"Maybe not. There's gold in Alaska. Heard there're riches to be found. Lots of them." He was obviously trying to make her feel better, but the thought of him working as a miner had the opposite effect. Tommy avoided physical labor like smallpox.

As if guessing her thoughts, he added, "It's not exactly the Pacific Islands, but it's somethin'."

"I feel terrible."

She glanced at Grant, but his stoic face gave no clue to his thoughts.

Tommy said something, but when she failed to respond, his glance swung back and forth between her and his lawyer. "Meg?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry..."

He gave her a funny look. "I said I need a receipt to show the judge."

"I'll write you one," Papa said, emerging from the back of the shop. He then pulled a receipt book from a drawer, along with a pen and bottle of ink. After scribbling out a receipt for ten grand, he signed and dated it and slid it across the counter.

Tommy took the receipt without a word and tucked it into his pocket. "Meg, don't look like that. It's not the end of the world. Honest. I'll write and let you know how I'm doing. Bet you never got a letter from Alaska."

"No, I never did. And I'll write back. I will, Tommy. I promise."

He gave her a lopsided grin and turned to the door where Grant stood holding it open for him.

"Wait," her father called. "You forgot something."

Both men turned, Grant with his hand still on the doorknob. Eyebrows arched, Tommy tossed a questioning glance at Meg before switching his attention to her father.

"What did I forget?"

"This." Papa tore the check into a dozen pieces and tossed them into the air. The little scraps of paper fluttered to the floor like falling snow. Meg's mouth dropped open.

Tommy stared at the scraps of paper, his eyes round. "Does this mean...?"

"You've got your receipt," Papa said. "That's all the judge needs to see. Now get out of here. We've got work to do."

Tommy turned to Grant. "Is...is this legal?"

Grant shrugged. "Don't know what you're talking about. Never saw a thing." With that, he walked out of the shop.

"Whoopie!" Tommy leaped up and slapped the doorframe before racing outside. "Pacific Islands, here I come!"

Grinning, Meg flung her arms around her father's neck. "What is this?" he asked, his gruff voice belying his pleased look.

"This, Papa, is my way of saying I love you." She pulled back. "That was a very good thing you did. I'm sure Mama would agree."

"Don't count on it, Meg." He picked the newspaper off the counter, tucked it under his arm, and shuffled into the back room.

Meg balled up the handkerchief in her hands-Grant's handkerchief-and this time there was no stopping the tears.

Thirty-six.

Meg left the shop later that day, ahead of her father. She was so busy pulling on her gloves that she failed to notice Grant until she practically plowed into him.

Stopping short, she dropped her glove. "Y-you startled me." She fought to rein in her galloping senses, but it would have been easier to stop a herd of stampeding cattle with one hand. "What are you doing here?"

He bent to retrieve her glove. Straightening, he handed it to her. "I came for answers."

She wiggled her fingers into the silky depths. "What do you mean? What kind of answers?"

He grabbed her firmly by the arm and pulled her out of the path of passersby. He was so close that his warm breath mingled with hers, so close she was sure he could hear her pounding heart.

"What did I do to make you so angry at me?" he asked, his voice a low rumble in her ear.

"I'm not angry."

He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. "No? Well, you could have fooled me."

She glared at him. "If you would kindly step aside."

"Not till you answer my question."

"I have nothing to say to you." She pushed his hand away, and all the anger, resentment, and-more than anything-pain buried in her heart broke free.

Suddenly she had a lot to say indeed, and words spewed out of her in a rush. "I thought you would use New Year's against me in court. So what went wrong? Did my wanton behavior fail to sway the judge? Did-"

"You thought I would use...what happened between us?" He looked clearly aghast.

Her cheeks flared, but she refused to look away. "Dancing, laughing, and flirting, Miss Lockwood?" She threw his words back at him like darts on a target board. "Were you too heartbroken to kiss?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "You think that's why I kissed you?"

"Yes, but it didn't work, did it? That's when you decided to make Tommy agree to marry me so that Papa would have to drop the suit."

"You think that was my doing?" Grant sounded incredulous. "I didn't have a clue what was on his mind until he spoke up in court. And if you think for one moment that I would use New Year's"-his eyes glittered with anger and maybe even hurt-"you don't know me."

She searched his face. He certainly looked sincere. Sounded it too. "But the Gazette said-"

His nostrils flared. "And you believed that piece of yellow journalism?"

She caught her breath. "It wasn't just the Gazette. Everyone's been saying-"

"I don't give a-" He raked his fingers through his hair and lowered his voice. "What happened in court was all Tommy's doing. I had nothing to do with it. I would never-"

She felt a stirring of hope inside. "Never what?" she whispered.

