"You don't want to leave Lucy." Crockett said it for him.

"No."

"But?"

"We're both just getting free. I'm giving up a past life I didn't want to end and she's just signed the papers releasing the only remaining connection to where and how she spent the first thirty-three years of her life. I'm not sure either of us is ready to tie ourselves to another person."

"And?"

"And what? Holy s.h.i.t, Crockett, isn't that enough?"

"Maybe, but there's more."

"Sun's coming up." Boone gestured toward to the light working its way over the water.

Crockett nodded. "So it is. Does it every day, so I'm told. You going to talk to me or am I going to have to go put my collar on and call you 'my son?'"

"Lucy asked me, sort of, where I wanted my life to be in ten years." It was hard to breathe, harder to talk. "It bothers the h.e.l.l out of me that I don't know any better now than I did when the high school counselor asked the same fricking question when I was sixteen."

If anyone had asked, Boone would have said they were too winded for talking, but he'd have known that wasn't the reason for the silence that fell between them. No, the reason was that they didn't have any answers.

Chapter Fourteen.

"The sorority wants the pies delivered to the event center out by the lake at noon because the party's at two o'clock. I can't begin to make sense of that, but it's what they wanted and paid extra for." Gert peered at the schedule on the kitchen chalkboard. "Neither of us can possibly leave here at eleven forty-five on a Friday. Where is Boone, anyway? It's just like a man to not be around when you need him. Maybe Jack can take them. He only has half-days at school this semester. Cla.s.ses start at a quarter till one and he's mowing here this morning."

Lucy set pumpkin custard pies on the island to cool and replaced them in the oven with Dutch apple and blueberry. "Boone left yesterday to speak at a conference in Louisville, remember? He was whining about eating mystery meat and lime gelatin with fruit in it." And talking about what he'd like to do with me and a whole vat of lime gelatin. She smiled with the memory of that particular conversation.

She and Boone had grown closer in the week since they returned from Richmond, spending most of their evening hours and many of their late-night ones together.

"I can take them." Kelly-who'd joined them for breakfast and helped with tablecloths and flowers for the tearoom while she was there-turned from where she was curling her eyelashes with the toaster serving as a mirror. "I'm having a working lunch meeting in another room at the center. Only thing is, I need to borrow one of your cars. I left mine with Sims this morning to change the oil and filters and all that under-the-hood stuff."

"You can take mine to the office," Gert offered. "We'll load the pies into the van and you can drive that when you go to the meeting."

Lucy grinned. "Just don't tell anyone where you got the car or they'll all want one. I'm pretty sure that blue-and-rust combination is going to start a whole new trend."

"You should buy a new van, or at least a newer one," Kelly advised, getting Gert's keys from one of the hooks on the inside of a cupboard door. "It could be a company car for the tearoom."

Lucy shook her head. "The tearoom can't even afford a company bicycle yet, although Gert's last newspaper ad was inspired. Even with the percentage off, we've had record revenue."

Kelly went outside, only to come in again thirty seconds later and exchange sets of keys. "You're parked behind Gert, Lucy. I'll just take your car to work and the pies can go in hers."

"Musical vehicles this morning." Gert smiled at her niece. "Reminds me of when you kids were in high school and needed to go in three different directions-we'd play car tag all day long."

"Anything to keep Boone from driving," Kelly said, and went out the door again, laughter following her.

Lucy went to the refrigerator and stood staring at its contents, trying to remember what she needed. "Gert, do you-"

A panicked shout from outside interrupted her. She pushed the refrigerator shut and ran out through the sunroom, Gert close on her heels.

Kelly was in the yard, her cell phone at her ear. Jack, white-faced, had abandoned the lawnmower and was dragging the garden hose from beside the garage, aiming its spray toward the van that was rapidly losing much of the blue paint left on it to the flames that were bursting from under its hood.

Lucy stood still, watching in silent horror as yet another fire laid insidious siege to her life. "Don't get too close," she shouted to Jack. She ran across the drive to pull Kelly away from the burning vehicle. "Stay back. Did you call 911?"

