That must be something, she thought, rinsing her mouth out. That must really be something.

Alex woke up late in the morning with an uneasy feeling.

That dream. That sensual, shattering dream.

He looked down. His shirt was open and pushed off his chest. The book was buried in the comforter at his side. And he needed a quick shower.

His heart started pounding. Had it been real? Had she come to him?

What the hell had come out of his mouth?

Dread pooled in his gut, but then he looked over and saw the plate. Maybe she hadn't been in his room after all.

Calm down, he told himself. She wasn't here except in your mind. You've wanted that woman for a long time, and she's in the bedroom down the hall. Of course your subconscious is going to kick something to the surface.

Levering himself up and off the bed, he went carefully to the bathroom where he showered with a plastic bag tied around his leg and then shaved. He was surprised that it felt good to be up and moving around for once, so he decided to head to the kitchen for some breakfast. Fortunately, it sounded as if the coast was clear. The house was quiet and he figured he'd somehow managed to sleep through all the early-morning departures of the guests.

Which meant Cassandra would be gone, as well.

This was good, he told himself.

He pulled on a different set of split pajama bottoms, a worn T-shirt from a Boston Marathon he'd run in years ago and a black fleece. As he went out into the hall, he looked both ways as if it were a busy street. The last thing he needed was to step into someone's path. He was about as stable as a two-legged table.

Come to think of it, where was the dog? He loved Ernest, but that golden retriever could knock him on his ass in a heartbeat, and muzzle-to-mouth resuscitation was not a treatment option he was looking to explore.

Alex started for the back stairs but changed his mind. The front ones were slightly deeper and could accommodate his feet better. It took him a good ten minutes to actually make it to the first floor, but he felt stupidly pleased with the effort.

Then he thought about his T-shirt. Running 26.2 miles in two and a half hours used to be something he took pride in. Now getting to the kitchen was a big, fat, hairy deal.

Damn, he was pathetic.

He went into the dining room and braced the swinging door in place so it couldn't open.

"Libby? You in there?" he called out.

"Alex! Are you okay?" The housekeeper sounded worried.

"Grab hold of your boy, will you? I'm coming in."

"Done."

Alex pushed open the door and was greeted by whines of affection and a mad, impotent scampering of dog feet. While Libby held Ernest in place, Alex came over and stroked the dog into a relative calm.

"Would you like some breakfast?" the older woman asked. "I can make you some of the dry toast you like."

He looked up. Her lovely, worn face was so hopeful, he was tempted to put in a special request.

"Actually, I-" He cleared his throat. He didn't like being waited on, but he had a feeling this flash of energy he was sporting wasn't going to last long. "I'd like some pancakes. With butter and syrup. And bacon. I want bacon. Coffee, too."

God, he was hungry. For the first time in so long, he was dying for some food.

Libby's eyes flared. "Go sit down at the table. I'll make it right away."

As he settled into a chair, Ernest snuggled up close, leaning against his good leg.

"Do you take sugar?" Libby asked.

The question made him realize he hadn't asked for any coffee since he'd come to the mansion.

Hell, how long had it been since he'd had a normal breakfast? Sitting up at a table. Like a real person.

"I like it black, thanks."

"It'll be ready in a second. This pot's almost finished brewing."

While he watched the woman bustle around, he wished he could help and felt badly that all the activity was just about him.

"Hey, Libby, maybe I'll scratch that big order," he said. "A little cereal would be great. I don't want you going to-"

"Alex Moorehouse, you shut your mouth. And I don't want it open again until you're putting a fork in it."

He had to smile. There weren't a lot of people who put him in his place on or off the water. Wouldn't his crew get a kick out of the fact that one of the short-listers was a white-haired grandmother.

Libby brought the coffee over first, and Alex closed his eyes as he took the first sip. The stuff was steaming hot and strong enough to wake the dead.

In a word, divine.

When he started to sweat, he realized he was sitting in a shaft of sunlight. He peeled off the fleece and went back to work on the mug.

As he sipped and stroked Ernest's ear, the moment sank into him with the pleasurable flush of an unexpected kind word. The dog's head was a warm weight on his good leg. Libby's friendly chatter about Saranac Lake's characters was like the crackle of a cheery fire. The rhythmic hiss of a wire whisk cutting through batter reminded him of happy mornings from his childhood.

He settled back against the chair and closed his eyes again. His leg was throbbing, but it was a dull pump, not the kind of pain that made his skin ache. He took a deep breath and felt his shoulders loosen on the exhale.

"More coffee?" Libby asked gently.

He opened his lids and smiled. "Please."

She brought over the coffeepot, refilled his mug to the brim and then hurried back to the griddle to flip over the pancakes. When the bacon slices hit the pan, he shut his eyes once more.

Hunger cut through him and he welcomed it.

Minutes later Libby set a heavy plate in front of him along with a stick of butter and a gravy boat full of syrup. He put a slice of bacon in his mouth while he lathered up the pancakes and doused them in maple heaven. Then he tore through the food.

When he put his fork down, he and Libby were both a little surprised at the clean plate. Ernest looked disappointed.

