"It won't come to that," Logan said. "I won't let it."

"Right," Melody said, shoving him, literally, out the door and slamming it in his face.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" Logan said from the wrong side of the door.

"Jerk," Melody said, her lock clicking into place.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Chapter Twenty.

LOGAN guessed his son was staying over again, because he was pretty sure he was standing in the cold alone.

Upstairs in his apartment, he paced. He could fix it with Max, he thought, but Tiffany was going to be pissed when she got it through her thick head that they weren't getting married. If she also figured out that he honestly, hopelessly, cared for Melody, she would do her vindictive worst to make Melody's life a living hell.

Tiffany was conniving and manipulating. Mel had been right about her all along. She was a pampered, spoiled brat. Damned early childhood degree had thrown him -probably why Tiff chose it in the first place-man freaking bait.

But why had Tiffany played that game at the ball, unless she already knew he was attracted to Melody. Shit! Maybe he should try and turn the tables before he approached Max, and manipulate Tiffany into breaking up with him.

He might start by not letting her have her own way all the time. Max would likely embrace that maneuver, plus it would drive Tiffany crazy. He'd have to stop paying attention to Melody, though, to throw Tiffany off Mel's scent.

THEY worked on Melody's "Plymouth Plantation Thanksgiving" on-site for the better part of the following week, which gave Logan a good excuse not to be available for Tiffany to parade him to every fund-raiser and society event she could find. It also kept him and Melody away from Tiffany's scrutiny.

Since Melody had never cooked over an open hearth, her Thanksgiving show became a liberating experience for her. In a thatched roof cottage with a kitchen garden, hideaway loft, and cooking fire, she could admit that she didn't understand how the pilgrims cooked anything, much less the first Thanksgiving. She could be herself, ask questions, and allow her pilgrim guides to teach her.

In costume. Melody gave the word pilgrim new meaning. Logan guessed that if any of the original pilgrims had looked like Melody Seabright, the "goodwives" would certainly have considered her a witch, if only because their "goodhusbands" would have followed wherever she went.

The following Monday, after wrap-up and editing, the entire crew watched a preliminary screening of the show.

Because Melody knew how to play to a camera, they had kept an unplanned scene where a lamb wandered into the cottage and stole the show. Mel made it work by kneeling and whispering into the lamb's ear-loud enough for the mikes-that perhaps lamby-pie was not what he'd like them to serve for Thanksgiving dinner. Lo and behold, the lamb had bleated and trotted back out.

They'd kept most of the tourist segments as well. At Melody's suggestion, they had invited some of The Keep Me Foundation's proud successes to tour the plantation during the shoot.

In one scene, a set of three-year-old twins dressed as Indians had taken to Melody, and she to them, and they'd helped her stir the cauldron suspended over a banked fire in the huge walk-in fireplace, while she chanted a spell for giving thanks.

Mel suggested the video editor add a Thanksgiving request for donations to The Keep Me Foundation to the screen credits at the end of the show. The request rolled over a scene with the girls tasting Indian Pudding and zooming in on their smiles.

When the tape ended, everyone in the viewing room applauded and raved, especially Gardner and Peabody, who called it "magic"-no surprise to anyone. Even Tiffany smiled, though she lost her composure somewhat, Logan thought, when her father praised Mel to the stars in front of everyone, and asked her to do a New Year's Eve special with a larger market in mind.

THE day before Melody's Thanksgiving show was set to go out, Logan got one of those evening calls from the station that he hated so much, but this time the break-in was real. Gardner wanted him there as soon as possible.

"Anything missing? Any damage?" Logan asked, as he pulled a pair of slacks off a hanger in his closet.

"Yeah," Gardner said. "See if you can track Mel down and get her to come, too. We have a problem. I can't find a single copy of her Thanksgiving show. Looks like they've been stolen. Come as soon as you can. I have to get out of here."

Logan went downstairs for Melody. Ice Man didn't seem to know they lived in the same house. Office gossip must be slipping, or the loyalty the staff showed Mel had paid off.

Logan didn't tell Melody that her Thanksgiving show seemed to have gone missing, because he hoped he'd find a backup on the server.

"Who's going to stay with Shane?" she asked from the bedroom side of her closed door.

Logan paced her kitchen, dialing and redialing his cell phone looking for an answer to that very question. "Nobody's answering anywhere," he said.

"Our parents went to the Keys for the week. Didn't your mother tell you?"

"Yeah, I guess she did, and I think maybe Jessie's doing a sleepover with the D.A."

Melody's hoot made Logan grin. Leave it to her to be happy for Jess, though she hadn't acted so excited over their parents.

"Try Vickie or Kira," she suggested.

"What's Vickie's number?"

Melody came out of her room, turned her back on him, and held her hair aside, revealing the unzipped back of an electric blue wool dress, figure-hugging and sexy as hell. "What's wrong with Kira?" she asked.

"I don't know. You tell me."

"No, I mean why not ask her to sit?"

Logan zipped her dress, and Melody turned to face him, still waiting for an answer.

"She's... a witch?"

"Not the kind that will shove Shane in an oven and bake him."

Logan winced.

Melody confiscated his cell phone to call Vickie and ask if she could stay with Shane. "Nope," she said a minute later, as she flipped the phone shut. "Her grandmother's not feeling well tonight. She can't leave her. Shall I try Kira?"