It was a revisit of the fire in Mr. Morgan's garage. The same fire trucks and ambulance filled the street in front of the house. The same volunteer firefighters unfurled the big hose. Tom Simc.o.x stepped out of his cruiser and held up a beefy arm and traffic stopped as if by magic.

Sims, his face as white as Jack's had been, arrived in Kelly's Volvo, running over a flowerbed and striding across the yard with scarcely a limp to take Gert in his arms.

In the end, the only lasting damage was to Lucy's van, which was totaled, and the flowerbed.

When the last of the emergency vehicles and the backed-up traffic had gone, Tom came to where Lucy stood. "The fire marshal will release it after he investigates. You'll want to call your insurance agent too."

Tom was burly enough to be scary if you had a guilty conscience, but non-judgmental and soft-spoken right along with it. If Lucy had been drawing a prototype of everything she'd want in a law enforcement officer, he would have fit nicely onto the page. His wife was Lucy's doctor and one of the tearoom's best customers. One notable Tuesday-traditionally a slow day for Tea on Twilight-all the tables had been full at once and the sheriff had donned an ap.r.o.n and helped Lucy serve. A picture of him graced the bulletin board in the kitchen. When he'd jitterbugged with Lucy on her birthday, everyone had stood around and clapped.

But now, with his attendance at the third fire where Lucy was also present, his smile was conspicuously absent and suspicion had erased the kindness in his eyes.

"We have to stop meeting like this." His voice was calm.

"That would be perfectly all right with me." She tried to smile, but her cheeks trembled with the effort so she gave it up.

"Kelly was getting ready to drive the car, right?"

"Yes." Kelly stood between Gert and Sims. The accusation on the attorney's face made Lucy want to cringe, but she didn't. "I don't know if she'd started the car yet."

"Okay." He gave her shoulder an awkward pat and went over to the others. "Kell, you okay?"

Lucy didn't hear her response, though she knew what it was. She'd already checked, had already shouted, "Are you all right? Are you all right?" in Kelly's shocked face, grabbing her hands and shaking them for emphasis.

"Yes," Kelly had said, and it was as though ice ran through the words. "Did you think I wouldn't be? Or hope it, maybe?"

Lucy didn't answer the accusation, just dropped her hands and ran to Jack. She'd rubbed at the soot on his face. "You're not burned?"

"I'm fine." He'd pulled away from her, not meeting her eyes, going to coil the garden hose before someone tripped over it.

She felt accused again. Although the temperature was above seventy, she was freezing. And she was alone. As alone as she'd been since the day Johnny died. She hadn't realized she was running away when she came to Taft, but maybe she was. Not from Richmond, not even from loss, but from fire.

She hadn't run far enough.

She went into the house to take the pies from the oven and make sure it was turned off. That would be the icing on the whole nasty cake, if fire followed her right into Tea on Twilight.

Moving on automatic pilot, she boxed pies and wrote up an invoice for Gert to mail to the sorority treasurer. She took the stockpots off the deep shelf in the pantry and put them on the stove. Friday had become soup day in the tearoom. Today's choices were chili and vegetable. They'd also have a smaller pot of the vegan potato soup Jessie St. John had taught her to make. She needed to a.s.semble meat and cheese and relish trays for the wedding shower that afternoon. Lucy would just concentrate on food, preparing it, cooking it, arranging it neatly on antique platters.

For now. It was the only thing she knew to do, the only way to stop herself from running screaming toward-toward what? She had no idea.

Gert came in and went to work beside her, browning the ground round and just a "smidge" of sausage for the chili while Lucy sauteed the peppers, garlic and onions.

After a few minutes, Gert broke the silence. "I don't know what you're thinking, Lucy, but I'm pretty sure it's wrong."

"I'm thinking maybe I should leave." The words felt like fishhooks coming through her throat.

Gert shook her head, clearing her throat. "That's just foolish."

But Gert hadn't seen Tom Simc.o.x's face, hadn't seen the progress Lucy and Kelly had made toward sharing the planet in peace drain away in a fiery moment. Hadn't seen the way Jack avoided Lucy's eyes as though he hated her. Gert wasn't considering that just maybe her business partner was a pyromaniac in some deep, dark ident.i.ty no one knew existed. Gert wasn't wondering what was going to burn next and if Lucy was going to be the one to start the fire.

