He gave one quick shake of his head. "I don't have anything to say to her." He shut his phone off. Tried to smile, but it looked forced. He turned the TV off. "Want to sit out on the porch?"

"Sure," she said as the house phone began to ring. And ring.

He jumped up and grabbed the receiver, looked at the caller ID and swore. "It's Kennedy," he said, staring at the still-ringing phone. "She must have talked to my mom and found out I was here."

The phone rang twice more, then stopped. It was silent for thirty seconds, then rang again.

"You'd better answer it," Gracie said gently. "Before it wakes up the girls."

He nodded stiffly. Clicked a b.u.t.ton and lifted it to his ear. "h.e.l.lo?" He began to pace while, Gracie a.s.sumed, Kennedy spoke. Gracie wished he'd left the TV on. At least then she could pretend great interest in whatever was on. Without it, she was stuck on the couch while he walked around the living room, his head down, his knuckles white. "No." More silence. "No. Do not come over, Kennedy. I mean it."

Gracie's head snapped up. Kennedy wanted to come over? Here? Now?

She watched him, wide-eyed, while he listened to whatever Kennedy was saying. "Because I don't want to see you or talk to you." More silence. "And I don't want to hear what you have to say." He laughed harshly. "You screwed my best friend," he said flatly in a tone Gracie had never heard him use before. So angry. "As far as I'm concerned, we have nothing to say to each other. If you call here again, I'll shut off the phone and my sister will get p.i.s.sed. And don't even think about coming over." He looked at Gracie. Held her gaze. "I'm not alone."

He hung up. Carefully replaced the phone. "You want a drink?" he asked, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just told his ex-girlfriend he was with someone-a female someone, as even an idiot could infer.

"Uh, sure. Whatever you're having is fine."

One side of his mouth kicked up. "As long as it's not milk, right?"

He remembered she was a vegan. For some stupid reason, that meant a lot to her. "Right."

While he went into the kitchen, Gracie held her breath, but the phone remained silent. He came back a minute later with two gla.s.ses of iced tea. Handed her one, then set the other on the coffee table and retook his seat, once again sitting close to her.

"Sorry about that-" He gestured to the phone. "I don't want to drag you into my drama."

"It's okay." She sipped her drink, stared at the gla.s.s. "Has Kennedy tried to talk to you before this?"

"Yeah. She's been bugging me for days, trying to get me to see her, saying she has some of my stuff-sweatshirts and things. That we should meet up to exchange them. I told her just to drop them off at my house, and I boxed up all the s.h.i.t she gave me and left it on her back patio the other day."

"If you want her to come over," Gracie said softly, setting her drink down. "I can leave."

His head whipped around. "No. I want you to stay. Unless...unless you want to go?"

He looked nervous. Sounded worried.

"I want to stay." And wasn't it her honesty that had gotten her into trouble with Andrew? She'd been too open. Had said what she thought, giving him everything she had, sharing her feelings with him, and he'd used them to his advantage.

But Luke wasn't Andrew, she reminded herself. Luke was her friend. He liked spending time with her. Wasn't embarra.s.sed or ashamed of her.

Except they hadn't actually been seen in public, a little voice reminded her. They'd snuck out of her house the other day so no one would see them. Even now they were alone at a house at the edge of town.

"That is," she continued, worried she'd said too much, that he would see how much she was starting to like him, "if you want me to stay."

"Yeah," he said quickly. "You know I do."

She didn't. She didn't know anything. Wasn't good at these games, preferring honesty and openness. Wasn't like other teenage girls who lived for drama, who wanted the heady rush of love, the heartbreak of hurt feelings and arguments. "I'm sorry Kennedy upset you," she told him.

"I shouldn't let her get to me."

"It must be hard. You two were together for a long time."

He sighed. Scooted back. "Since the beginning of soph.o.m.ore year. I feel stupid, though, because now that I look back, especially the past year, I can see the signs. Her flirting with Drew, him watching her."