"You want more?" Libby asked.

Alex rubbed his belly. "Ah, yeah. Thanks."

As a cold November wind gusted up from the lake, Cassandra put her hands on her hips and surveyed the ruins of the White Caps Bed and Breakfast. When she stepped toward the house, she heard the five people behind her move along like a small herd. Frankie and Nate, Joy, Gray and Sean had all come for the tour.

Wow, what a house this is, she thought, measuring the structure's superb, Federal lines. Sitting regally on a bluff that jutted out into the lake, the place was a real charmer, all white clapboards and shiny black shutters. The fire damage in the back was jarring, like a bruise on the face of a beautiful woman.

"Thomas Crane was the architect, right?" she asked as she walked over to the kitchen where the destruction was the most severe.

"It was one of Crane's last commissions," Frankie replied.

"Do you have the original plans?"

"Fortunately, yes. The set has always been kept out in my father's workshop so it survived the fire."

Cassandra lifted a sheet of thick plastic and stepped through what had been the kitchen door. Even though the fire had been a month ago, the pungent stench of smoke and ash hung in the air.

"This part of the house wasn't added on later, was it?"

"No, it's in the plans," Frankie said. "When our father converted the mansion into a B and B in the seventies, all he did was bring up the kitchen to restaurant code. He didn't make any changes to the structure."

Cass looked around, assessing the load-bearing walls. They seemed mostly solid, though someone had buttressed one with a couple of two-by-fours to make sure it didn't sag. She glanced upward. The ceiling was burnt through in places so she could see past the joists to the second floor.

She pointed over to the scorched back staircase. "I'd like to go upstairs, but not using those."

"The ones in front are safe," Nate replied.

A half hour later, the group was out on the lawn again.

"So what do you think?" Frankie asked as they piled into Sean's massive Mercedes-Benz.

Cass gathered her thoughts before answering. "I'd have to see the plans and reflect a little before I could give you even the roughest estimate of time and cost."

"But you don't think we need to tear the wing down and rebuild it from scratch, right?"

"God, no! Although you will have to go slowly because you should save as much as you can. Given the historic nature of the house, a contractor who has respect for its pedigree will be the best choice for you." Her voice drifted. "I tell you, the workmanship on the moldings in those front rooms is remarkable. The hours of labor...Thank heavens that balustrade going up the main stairs wasn't ruined. You just don't see that kind of curvilinear detail very often. Amazing what the human hand can do with a tool, isn't it?"

She closed her eyes, savoring the images she'd stored up.

What a house.

When they pulled up to Gray's, the group unpacked themselves and went through the back door into the kitchen. From around the corner, Ernest came barreling at them, stopping to greet each of the arrivals like he was the official ambassador of the household.

"So will you do it?" Frankie asked.

"Do what?" Cass replied while taking off her coat and stepping into the kitchen.

"Be our architect and general contractor."

Cass stopped, but not only because of the question. Alex was across the room, sitting at the table.

With a flush, she saw his body arching up under her hand.

She looked down quickly.

Which was actually a good thing. Because she'd just dropped her coat on the dog.

"Well?" Frankie prompted. "We can pay you. The insurance company is going after the manufacturer of the gas stove that started the fire. Money's not going to be a problem."

"I, uh-"

Actually, I'd like to go lie down now. Because being in the same room with your brother this morning is making me dizzy and incoherent.

Sean stepped forward. "Cass, are your bags packed? We gotta hit the road, woman."

She cleared her throat. "Yes. They're in my room."

"I'll get them." As Sean strode through the kitchen, he nodded at Alex. "Moorehouse."

"O'Banyon," Alex shot back.

The sound of the rough, low voice took Cass right back to the man's bedside. Where she'd touched his body. Where she'd watched him move. Where he'd- Get a grip.

Well, she'd sure had one last night....

Cass shut her eyes, wondering if anyone else in the room had noticed the floor was weaving underfoot.

"Cassandra, I saw the way you looked at our house," Frankie said. "You're perfect for this project."

Cass shook herself to attention and sensed Alex's eyes narrowing on her. She had a feeling he wouldn't appreciate her working on his family's home.

"Why don't the three of you talk it over," she hedged. "I'll go back to my office, check in with my partners, see what the schedule looks like. I know you're going to want this project to move fast if you hope to open for the season in-when was it?"

"June," Frankie said. "If you started around the first of December, you'd have seven months."

Sean came back, Vuitton duffel bags and suitcases hanging off him like he was a bellboy.

"I still can't believe how much stuff you pack," he said as he headed to the back door. "Gray, you sure you know what you're in for, signing on for one of these fashion types?"

"I'm buying a trolley," the man said as he tucked his new wife under his arm.

"Good idea. It's either that or a back brace." Sean shot Cass a wink as he went on by. "Now let's do it, beautiful."

The assembled masses filed outside with Ernest leading the way. Libby went with them, no doubt to catch the dog before he tore off.

Cass stayed behind, swallowing through a dry throat.

She couldn't leave without one last look at Alex.