No, Gert wasn't wondering any of that.

But Lucy was.

Boone loved cartoonists' conferences. He liked interacting with others who shared his interests and his talents. He even liked being a featured speaker. It used to scare the bejesus out of him-it was nothing in those early days to drain four gla.s.ses of water during a twenty-minute speech. He always prayed there was a restroom somewhere close to the lectern because he would be in dire need of it as soon as he said, "Hey, thanks for listening," and unhooked his microphone. Nowadays, though, he was comfortable with what he had to share and with the audience. The Q and A portion of his presentation always lasted longer than the talk itself, and that was fine with him.

His favorite part was the schmoozing time spent in the hotel bar. He'd spent the evening there last night, catching up with colleagues he saw only a few times a year, and he'd planned to go back after dinner, but the truth was that he was ready to go home. He wished he'd brought Lucy to the conference with him, but she'd pushed him out the door.

"I've got a living to make," she said. "My vacation's over."

"Aw, come on." He swept her into a hug and kissed her for a long time before letting her go and meeting her gaze. "I'll miss you, Lucy John."

He'd been flirting, teasing, because he was actually looking forward to a few days of single guy time. He and Lucy were nearly always together these days and even though he liked it, he liked being single too. Sort of. Although he thought he was ready to love somebody again-better be, since he already did-he didn't think he wanted the same kind of closeness he'd had with Maggie. They had, he could admit in retrospect, d.a.m.n near smothered each other from time to time.

So he was surprised to find himself leaving the conference hotel almost immediately after his presentation. He'd be back on Twilight Park Avenue in time for supper. He might even call and see if Lucy and Gert wanted him to pick up pizza on his way.

Then again, he might not. He whipped into the right lane of the interstate and set the cruise control for five miles an hour over the speed limit. He rarely did that, because no one knew any better than he did what a lousy driver he was, but a sense of urgency was humming along under his skin that he couldn't explain. He just knew he wanted to be home. He thought maybe Lucy needed him.

Arson.

Lucy folded freshly laundered tablecloths slowly, matching corners so the creases would be in the center of the tables when she set them. She loved the autumn colors of the table covers. Gert had been aghast when Lucy suggested seasonal cloths instead of white, but she'd come around the day Lucy walked in with thirty yards of fabric she'd found at a garage sale. The two women had unearthed Gert's sewing machine and borrowed Kelly's and spent every evening for a week cutting and hemming tablecloths and coordinating toppers for the tearoom's fifteen tables.

They'd bought the tables off an internet auction site and driven to Lexington, Kentucky in a rental truck to pick them up. The creamy old dishes and thick, faceted drinking gla.s.ses had been in the kitchen of the Knights of Pythias lodge hall, along with most of the mismatched wooden chairs. The Knights no longer met and Sims had bought the building to do something with-he hadn't decided exactly what.

Lucy stopped folding, remembering washing the dishes by hand that first time and praying silent thanks that the temperamental van had died in front of Gert's house. She'd only intended to spend the afternoon with Noah Crockett's aunt, just long enough to receive advice about apartments and jobs in the Taft area. But it took a few days for Sims to get the van back into running condition, and by that time it was too late.

She was home.

Even though she hadn't meant to be. She hadn't intended to go into business with someone she liked and admired. She'd never expected to meet Gert's other nephew, the one who made Father Crockett's eyes light with laughter whenever he mentioned him. Once she'd met Boone, she'd absolutely never meant to fall in love with him.

When she'd asked him, back in Virginia, what he wanted to be doing in ten years, she'd known beyond all doubt what her answer was. She wanted to be running a restaurant of one kind or another. Children running through its kitchen. A house to go to when the workday was done. A red SUV with crayons and coloring books in the back seat and a CD player for playing Christmas songs from the first week in October until New Year's. That was the biggest dream in her jar.

Except for the one she'd never written down. She wanted Boone. Oh, yes, she did.

But that was before another fire had burned a scalding inroad into her life and her dreams. Before the fire marshal and the insurance adjustor wore a solemn and angry face and said the word arson.

"Do you have any enemies, Miss Dolan?"

Not that she knew of. But did she? The fires were coming closer. Would the next one be in the house? Would it hurt one of these people she'd come to love?

