"Can we go?"

"No! Eat. Grant, your bottom in the chair, please. Hunter, turn around and finish your hamburger."

Whatever was going on at the bar had grabbed Bernie's attention, too. To draw him back to her, she gently admonished him. "I saw you carrying boxes out to your car this afternoon. You really should let us help."

He launched into a diatribe against his bad hip and its probable replacement. "I've got an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon soon as I get home."

Amelia murmured sympathetically and tried to follow everything he was saying about the tribulations of aging, but she was curious to know what was taking place behind her.

She got a fair indication when Bernie stopped talking and became fixated on something behind her. Something tall. About six foot four, if she had gauged correctly.

"Everybody, this is our neighbor," Stef announced. "He's staying in the house next door. Alone."

Amelia didn't miss the emphasis Stef had placed on that last word, and it was mortifying to know that it probably hadn't escaped him, either. She had no choice except to turn and acknowledge the introduction. "Hello. Amelia Nolan." Her tone was polite but cool. Discouraging, she hoped.

"Dawson Scott."

He extended his hand. She looked at it for several seconds before reluctantly taking it in a quick handshake.

Stef continued the introductions. "This is Bernie Clarkson, Amelia's neighbor on the other side."

"Hi, Bernie." His arm grazed the top of Amelia's shoulder as he reached across the table to shake hands. "You were rocking that kite today."

The old man's face lit up. "You saw that?"

"Hard to miss."

"Hard contraption to fly, too."

"Lucky for you, you had these two buccaneers to help."

To Amelia's dismay, he rounded the table to address her sons, both of whom had disobediently gotten out of their chairs and were curiously regarding the tall stranger.

He hunkered down to their eye level. "Hi. I'm Dawson. What's your name?"

"Hunter."

Dawson gave him a high five. Hunter happily slapped his palm. "That's my brother, Grant. He's littler than me."

Grant, not to be outshone, shouldered his brother aside in order to move closer to Dawson. "What kind of car do you have?"

"Car? Well, while I'm here, I'm driving a rental car." He told Grant the model, which was apparently a crushing disappointment. His only response was an unenthusiastic Oh.

Dawson turned his head and looked across the table at Amelia, as though asking What'd I say? "He's into cars," she explained lamely. "He likes fast-"

"Sexy ones."

"Ah, I see," he said, looking amused at Stef's flirtatious quip. Turning back to the boys, he asked if they liked to play with Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars.

They nodded vigorously.

"Me too. I collected them when I was your age."

"We have to keep them picked up and in their box," Grant informed him. "Or else Mom takes them and puts them up high where we can't reach."

Dawson nodded solemnly. "My mom did that, too. But it's a good idea. You'd hate for somebody to trip over one of your cars and get hurt, right?"

Hunter asked, "Do you have a dog?"

"No, I don't."

"But you like them, right?"

"Oh yeah. Dogs are great. But I'm away from home a lot with my work. A dog would get lonesome."

Hunter shot Amelia an accusatory look. "We don't have one, either. Mom says maybe we can get one when things settle down. But I don't know when that is."

Amelia came to her feet so quickly, she painfully caught her hipbone on the edge of the table, rattling glasses and silverware. "Boys, it's past your bedtime. Say good-bye. Nice to meet you, Mr. Dawson."

"Scott."

"What?"

"Dawson Scott."

"Oh, sorry, well, enjoy your stay on the island."

While the boys were reluctantly telling him good-bye, she slipped the strap of her purse off the back of her chair, then shepherded her sons around tables and out of the cafe. Stef and Bernie followed.

Her little group had almost reached the parking lot at the rear of the building when she was hailed from behind. Dawson was jogging toward them. Amelia asked Stef to go on ahead. "Get the boys buckled in. I'll see what he wants."

For the first time of the summer, Stef looked a little put out by Amelia's request, but she did as asked and shooed the boys around the corner of the building. Bernie went along, too, but not before giving Amelia a knowing grin and an exaggerated wink.

To his credit, Dawson Scott cleaned up well. He still had the scruff, but it worked for him. As did the long hair. Somehow. He'd changed into a more presentable pair of khaki shorts and a black linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. And he smelled good.

But none of that made her feel any more kindly toward him. "I told you to stay away from us."

"Your nanny invited me over to your table to meet you. If I had refused, it would have looked like obvious avoidance, wouldn't it? To say nothing of being rude."

She didn't address that logic, because he was right. "What do you want?"

"An interview."

"Have a nice life." She started to turn away.

"Wait, that was a joke. That's not why I came after you."

"Well?"

"Do you always carry the pepper spray?"

"No. I have two curious children who could come across it when they're looking for something else in my purse."

"So where do you keep it?"

"Where it would be handy if I had an intruder."

"It wasn't handy when Willard Strong surprised you in your kitchen that afternoon?"

"No. But even if it had been, he had a loaded shotgun and his finger was on the trigger."

"If you don't keep the pepper spray with you at all times, then what good is it?"

"It got your attention today, didn't it?"

He smiled with chagrin. "Ah, you got me with that one."

"We've exhausted the subject anyway. Good-bye."

"Where did Jeremy work?"

The abrupt switch of subject threw her off.

He said, "You testified that you'd called his workplace. Where was he working?"

"Your flea-on-a-single-hair lady came up empty?"

"Easier just to ask you."

Seeing no reason to withhold the information, she cited the name of the construction firm. "They specialize in commercial buildings. Large facilities. Schools, factories, medical complexes. Jeremy was one of their electrical engineers."

"Okay."

"He was very good at it," she said, hating herself for sounding defensive.

"How did he get to that from sniper training for the Marines?"

"So, you have done your research."

"Some. I'm still in the process."

"Jeremy held a degree in that field. After leaving the corps, he applied for a position with the firm, met the qualifications, and-"

"Congressman Nolan called in a favor."

She stiffened her spine.

"Okay, that was a cheap shot."

"You're damn right it was. Good-bye."

"Just one more thing."

"I don't think so."

"This isn't even a question."

"They're waiting for me in the car, Mr. Scott."

"Check under your front doormat."

"What?"

"I left something there for you."

"Under the doormat?"

"The photographs."

"Oh, the photographs. How cavalier." She gave him a drop-dead look. "You could replace them with a keystroke on your laptop. Or just take more."

"I won't. I promise. I know they made you uncomfortable."

"Pictures of me and my children, taken by a total stranger. You bet they made me uncomfortable. Especially since you failed to explain the reason for them."

"I didn't explain?"

"No. And I asked."

"Oh. I took them so I could study you."

"As part of your research?"

"No, so I could get to know you."

"I don't want you to know me."

It could have been a trick of the lights along the dock, reflecting off the water. Or his gaze really did move down to her mouth when he said in a low and stirring voice, "That's too bad."

Mistrusting herself to come up with an appropriate put-down that would have any oomph behind it, she turned away from him without speaking another word.

Stef was on her way downstairs as Amelia was making tired progress up.

"What was that about?"

"What?"