Logan sighed. "Mel."

"For heaven's sakes, Logan, Kira was a kindergarten teacher before she became a fund-raiser. Give her a break."

Jessie had once said the same about Mel. Logan caved. "Call her."

Kira arrived ten minutes later, wearing a quilted camouflage vest over a pair of red flannel pajamas and sporting a playful pair of witch-face slippers, complete with nose warts and pointy hats. "I believe, I believe," Logan said, raising his hands in defeat and leading the witch upstairs.

"I woke Shane to tell him we were going and to make sure he remembered meeting Kira at the tall ships party," Logan said, getting into a warm car. "Thanks for starting it."

"Did Shane remember her?" Melody asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

"You know damned well, he did. Seems he's been to Kira's with you a couple of times."

"Hey, that was before I knew about your irrational fear of witches."

Logan chuckled. "Are you warm enough with all that leg showing? I can't believe you wore a dress. I thought you said this was the new millennium."

"I pretty much dress for whatever mood suits me."

"You know, I figured that out somewhere along the way."

"I like old clothes. The styles are unique, and I can always find something that speaks to the moment. I also feel connected to the people who wore them before me, as if I'm living history. My grandmother-my mother's mother-was the same. She's the reason I fell in love with the clothing styles themselves, as opposed to the dates the clothes were in vogue."

Melody turned in her seat. "Now my mother, she used to buy the latest fashions, the newest designs, and after she wore something once, even for half an hour, she'd toss it. We used to rescue what she discarded and play dress up-me, yickie, and Kira-I still have a couple of her outfits, and llfat's how Vickie got into vintage clothing."

"And it's how you stay connected with your mother."

"It is not!"

Logan raised a questioning brow.

"I don't like that theory."

Logan found Melody's hand, squeezed. "If you think about it, you'll see-"

"No." She reclaimed her hand. "I won't think about it. I hate mining for emotions.

I'm happy, thank you very much. This is me, everything out in the open, on the surface. What you see is what you get."

Logan regarded her with a heated gaze. "Is that a promise?"

"Don't change the subject. I am not pining for a mother who never wanted me."

"Right, and I'm not like your father."

Melody huffed, then she sat forward. "Wow," she said. "Are those police cars waiting for us?"

In minutes they were embroiled in a search for evidence, only to discover most of the damage confined to the video editor's office. Other than the broken lock on that door, they found no sign of forced entry into the station, or into the parking garage. "Early hypothesis?" said the detective. "A disgruntled employee... a stupid one."

A bookcase containing copies of shows in all formats, lay tipped on its side, its damaged contents strewn about. Desk drawers sat open, while outdated cutting and editing equipment had also been smashed.

"The computer's off," Logan said.

"That's odd," Melody said. "Isn't most of the editing done on a computer these days?"

"Yeah, but I don't think our thief realized that."

"Like I said," drawled a cop. "Check employee IQs; might narrow the search."

"Bingo," said one of the cops, taking something from the rug near the desk with tweezers and placing it into a small clear zipper bag. "Looks like our burglar is a woman." He handed the evidence bag to the detective, who looked at it then handed it to Logan. "Look familiar?"

Logan showed the bagged evidence-a glittering gold fingernail, inset with diamonds-to Melody. Seeing it, the two of them regarded each other for half a beat. "No," Logan said as Melody shrugged and shook her head in denial.

"Where did you find it?" Logan asked.

"Here," said the cop who found it, as he examined the desk. "Looks like the nail broke when the perp forced a drawer open. Unless your video editor is a woman?"

Chuckling, Logan and Melody shook their heads. "Sam Schraft is an ex-jock. Those nails are not his type."

"Cleaning woman, maybe?" the detective said.

"No cleaning woman in her right mind would wear nails like that," Melody said.

The detective stepped closer and lifted one of Melody's hands, then the other, and examined her lavender nails. "Paint these lately?" he asked, brow raised.

"Yep, I grew a new one and painted it right after you called. Look closer," she said. "They're real."

"Hey," Logan said. "Her show is what's missing, remember?"

"It's okay, Logan," Melody said. "He's only doing his job. Maybe I didn't like my show, right, detective?"

The detective nodded, but Logan saw that Mel had won his admiration, and Logan felt the headache resulting from another adoring male coming on.

"And what about you, Kilgarven? You got anything against the lady's show?"

"Me? That's not my nail."

"No, but you have a history, don't you?"

Logan shook his head. "Not one you can look up. Those records are sealed, and you damned well know it. Find a record in the past twenty years and come back. The man and the punk are two different animals."

"That's what my father said."

"Your father?"

"Martin Grey. He took you in that day."

"I hate small towns," Logan said, sensing Melody's interest.

They saw the police out of the building, and Logan turned to her. "Don't ask," he said. "And I won't ask why you said you could cook."

Melody nodded. "Fair enough."

They returned to the video editor's office and Logan sat down at Sam's desk to see if anything of Mel's Thanksgiving show had been backed up on the computer. "I'll tell you about it someday."

Again Melody nodded, glad he felt comfortable enough to confide in her.

"Good thing Gardner left," Melody said. "He would have recognized Tiffany's nail, too."

"Right, and since you didn't say anything, either, I guess you agree it's not in anybody's best interest to finger the station owner's daughter-pun intended."

"What happens when the police show Max the evidence?"