She stared down at where she held the corners of a pumpkin-colored tablecloth. Her hands weren't pretty, with their short fingers, nails bitten to the quick and pale burn scars mingling with the freckles on the backs. Johnny and Andy used to shake their heads at her because no matter how careful she tried to be, she always managed to burn herself.

Even in cooking, her favorite thing in the world to do, fire was her enemy.

"Luce?" Boone's voice preceded him into the room. He carried his laptop and Kinsey trotted in beside him. The kitten's second-favorite person was home, and she pranced with the delight of it. Boone smiled into her eyes, the expression warming her through and through. It the first time since this morning she hadn't had to stop herself from shivering.

"What's the black spot on the driveway? Jack burning leaves already?" He laid down his computer case and plucked the tablecloth from Lucy's hands so he could take her into his arms. "I missed you."

"I'm fine." She raised her face for his kiss, putting her arms around his neck for just a minute. Just a minute and then she would let go. Really she would. "I missed you too. The black spot's where the van used to be."

He raised a questioning brow. "Sounds ominous. Did it finally kick up its tires?"

She drew away, reaching for the tablecloth he'd taken from her hands. "In a manner of speaking." She folded it, having trouble getting the corners to match because her hands were shaking. She picked up another one, this one the color of paprika.

"Lucy?" He stood still. Kinsey wound around his ankles, then Lucy's.

The cat's long fur felt good on her cold skin. She folded, though her hands still shook. "There was an engine fire. It doesn't take much to total out a twelve-year-old car, so I guess it did kick up its tires."

Her voice sounded hollow in her ears, like it belonged to someone else. She wished it did, because she didn't want to tell him about the fire. She didn't want to talk about it at all.

But, as anyone else would, he said, "What happened?" He took the cloth out of her hands, finished folding it, and laid it neatly on the stack on top of the dryer. "Come on." His arm went around her waist, and he pulled her into the kitchen. "Sit down and tell me."

He got an opened bottle of rose out of the wine cooler and sloshed healthy amounts into a pair of water goblets. He sat on the barstool around the corner from hers and set the drinks in front of them. "Lucy?"

She told him. It took the whole gla.s.s of wine, but she got it said. She kept her gaze on his and held her eyes open wide. They felt hot and dry and soulless, as though they were separate from the rest of her. But if she looked away, he would think she was lying. Wouldn't he?

At the end, he put down his nearly full gla.s.s and reached for her hands. "No one-you, Kelly, Gert, Jack-none of you were hurt?"

"No. Not physically. But you need to call Kelly. Make sure."

"Where's Aunt Gert?"

"With Sims. They were going to drive till they were hungry, stop and eat, then drive till they were tired and stop and stay. I think they just wanted to be alone together." And not with me. She was glad she'd stopped herself from saying it, but she couldn't seem to stop thinking it. "I'm-" She hesitated, pulling her hands from his, though her fingers felt icy as soon as he wasn't touching them anymore. "I'm not very good company tonight, Boone. Why don't you go over and see Kelly instead of just calling her, make sure she's all right? I'll be okay here."

Indecision flared in his eyes, and Lucy could read his thoughts. Should he go to the sister he'd been looking after her whole life, who he loved unconditionally, or should he stay here, where G.o.d only knew what Lucy would do next?

"I'm tired and you are, too," he said quietly. "Let's both stay here. Why don't you order pizza while I call Kelly?"

Because arguing would have required more energy than she had, Lucy nodded acquiescence. She got up, snagging the phone from its cradle and going into the sunroom with Kinsey at her heels.

After ordering the pizza, she stayed in the sunroom, sitting at the table and thumbing through the cookbook she'd left there earlier. Through the French doors, she saw Boone get up from the island with his cell phone at his ear. He walked the perimeter of the kitchen, stopping to sip his wine occasionally as he listened.

She closed her eyes and catalogued in her memory his chocolate eyes and chiseled features, the sun-streaked brown hair that was never quite neat. She thought of how his laughter sang along her nerve endings and remembered thinking his voice was the stuff her dreams were made of. It still was, whether it was soft and s.e.xy in the darkness of the night or loud and intense when he was making a point.