"Things like that are often clear in hindsight." Hadn't she looked back and seen the signs with Andrew? How he'd treated her, how he hadn't wanted to talk to her, hadn't wanted to get to know her, even though she'd given him everything?

"That's what sucks," Luke said. "Looking back and seeing everything so clearly. I want to kick my own a.s.s for not doing something about it, for not calling either of them on it, but especially for not saying stuff to her about all the c.r.a.p she pulled during the time we were together. The head games she played, how she loved to try to make me jealous, how she'd sulk if she didn't get her way, if I wasn't showing her enough attention."

"You can't blame yourself for her and Andrew cheating."

"I don't, but I should have seen it coming. Should have broken up with her months ago. I mean, I loved her. I thought I loved her, but there were times, too many, really, where I didn't like her."

Gracie set her hand on his knee. "I'm sorry she hurt you," she whispered, hating that he, too, had suffered.

He looked at her hand, then into her face. Something in his gaze warned her, told her she needed to move back, to do or say something to remind them both that they weren't a couple. That they were too different. That she had no desire to get hurt again.

But he leaned forward, slowly, so slowly she certainly could have stopped him. But she didn't. She sat there, still as a statue as he brushed his mouth against hers. He kissed her again, moving in closer, his hands on her face. She kissed him back, her heart racing, but when he deepened the kiss, when he tried to sweep his tongue into her mouth, she jumped up.

"I-I can't do this," she blurted, then remembered the girls were sleeping and lowered her voice. "I don't want to be..." She waved a hand vaguely. "A replacement or consolation prize." She looked around, had no idea what she was looking for and crossed her arms. "I think I should go."

He was on his feet in a flash. "No...I mean...I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done that, I just..." He shook his head. Shoved his hands into his pockets. "It was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it."

She nodded but noticed he hadn't refuted her words about being nothing more than a possible rebound. "A mistake. Yes." Because he was lonely? Trying to get back at Kennedy, and Gracie was available? Because she was easy? Her stomach turned. "I really have to go."

She ran out, feeling like a fool. Wondering why he'd kissed her. Because he was using her? Or because he felt bad for her? Poor Gracie with her weird clothes and crazy hair. A pity kiss.

She wasn't sure which one was worse.

IVY TOOK A DEEP BREATH, then knocked on the door to Clinton's room. After the ugly scene at O'Riley's last week, he'd returned to Houston. For work, he'd said in the voice-mail message he'd left her, though she'd known that was only partly true.

He'd wanted to get away from her.

Hadn't she known it would happen? That eventually he'd leave? He'd proved her right. She'd tried to tell herself she didn't care. Had even forced herself to attend Fay's family's Fourth of July picnic to prove how unaffected she was by anything Clinton said or did.

She'd been miserable. Had hated the merriment and smiling faces. Hated herself for pushing Clinton away. She'd thought for sure she'd never see him again, that he'd fade out of her life for good.

Until she'd arrived at work this morning and Fay had told her he was back. Back in Shady Grove and, despite being able to afford cla.s.sier accommodations, back to Bradford House. Not only that, but he'd booked the room for every weekend from now until the end of the year.

Because of her.

She couldn't stay away. Not when he was this close.

Not when she'd actually missed him.

She knocked again, harder this time, anxiety and antic.i.p.ation warring inside her.

He wanted her to trust him, to turn to him, and she wanted to, but she was scared. But today, now, she was making an effort.

He'd better appreciate it.

He opened the door, his cell phone to his ear, his free hand covering the mouthpiece. Seeing her, he raised his eyebrows. "h.e.l.lo, Ivy."

Well, that was a cool, not-exactly-thrilled-to-see-her greeting. She reminded herself she deserved it, that she'd taken a job working for his brother, that she'd hurt his pride and made him doubt her commitment to at least trying to see where things could go between them.

"You came back," she blurted, then winced. c.r.a.p. She hadn't meant to say that.

"Is that why you're here? To state the obvious?"

"I just... I thought maybe...after our disagreement you'd..."

"Walk away and not look back?"

"Something like that." She wouldn't blame him if he had. And she hated how grateful she was that he hadn't.

