Derek had been a burr in his butt for years before he left-constantly horning in on their fun, and accusing Sloan of leading his sister down the road to ruin, and then, of leading her on. There had been one particularly painful incident that had set the two at eternal odds. Just thinking about it made Sloan's ribs ache.

If this little charade managed to excise Derek from Sloan's life, he was willing to sacrifice his stud-muffin image. At least to Derek. No one else in their right mind would believe it. Would they?

"So?" Sloan continued. "Are you convinced that Franki is safe from my machinations?"

"I...I..." Derek raked his fingers through his heavily gelled 'do. "I guess. I just hope it doesn't kill her to hear it. And Sabrina... Jesus Christ." He looked stricken as he shifted his eyes to Craig. "Oh. Sorry."

"Sabrina will be fine." With some difficulty Sloan extricated himself from Craig's arm. He extended a hand. "Truce?"

Derek recoiled from Sloan's offered hand as if it dripped mucus. He skirted around the happy couple and headed for the door. "Uh, yeah sure. I'll stay out of your hair while you're here. And..." He stopped on the threshold. "And I won't say anything to Francie. I'll let you tell her."

"That's awfully big of you." You homophobic plebeian. "I appreciate that. Maybe you could just generally keep it to yourself...for now."

Derek's eyes flicked from Sloan to Craig. Craig winked at him and Derek started as if Craig had poked him with a cattle prod. "Sure. Sure. Won't tell a soul. So, anyway. Have fun tonight. I...uh...I gotta go."

He practically sprinted toward the stairs.

The moment the door closed Craig doubled over in silent laughter that caused his entire body to shake. "Oh...my...God," he gasped out between spasms, once he had made it to the divan.

Sloan didn't laugh at first but Craig's giggles were infectious. He flopped down on the love seat and soon he was wiping tears of glee from his eyes as well.

Finally, Craig got his breathing under control. "What an asshole!" He lay back and glared at the ceiling. " Did I have my cap sized!" he mimicked. "Christ-" He bit his lip and tossed a guilty look at Sloan. "Oh...sorry."

Sloan chuckled again. "The gay thing was inspired. I don't know how to thank you."

Craig winked. "I could think of a few very innovative ways."

"Oh, shut up! You're about as gay as Hugh Hefner."

"Maybe. But I'm a hell of an actor." He sat up and plucked an apple out of the complimentary fruit basket. He polished it against his golf shirt and bit deeply. He continued to munch as he spoke. "If he's typical of the people around here, it's no wonder you left."

Sloan felt his smile slip. "He's not. Most of the locals are intelligent, well-informed and tolerant. Derek is an aberration." He held up a hand. "However, in his defense, he has likely never before encountered someone of the Jewish faith, nor of the homosexual persuasion. And to encounter both of those attributes rolled into one California-tanned package..." He spread his hands. "It's small wonder he looked a little shell-shocked. And he does care a great deal about his sister." He allowed his hand to fall back to the brushed velvet upholstery. "And I think he may have a point about Franki. But the thing is, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it."

"You chose this...Bree."

"Sabrina. Yeah, I guess so. Although I never really thought of it that way. It just sort of...happened."

Craig continued munching and the silence hung.

Sloan got up and crossed to the wide picture window that offered a passable view of the Bay. The pale gray cliffs of the Niagara Escarpment curved around to the west, and faded into the hazy blue horizon toward the north. Like the vivid blue waters of the bay, and the winds that sculpted the landscape, those cliffs had been there long before Sloan was born, and would remain long after he was gone. It was oddly comforting to know that there were things in this world that were constant and unchangeable. Certainly nothing in his life had ever been that reliable.

"So, why did you leave?" asked Craig quietly. "You never did tell me."

Sloan closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I never intended to tell you, but thinking about it now, I guess I have to. Everybody in town knows about it and you're bound to hear about it while you're here. So I'd rather you hear it from me first."

"Okay. You've got my attention."

He opened his eyes and stared out across the water. "The year I turned twenty-two my father committed suicide."

Craig said nothing but Sloan noted that the crunching of the apple had stopped.

"I found him. He had shoved a pistol in his mouth and blown his brains all over the walls of our shed." Sloan swallowed the bile that was creeping up the back of his throat.