"I would never advise a client to do something that was clearly a mistake."

It wasn't the answer she'd hoped for, or even wanted to hear. "But Tommy said-"

Grant's lips thinned. "What? What did he say?"

"He said you told him that the only way out of paying the money was to marry me."

"It's my job to tell a client the facts, and that's what I did. I certainly didn't encourage him, if that's what you think."

Her mind reeled in confusion. "If...if that's true-"

"It's absolutely true!"

She caught her breath. "Then...then I owe you an apology."

He studied her as if to determine her sincerity. "Just so you know, what happened on New Year's was between you and me. No one else. I've never stopped thinking of it. Nor have I stopped wishing you had come back for more."

His words were like warm, gentle waves washing away her deepest pain. "Oh, Grant," she whispered when at last she could find her voice. "I...I'm so sorry for...for misjudging you."

His gaze clung to hers. "You said you loved him."

"I do. We've been through so much together. I love him only as a friend. It can never be anything more than that."

He moved closer. "Are you saying-?"

She nodded, and her eyes filled with tears. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she needed to say, but a knot of emotion sat heavy like a rock in her throat. Swallowing hard, she gazed up at him, her love so great it felt as if her heart was about to burst.

"Grant, you're the only one I ever truly loved. I know that now."

He caressed her face tenderly. "Oh, Meg, you don't know how happy I am to hear you say that. I've never loved another woman like I love you."

Joy unlike any she'd ever known filled her heart, and a warm glow flowed through her. "Oh, Grant, I-"

"Meg!" At the sound of her father's sharp voice, the two of them drew apart. Papa stood a short distance away, motioning to her. "Time to go home."

She hesitated. "Coming, Papa." She turned back to Grant. "I have to go."

"Meet me later."

She glanced at her father's stoic expression, and her heart sank. His low opinion of Grant couldn't be plainer if he'd shouted it from the rooftops.

She felt as if she was being pulled in two different directions. Papa needed her, but her heart belonged to Grant. He was worth fighting for-and she planned to do just that, but not yet. Not while her family was still broken. Not while she had another battle on her hands.

"I can't," she whispered, beseeching him to understand. "Not yet..."

His dark, earnest eyes sought hers. "When?"

"Soon," she whispered. She backed away and turned to join her father. She glanced at Grant over her shoulder. "Forgive me," she mouthed. Please, please forgive me.

Thirty-seven.

For two days nothing happened. Mama didn't come home, and so far, Papa had not made any progress in winning her back.

That night, Meg was beside herself with frustration and could hardly concentrate on the novel in her hands. Why, oh why couldn't her parents settle their differences? She wanted her family whole again, but that wasn't the only reason for her impatience.

Grant had asked her to meet him, and the longer she stayed away, the more her doubts increased. She'd asked him to wait, but would he?

If I had someone like you...

The memory sent a warm flush to her face but did little to erase her uncertainties.

Tomorrow would make three days since they'd last met, and he'd made no attempt to see her. That hardly sounded like a man in love, or even one mildly interested. Had she misread the promise in his eyes? The longing in his voice?

Somehow Grant staying away was worse than being left at the altar. Far worse. Papa was fighting for Mama. Why wasn't Grant fighting for her?

The grandfather clock sighed, and a chorus of chimes, cuckoos, and bongs announced the hour of ten. Meg placed her book on the end table. It looked like nothing would happen tonight, so she might as well go to bed. Josie's letter had failed to get the desired results. Now what?

Rising, she stretched and reached for the lamp switch. Something made her perk up her ears, and her hand froze. Was that...?

She strained her ears, but there was no mistake. From the distance came the distinctive sound of the Lockwood bell. Her breath caught in her lungs. The bells never rang after dark unless it was New Year's or an emergency.

Amanda called from the top of the stairs. "What happened? What's wrong? Where's Papa-"

"Isn't he in his room?"

"No."

Meg didn't know what to think. When did Papa leave the house? "We better see what's going on."

Amanda practically fell down the stairs in her haste. Meg reached the front door first. Pulling two cloaks from the wall hooks, she tossed Amanda hers and dashed out the door.

"Hurry!"

The cool, clear air carried the sound over the sleepy town, and already neighbors were pouring out of the houses and onto the street. Those who had already retired for the night stuck their heads out of second-floor windows, mobcaps tied on, and inquired of those below. "Is it a fire?"

That was always the worst fear, but far from the only one.

"Maybe somebody tried to rob the bank."