"Did you just kiss my nape?"

"Don't disturb the master at his art," Trent said, kissing the side of her neck. "The girls are off hatching up unicorn conspiracies, and a little kitchen kissing never hurt anybody's Sunday morning. I take it you're feeling better?"

Trent was French braiding her hair, and it felt soooooo good. Upstairs, two pairs of little feet cantered down the hallway, accompanied by giggles and laughter.

Trent really was a dad. He sorted through the tangles patiently and didn't yank on Hannah's scalp, and yet there was a briskness to his approach too.

"I am feeling better. Miracle drugs." The sound of little-girl laughter from upstairs was surely among the most miraculous drugs every invented.

"Miracle sleep," he countered. "You got your first docket under your belt. You'll be hard to guard now."

"I did not enjoy it." Hannah had hated it, hated how it left her feeling, and nearly hated herself for doing it.

"It'll grow on you. Like me." Trent unwrapped an elastic from around the brush handle and secured her braid. "All done."

"My thanks." She patted the braid. She could not have done it better herself, not if she'd had all morning. "Now to pancakes."

"I have a suggestion," Trent said, hunkering down to meet her eyes.

"There are children one floor up." Happy children and probably some unicorns too.

"Ah, you are having Naughty Thoughts, then? I'm encouraged, but I'm trying to behave, because I'm your guest, and I want to be invited back."

Hannah brushed his hair back from his brow, because despite the docket from h.e.l.l, there was happiness in her kitchen too. "What's your suggestion?"

"Let me take the girls out, and you enjoy peace and quiet here while we're gone. We can have pancakes for lunch."

Hannah had a.s.sumed if Grace went sledding, Hannah would come along to supervise, to watch, to parent.

To freeze her b.u.t.t off, because moms did not have snowsuits, and to trudge her weary backside all over the mountain, likely pulling Grace's sled.

"You need the rest," Trent said, "and I will guard the girls with my life. You know I will."

He would guard the girls with his life. That was dad talk, not hyperbole. "You won't let them go too fast?"

"The hill isn't that steep, but it's nice and long. Trust me, Hannah. I'll bring her home safe and sound, worn-out and happy. Early bedtime is a definite possibility." He wiggled his eyebrows, the wretch. The eyebrows of a pirate prince.

"Don't get stuck up there," Hannah said. "It's snowing, in case you haven't noticed. Don't let anybody get too cold, either."

Trent kissed her again, this time on the mouth. "Thank you. Trusting me with Grace means a lot to me."

He might have said more, but Hannah buried her nose against his neck. "Thank you." His hand stroked her braid the way he often ran his fingers down the length of his tie. "For not fussing me. I never told you about Grace."

"You would have. I might have guessed."

"How would you have known?"

"Moms have a quality to them, a solidness, a sense of humor. I don't know. It's in your touch, too, when you tidy up me up. You gave James the brush-off, and made him laugh about it. He was impressed and pleased with you."

Had Trent been jealous of a silly lunch flirtation? "I did?"

"He said something to Mac about it."

"James was pleased?"

"James is easily pleased when it comes to females." Trent shifted to stand at the bottom of the steps. "Girls!"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"What, Merle's dad?"

"If we're not going to get stuck up on the tower road until spring, you'd best bundle up. Grace's mom has said Grace can come with us, and then we'll come back here for pancakes."

Squeals of glee, and the thunder of little feet coming down the stairs.

"Can I, Mom? Can I really? Did you hear that, Bronco? Trailclimber is coming too."

Trent waded in and got boots and mittens and scarves on the appropriate wiggling child, while Hannah washed up the tea mugs and silently marveled at how easily Grace accepted Trent's presence. True, he was "Merle's dad," but Grace instinctively trusted him.

Trent and his charges trundled out the door a few minutes later, leaving a ringing silence in their wake.

Hannah looked around her kitchen, which seemed empty now, not quite so cozy. She took the Eeyore mug, got out the tea bags, put the kettle back on, and tried to decide if she felt like laughing or crying.

Or both.

Trent loaded two rosy-cheeked cherubs into the back of the SUV less than two hours later, then waited patiently for the unicorns to pile in as well-maybe they were miniature unicorns-before closing the door and heading back down the mountain.

Carefully. The snow hadn't stopped, and before too much longer, four-wheel drive would have to be augmented by chains unless the plows got busy.

"Thanks, Merle's dad," Grace said. "I had fun, and so did Bronco."

"Me and Trailclimber too," Merle chorused. "But my feet are froze, and my hands are froze."

"And my ears are froze," Grace chorused, "and my nose is froze-"

"And this dad is froze," Trent cut in. "Remind me next year I said this year was the last year I'd tow you up the hill."

"He says that every year," Merle added. "Then we go home and have hot chocolate and watch a movie, except Dad tries to sneak out halfway through the movie and says he's just going to the potty."

"I do go to the potty."

"But then you disappear into your study or check your email or go do Dad stuff."

"I make my mom watch a full-length with me every Friday," Grace said. "She's too tired to sneak off then."

Their conversation drifted off into various techniques for managing unruly parents, while Trent eavesdropped shamelessly.

So Hannah Stark was a single mom, and a single mom who, like Trent, had full-time duty.