"Shit, man. I...I had no idea. Now that you mention it, I never even remember you mentioning a father. I guess I kind of figured your mom raised you alone."

"I quite intentionally didn't talk about him. In fact I try not to think about him at all, if I can help it. That way I thought it would just go away." He shrugged. "Doesn't really work, though, I'm afraid."

"Were you two close?"

"Yeah." Sloan couldn't elaborate because of the sludge that had lodged in his throat. "Yeah, we were."

Craig stood and joined Sloan at the window. "But you said that happened when you were twenty-two. You didn't come out to California for another four years. What happened?"

"There was a bunch of stuff. For one thing I had taken over my father's duties at Marquis Jewelers' head office. I did a lot of the buying and oversaw all the stores...and I was miserable."

Craig's mouth dropped open. "No kidding. You shopping for earrings and managing a bunch of whiny employees? That's like Arnold Schwarzenegger playing a kindergarten teacher."

Sloan couldn't smile. "We owned the chain. My great-grandfather opened the first store in 1901. I didn't feel I could say no."

"You owned the stores?"

Sloan nodded.

"I've never heard of them."

"I'm not surprised. It's strictly Canadian. My family felt very strongly about that."

Craig's eyes had gone wide. "How many?"

"A dozen, nationwide," he said wryly, "with the head office in the grand metropolis of Bay's Haven. There was pressure to move the office to Toronto, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. We'd had some employees for thirty years. And Bay's Haven was our home." He shrugged. It was as simple as that.

Craig blew out a slow breath. "God, you must have been loaded."

Now Sloan smiled, but his face felt like it might crack from the strain of it. "We were comfortable. Besides the stores, my father had been quite successful in a number of areas."

"And you walked away from that."

"Not really. I walked away from managing it, and from our home, but the person I left in charge is good, and I trust him implicitly. Besides, I'm no idiot. I didn't exactly renounce my inheritance or my claim to the profits. I've still got one hell of a bank account."

"And you make me buy the Happy Meals at McDonald's."

"I've got to foster your independence."

The smiles that had spread over both their faces, gradually faded. "So, why then? Why did you leave?"

"The turning point-the thing that made me decide it was time to leave-was my mother's decision to...elope with this European gigolo. Once she was gone I had no reason to stay. I decided to go after what I really wanted."

"You've never approved of him, have you? Her boyfriend, I mean."

Sloan's gaze returned to the surf and the misty horizon. "I'll confess, in a way I hate her for that decision. She left me and everything she ever cared about without so much as a thought as to how it would affect me. How much it would hurt me. Maybe she saw it as her best option, and maybe it's selfish on my part, but that's the way I feel."

"And you haven't spoken to her since."

Sloan felt his heart tighten in his chest. "No. Not so that it matters."

Craig tossed the core of his apple into a waste can in the corner. "I appreciate all that, Sloan. That's a terrible story, and you have my sympathy. But something's missing. You're still not coming clean."

"What?" Sloan felt a tiny twinge of panic. Craig couldn't possibly guess... "What do you mean?"

"You left a town you supposedly loved. You've been away more than eight years and have never called or corresponded with anyone." He stopped abruptly. "Or have you? Do you have any contact with this manager you mentioned?"

Sloan licked his lips. This was a sore point, but it would take too much to explain it all to Craig. "Very little. We correspond occasionally, and otherwise I keep tabs on the business through an accountant. I gave him free rein. I don't need to check up on him." And he was my friend, he added silently, because that was too hard to say out loud.

"See? You've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to break off your ties. It doesn't even sound like you've looked after the Carver homestead, and you obviously have no intention of selling it. You're leaving something out. I don't buy your story, and I can't believe that the rest of them will either."

Sloan stared at him. He was right. They were going to demand explanations, and what was he going to tell them? He sure as hell wasn't going to tell them the truth. He needed something to satisfy the inevitable curiosity, something to stave off the questions and judgment. Something to smooth the way and make this as painless as possible for everyone involved. He needed...

A slow, sly smile spread across his face.

"What?" asked Craig suspiciously.

"You're right, you know. I don't look forward to answering all those questions and facing those suspicious looks. But I think I know a way to avoid all that. It's simple and neat. And I have you to thank for it."

"I don't think I'm gonna like this," moaned Craig.

