He glanced at the price tag. It was supposedly on sale, marked down to a mere small fortune.

"We could put it where that other icky one is."

"Great. Just what that condo needs." Shaking his head, Frisco pulled himself to his feet. "Come on. If we don't hurry, the delivery truck is going to beat us home. We don't want them to deliver your new furniture to some other kid."

That got Tasha moving, but not without one final lovelorn glance at the pink sofa.

They were only two blocks from home, but Frisco flagged down a cab. The sun was merciless, and his knee was d.a.m.n near making him scream with pain. His head wasn't feeling too great, either.

There was no sign of Mia out in her garden in the condo courtyard. Her door was tightly shut, and Frisco found himself wondering where she had gone.

Bad mistake, he told himself. She had been making it clear that she didn't want to be anything more than a neighbour. She didn't want the likes of him sniffing around her door.

Mia actually thought he was a drunk, like his old man and his sister. It was entirely possible that if he wasn't careful, she would be proven right.

No more, he vowed, pulling himself up the stairs. Tonight, if insomnia struck, he'd tough it out. He'd face the demons who were at their ugliest in the wee hours of the morning by spitting in their faces. If he awoke in the middle of the night, he'd spend the time working out, doing exercises that would strengthen his leg and support his injured knee.

He unlocked the door to his condo and Tasha went inside first, dashing through the living room and down the hall to the bedrooms.

Frisco followed more slowly, each painful step making him grit his teeth. He needed to sit down and get his weight off his knee, elevate the d.a.m.n thing and ice the h.e.l.l out of it.

Tasha was in her bedroom, lying down on the wall-to-wall carpeting. She was flat on her back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

As Frisco stood in the doorway and watched, she scrambled to her feet and then lay down on the floor in another part of the room.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she did the exact same thing yet a third time.

"I'm picking where to put the bed," Tash told him from her position on the floor.

Frisco couldn't hide his smile. "Good idea," he said. "Why don't you work on that for a while? I'm gonna chill for a few minutes before the delivery truck comes, okay?"

"'Kay."

He headed back into the kitchen and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. He moved into the living room and sat on his old plaid couch, swinging his injured leg up and onto the cushions. The ice felt good, and he put his head back and closed his eyes.

He had to figure out a way to move those boxes out of Tash's room. There were a half a dozen of them, and they were all too ungainly for him to carry with only one arm. But he could drag 'em, though. That would work. He could use a blanket or sheet, and wrestle the boxes on top of it, one at a time. With the box firmly trapped in the sheet like a fish in a fishing net, he could pull the sheet, sliding the box along the rug out of Tash's room and into his own and...

Frisco held his breath. He'd sensed more than heard the movement of Tasha crossing the living room floor, but now he heard the telltale squeak of the front door being opened.

He opened his eyes and sat up, but she was already out the door.

"Natasha! d.a.m.n it!"

His cane had slipped underneath the couch and he scrambled for it, grabbing it and moving quickly to the door.

"Tash!"

He supported himself on the railing near his rope and pulley setup. Natasha looked up at him from the courtyard, eyes wide.

"Where the h.e.l.l are you going?" he growled.

"To see if Thomas is home."

She didn't get it. Frisco could tell just from looking at the little girl that she honestly didn't understand why he was upset with her.

He took a deep breath and forced his racing pulse to slow. "You forgot to tell me where you were going."

"You were asleep."

"No, I wasn't. And even if I was, that doesn't mean you can just break the rules."

She was silent, gazing up at him.

Frisco went down the stairs. "Come here." He gestured with his head toward one of the courtyard benches. He sat down and she sat next to him. Her feet didn't touch the ground, and she swung them back and forth. "Do you know what a rule is?" he asked, Tasha chewed on her lower lip. She shook her head.

"Take a guess," Frisco told her. "What's a rule?"

"Something you want me to do that I don't want to do?" she asked.

It took all that he had in him not to laugh. "It's more than that," he said. "It's something that you have to do, whether or not you want to. And it's always the same, whether I'm asleep or awake."

She didn't get it. He could see her confusion and disbelief written clearly on her face.

He ran one hand down his face, trying to clear his cobweb-encrusted mind. He was tired. He couldn't think how to explain to Natasha that she had to follow his rules all of the time. He couldn't figure out how to get through to her.

"Hi, guys."

Frisco looked up to see Mia Summerton walking toward them. She was wearing a summery, sleeveless, flower-print dress with a long, sweeping skirt that reached almost all the way to the ground. She had sandals on her feet and a large-brimmed straw hat on her head and a friendly smile on her pretty face. She looked cool and fresh, like a long-awaited evening breeze in the suffocating late-afternoon heat.

Where had she been, all dressed up like that? On a lunch date with some boyfriend? Or maybe she wasn't coming, maybe she was going. Maybe she was waiting for her dinner date to arrive. Lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Frisco scowled, letting himself hate the guy, allowing himself that small luxury.

"There's a furniture truck unloading in the driveway," Mia said, ignoring his dark look. In fact, she was ignoring him completely. She spoke directly to Tash. "Does that pretty yellow dresser belong to you, by any chance?"

Natasha jumped up, their conversation all but forgotten. "Me," she said, dashing toward the parking lot. "It belongs to me!"