Of course she was. It was a big part of what had attracted him to her. Single parenting took nerves of steel, stamina, self-discipline, humor, and a host of strengths Hannah had in spades, and yet he hadn't put the whole picture together.

Grace was a delight. Her imagination was endless, and her sense of fun abundant. Her mother had put the manners on her too, though the child barely hid her curiosity about "Merle's dad."

James and Mac would be pleased.

Trent was pleased.

He saw to unswaddling the little girls when Hannah greeted them. Without thinking, he bent down and touched his lips to hers, provoking a chorus of squeals and admonitions to the unicorns to hide their eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered when Hannah handed him a mug of hot chocolate a few minutes later. "That kiss just slipped out."

"You're forgiven," Hannah said quietly, though she felt as perplexed as Trent sounded. "I took a nap. Do you know how long it has been since I took a real, sleep-in-peace nap?"

"You need a pair of doting brothers. You also need weather stripping on that d.a.m.ned door."

Grace, who'd been reliving toboggan runs with Merle, sat up straighter at the table. "Merle's dad said d.a.m.n."

Hannah snitched a bite of fluffy, warm pancake. Get out of that one, Knightley.

"That door lets in the north wind," Trent said. "Makes my bones cold."

"Drink your hot chocolate, Dad," Merle admonished. "How come grown-ups can drink theirs standing up and we have to sit at the table?"

"Because this way," Trent said, "if you get out of line, I can thump you without reaching across the table."

He did sit though, and he ate a mountain of pancakes, while the ladies consumed much smaller portions.

"We're going upstairs to play, Mom," Grace announced when the girls had been excused. "Come on, Bronco."

"Come on, Trailclimber."

"I feel like I should be listening for the sound of little hooves," Trent said, bringing his dishes to the sink. "Do you have any weather stripping?"

What did it mean when a guy asked about weather stripping, and Hannah found the question romantic?

"Does it come in a roll and has a sticky side? I think so. Look in the drawer under the microwave."

He weather-stripped the door, split a significant amount of wood, tightened up the lock plates on the doors so they'd close snugly without being slammed, hammered down a loose floor board near the woodstove, sharpened every knife in Hannah's drawer, and generally acted like a man putting off leaving as long as he could.

"You shouldn't be doing all this," Hannah said when the afternoon was well advanced and even the pasture upstairs had gone quiet.

"Somebody ought to, and you're on injured reserve for now, Stark. Where's your screwdriver?"

"Same drawer. Why?"

"Your cupboard doors are hanging askew because the hinges need tightening."

Was that a metaphor for something? "Trent, I haven't heard a single plow go by. Aren't you worried about getting snowed in here?"

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

Hannah caught the ramifications of his seemingly innocent question. Surprise, suspicion, and a spreading, happy warmth came on its heels.

"You planned this?" she asked.

"I can still dig out and probably get home. It's only a couple of miles."

"That doesn't answer the question." No way she'd let a child get into that SUV on a probably.

"Yes, I hoped." He frowned at a particularly loose hinge, a man seemingly absorbed in a task. "I hoped if I piddled around enough with manly-man ch.o.r.es, you might realize it would be much safer-and more fun-if you invited me and Merle to a sleepover."

"A sleep-a sleepover?"

He could not be suggesting what she thought he was suggesting. Not this soon, not with the children underfoot, not- Not that she'd object so very strenuously.

"I'll take the couch, Stark, and get up every few hours to feed the woodstove. The house will be all toasty when you wake up, and Grace will think you're the best mom in the whole world ever. So will the unicorns."

She should say no. No, thank you. Or no, not this soon. Or no, I need time to think this through.

"It's entirely up to you, Stark." He closed the cupboard, and the door was for once hanging straight. "Me, I'd like to snuggle with you, but I haven't made a secret of that."

"You are not spending the night in my bed with two little girls just down the hall, waiting to come gate-crashing at three a.m. with nightmares, accidents, bad dreams-"

He touched the handle of the screwdriver to her lips, the plastic warm from his grip. "I know the drill, and I agree with you. I don't want Merle thinking the day she meets a woman, I'm hopping into that woman's bed. Merle understands where babies come from."

Hannah pushed the screwdriver aside with one finger. "So does Grace."

So did Hannah.

"So do I," Trent said. "While I am enough of a Knightley to always have protection with me, what's in my wallet probably expired before you pa.s.sed the bar."

A year could be a very long time, more than year, now. "I have a wallet too, Trenton Knightley." Though it held precious little besides a copy of her name change court order, her driver's license, one credit card, and a folded twenty.

"Our virtue is safe for now," Trent said. "Up to a point." He moved on to the next cupboard, which also wasn't quite plumb.

This proposed sleepover-had the term ever been so misused?-could have all manner of consequences.

"Tomorrow is Monday," Hannah said. "Seeing you in the office after this will be odd."

"Working with people you also have some sort of external relationship with takes getting used to, but I do it with Mac and James, and we manage pretty well. I like knowing my brothers have my back even at work, if you want the truth."

For Trent, work was not a place free from family, as it was for most people, but then, for most of recorded history, many people had worked where they and their families lived.

"How are you feeling, Stark?"