The man was messing with her head, pure and simple.

Whoever was on the phone said something, drawing Clinton's attention. "Of course I'm still here." He gestured for Ivy to come in then turned and walked back into the room. She followed, shutting the door behind her.

"Now, don't jump to any conclusions," Clinton said into the phone, his back to Ivy. "For all we know this could just be a minor setback." He paused, pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Aw, darlin', don't cry." His voice was gruff, the look he shot Ivy a cross between terror and helplessness. "I'll be back in Houston Sunday night." During the pause, Ivy could hear the murmur of a female voice. "As soon as I get in. I promise. Try not to worry, okay?" Another pause. "I love you, too. Talk to you soon."

He shut the phone off and rolled his head from side to side. Sighed.

"What's wrong?" Ivy asked.

He tossed the phone onto the bed. "What makes you think anything's wrong?"

"Let's just say I have an instinct about these things. And when a man tries to soothe a crying woman, something is wrong. At least to the woman."

"That wasn't a woman. It was my niece, Estelle. She's worried about my father."

"Is he all right?"

Clinton sat heavily on the edge of the bed. "His doctor is worried that his depression is worsening. He's barely eating and he refuses to do his physical therapy. It's like he's given up and is just waiting to die."

Ivy had no idea what it was like to watch someone she loved suffer like that, but she imagined it was horrible.

She sat next to Clinton, ignored how he stiffened when she laid her hand on his arm. She kept it there anyway, wanting to give him some small measure of comfort. "I'm so sorry."

He nodded then stood. To get away from her? The thought stung, and she reminded herself that was what she'd wanted. To push him away.

She'd done the job too well.

"Estelle seems to think I can fix it," Clinton said. "Somehow force Dad to get better."

"And it's killing you that you can't," Ivy guessed.

He sent her a sharp look that let her know she was right. "Even my ego's not big enough to let me think I can save a dying man."

"I don't think it's your ego pushing you. I think it's respect, at the very least. Maybe even love for the man who raised you."

She didn't agree with Clinton b.u.t.ting into his family members' business, didn't like how they all turned to him to solve their problems. But she admired how he cared for them all.

She couldn't imagine being that magnanimous. Wasn't sure she wanted to be.

"Dad is a b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Clinton said flatly. "Egotistical, arrogant and self-centered. But he isn't all bad. And he doesn't deserve to live the way he has been for the past fourteen months. No one deserves that. And you're right. I hate that I can't talk him into getting better." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "h.e.l.l, maybe I made things worse by forcing Carrie to leave him."

"From what I overheard that day at your apartment, she was on her way out. She was looking for an excuse."

He lifted a shoulder. In agreement? Irritation? Ivy had no idea.

"If things are that bad with your father," she said, needing to ask the question that was at the forefront of her mind, "why did you come back to Shady Grove this weekend?"

Clinton edged closer so that he towered over her, his gaze intense, his expression unyielding. "You know why."

Her throat went dry. Yes, she knew.

He'd come back for her.

His words from that day at her apartment when he'd brought her champagne and flowers floated through her head.

I'm going to prove myself to you.

"The real question," he continued, "is what are you doing here?"

"Fay told me you were back, and I..."

I missed you. I wanted to see you.

Except she couldn't tell him that. Was afraid to be that open. That honest.

Was terrified he wouldn't believe her. Not after what had happened at O'Riley's.

"I need your help," she blurted.

He laughed, but the sound held little humor. "I doubt that. You seem to thrive on doing things on your own."

Ouch. But since it was true, she couldn't argue. "I need your help," she repeated, as she stood. "Fay is giving me the boys' old crib, and I need help carrying it into my apartment and putting it together."

Of course, she didn't need it quite this soon, hadn't planned on lugging it home for a few months. And she could think of about a dozen ways she'd rather spend a sunny Sat.u.r.day afternoon than moving furniture. But he didn't need to know any of that.

He wasn't the only one who had something to prove. She was turning to him. Making the effort.

She just hoped it wasn't too little, too late.

He stiffened. "I'll buy you a new crib."