"Don't run too far ahead," Frisco called out warningly, pulling himself to his feet. He tightened his mouth as he put his weight on his knee, resisting the urge to wince, not wanting to show Mia how much he was hurting. "And do not step off that sidewalk."

But Mia somehow knew. "Are you all right?" she asked him, no longer ignoring him, her eyes filled with concern. She followed him after Natasha, back toward the parking lot.

"I'm fine," he said brusquely.

"Have you been chasing around after her all day?"

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"You're allowed to be tired," she said with a musical laugh. "I baby-sat a friend's four-year-old last week, and I practically had to be carried out on a stretcher afterward."

Frisco glanced at her. She gazed back at him innocently. She was giving him an out, pretending that the lines of pain and fatigue on his face were due to the fact that he wasn't used to keeping up with the high energy of a young child, rather than the result of his old injury.

"Yeah, right."

Mia knew better than to show her disappointment at Frisco's terse reply. She wanted to be this man's friend, and she'd a.s.sumed they'd continue to build a friendship on the shaky foundation they'd recently established. But whatever understanding they'd reached this morning seemed to have been forgotten. The old, angry, tight-lipped Frisco had returned with a vengeance.

Unless...

It was possible his knee was hurting worse than she thought.

A delivery man approached. "You Alan Francisco?" he asked, not waiting for a reply before he held out his clipboard. "Sign at the X."

Frisco signed. "It's going up to Unit 2C. It's right at the top of the stairs--"

"Sorry, pal, this is as far as I go." The man didn't sound even remotely apologetic. "My instructions are to get it off the truck. You've got to take it from here."

"You're kidding." Frisco's voice was flat, unbelieving. The furniture was standing there on the asphalt, next to the delivery vehicle.

The man closed the sliding back door of his truck with a crash. "Read the small print on your receipt. It's free delivery--and you got exactly what you paid for."

How was Frisco supposed to get all this up a flight of stairs? Mia saw the frustration and anger in his eyes and in the tight set of his mouth.

The man climbed into the cab and closed the door behind him.

"I bought this stuff from your store because you advertise a free delivery," Frisco said roughly. "If you're not going to deliver it, you can d.a.m.n well load it up and take it back."

"First of all, it's not my store," the man told him, starting the engine with a roar and grinding the gears as he put it into first, "and secondly, you already signed for it."

It was all Frisco could do to keep himself from pulling himself up on the running board and slamming his fist into the man's surly face. But Tash and Mia were watching him. So he did nothing. He stood there like a d.a.m.ned idiot as the truck pulled away.

He stared after it, feeling helpless and impotent and frustrated beyond belief.

And then Mia touched his arm. Her fingers felt cool against his hot skin. Her touch was hesitant and light, but she didn't pull away even when he turned to glare down at her.

"I sent Tasha to see if Thomas is home," she said quietly. "We'll get this upstairs."

"I hate this," he said. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They were dripping with despair and shame. He hadn't meant to say it aloud, to reveal so much of himself to her. It wasn't a complaint, or even self-pity. It was a fact, He hated his limitations.

Her brown-green eyes grew warmer, more liquid. She slid her hand all the way down to his, and intertwined their fingers. "I know," she said huskily. "I'm so sorry."

He turned to look at her then, to really look at her. "You don't even like me," he said. "How can you stand to be so nice?"

"I do like you," she said, trying to step back, away from the intensity of his gaze. But he wouldn't let go of her hand. "I want to be your friend."

Friend. She tugged again, and this time he released her.

She wanted to be his friend. He wanted so much more.

"Yo, Frisco!"

Frisco turned. The voice was as familiar to him as breathing. It was Lucky O'Donlon. He'd parked his motorcycle in one of the visitor's s.p.a.ces, and now sauntered toward them. He was wearing his blue dress uniform and looked to be one hundred percent spit and polish. Frisco knew better.

"Hey, guy, having a tag sale or something?" Lucky's wide smile and warm blue eyes traveled lazily over the furniture, Frisco's d.a.m.ned cane, and Mia. He took an especially long time taking in Mia. "You gonna introduce me to your friend?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Lucky held out his hand to Mia. "I'm Lt. Luke O'Donlon, US. Navy SEALs. And you are... ?"

Mia smiled. Of course she would smile. No one could resist Lucky. "Mia Summerton. I'm Frisco's neighbour."

"I'm his swim buddy."

"Former swim buddy."

Lucky shook his head. "No such thing." He looped his arm around Frisco's neck and smiled at Mia. "We went through BUD/S together. That makes you swim buddies for life."

"BUDS is basic training for SEALs," Frisco translated for her, pushing Lucky away from him. "Where are you going, dressed like that?"

"Some kind of semiformal affair at the OC. A shindig for some top bra.s.s pencil pusher who's being promoted." He grinned at Frisco, but his gaze kept returning to Mia. "I thought maybe you'd want to come along."

Frisco snorted. "Dream on, man. I hated those parties when I was required to go."

"Please?" Lucky begged. "I need someone to keep me company or I'll spend all night dancing with the admiral's wife, trying to keep her from grabbing my b.u.t.t." He smiled at Mia and winked.

"Even if I wanted to," Frisco told him, "which I don't, I couldn't. I'm taking care of my sister's kid for the next six weeks." He gestured to the furniture. "This is supposed to be for her bedroom."

"The kid's either fond of the outdoors, or you got yourself some kind of snafu here."