"Au contraire." Sloan grabbed a trio of oranges from the basket and juggled them with his usual skill and dexterity. "You're going to absolutely love it. And I know exactly what I have to do to persuade you."

He grimaced. "Mama?"

Sloan shot him with his forefinger. "Bingo."

"I brought this on myself, didn't I?"

Sloan nodded, his expression regretful. "Your mother is a powerful weapon, Mr. Sternberg. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you point her in my direction."

"How does it look?" asked Bree from the top of the stepladder. Franki propped her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side. "A little to the left." Bree shifted the Welcome Home Sloan banner a smidgen. "Perfect." Bree climbed down, folded the ladder, and surveyed her handiwork. Bouquets of roses and lilies, snapdragons and freesia, adorned the tables. Balloons and streamers hung from battered wagon-wheel style chandeliers.

The bartender was already behind the bar, washing glasses and sorting through liqueurs.

"Was the bartender really necessary?" asked Franki. "I mean, considering..."

"I decided to treat myself. I'm pretty sure that by the time this night is through everybody will need a good stiff drink or two."

Franki plopped down in one of the stacking chairs that were arranged around the dozen or so tables

Bree had set up that morning. "This'll be a sad affair compared to the parties he must be used to." "This isn't supposed to be an attempt to mimic a Hollywood bash. It's supposed to be a cozy, intimateaffair to welcome home Bay's Haven's favorite son."

Franki snorted. "You've been practicing, haven't you?" Bree flicked her hair off her shoulders. "Of course. I wouldn't want to embarrass our esteemed guest of honor by flubbing my lines, now would I?" "No. Of course not. That's the last thing in the world we would ever want to do." She rubbed her hands over her bare arms. It was barely the end of May, but already the heat had prompted most businesses to kick-start their air conditioners. "I still can't believe he's actually here. After all this time, all it took was throwing a party in his honor to lure him back."

"Never underestimate the power of the male ego." Bree flopped down in a chair beside her friend. "Especially when it's attached to an artist." "I'll keep that in mind when I'm trying to seduce him." Franki chuckled when she said it but Bree didn't laugh. The two remained silent for a moment, neither sure what to say. "Sorry," whispered Franki. "My mouth was in overdrive. I was just kidding." "Please don't, Franki." Bree reached for Franki's hand. "Don't do this to yourself. And to him. If that's the way you feel maybe you shouldn't come." "I was just teasing, Bree." She tugged her hand away and stood. She strolled over to one of the bouquets and inhaled deeply. "Really. I got over him years ago."

"Years ago? You wrote him another one of those anonymous cards just a few months ago."

Franki twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "I was feeling cranky. Those cards are just a good way to let off steam."

"Mm-hmm." Bree couldn't really be angry at Franki for sending those horrible letters. Sloan deserved to squirm a little. If threats of dismembered genitalia gave him a few sleepless nights, then so be it. God knew she'd lost enough sleep over him.

"Well, okay, so I didn't exactly get over him," whined Franki. "But I did give up on him. He always loved you best..."

"If that's his best, I want no part of it. And neither should you."

Franki pulled a perfect pink rose out of the arrangement and held it to her nose. "So?"

"So what?"

"What did your spy tell you?"

Bree attempted an innocent lift of her eyebrows. "Spy?"

"Yes. I saw you whispering with Sheila, the desk clerk at the Inn. What did she tell you?"

Bree feigned fascination with a stray thread on her shorts.

"Come on. Dish it up or I'll put itching powder in your underwear drawer."

Bree chuckled. "You would too."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

Bree sighed. "All right, you caught me. Sheila told me he looks great. A real cool, Hollywood cat, from the five-hundred-dollar jeans and T-shirt, down to the fifteen-dollar Converse high-tops and the gold ring in his ear. He was so cool he couldn't manage to take off his Ray-Bans to talk to the lowly desk clerk."

Franki's eyebrows pulled together. "Did Sheila say he acted snotty?"

"Uh, no," hedged Bree, suddenly a little ashamed of herself. "Actually she said he was real sweet. I sort of added that part."

"Do you really hate him so much?"

"I try to. I really try to."

"I don't." Franki's eyes turned wistful. "I think he hated to leave. I think he was running away from something."