"Yes," she said. "That's all. As of now. Naturally, I'm hoping more will come of it."

"Like what?"

She realized she couldn't read him. He seemed distant. Or at least he had in the past few moments.

Distant and a little bit cold. Strange. She'd antic.i.p.ated that he might be distant and cold, even angry with her, when he learned of the existence of the paintings. But she never would have guessed that this other bit of news would upset him.

"Logan. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just tell me. What exactly are you hoping for?"

His disdainful tone grated. She answered with heat. "What do you think I'm hoping for? That Belinda

Goldstone will want to hang my paintings in her gallery, that I'll have a major show and that the show will

sell out. What do we all hope for,Logan? Appreciation. Acceptance. To get paid and paid well for the work that we've done."

He was sitting very still. "You're angry," he said.

She pushed her plate away. "No. Yes. It means a lot to me,that's all, that someone like Belinda Goldstone wants to see my work. I'd like to think that you're pleased for me. But you don't seem pleased. You don't seem pleased at all."

"I am pleased."

She stared at him across the table, wanting to believe him, but not quite able to.

He slid his napkin in at the side of his plate and pushed his chair back. "Lace..." His eyes pleaded. His

tone was gentle again.

Her heart went to mush.

She let her shoulders droop. "I guess I am a little sensitive about this."

In two long strides he was beside her, taking her hand, pulling her up and into his waiting arms. "I'm

sorry," he whispered as he stroked her hair. "I didn't mean to hurt you..." She wrapped her arms around him, pressed herself close. "It's okay. Never mind. You're right. Nothing's really happened yet, anyway. And it could very well turn out that nothing will."

He tipped her chin up and his mouth came down to cover hers. With a low moan, she slid her arms around his neck. A few minutes later, they went upstairs.

* * * The next day was Sunday.Logandidn't have to work. They spent a long, lazy morning reading the Sunday papers in bed, with Rosie between them, gurgling and cooing and waving her tiny, plump hands above the blankets. Later, they dressed and put Rosie in her car seat and drove down into the Valley to buy a few things for the house-some new deck chairs and an entry hall table. That night, they left Rosie with a sitter and went out to dinner at a place they both liked over onCommercial Street. It wasn't until Monday morning afterLoganhad left for his office that Lacey found herself rethinking their exchange of Sat.u.r.day night. As Rosie napped, she sat in her studio with her sketch pad in her lap and brooded over the words her husband hadn't said. Simple expressions of encouragement and understanding, like... Good luck. Or, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you.

Or, Of course, Belinda Goldstone will call.

Or,You're a d.a.m.n good artist and it's about time you got a break.

Eventually, Rosie woke. Lacey heard the fitful cries from the monitor on the windowsill and came back

to herself with a start. She looked down at the sketch pad in her hands. Blank. Well, she thought, that's what brooding will get you. Nowhere. Was she overreacting? Probably. As she'd admitted toLoganthe other night, shewas sensitive on this subject. Probably waytoo sensitive. The wisest thing to do, she knew, was to let it go for now. And when the subject came up again, she'd try her best to approach it calmly and rationally. She'd make a concerted effort not to allow her own insecurities to get all mixed up with whatever might be bothering her husband. Rosie cried louder. Lacey set her sketch pad aside and went to take care of her baby. * * * Two days later, on Wednesday, at eleven in the morning, Mack called from aKey Westhospital.

"It's a boy," he announced. "Eight pounds, two ounces."

Lacey let out a glad cry. "Oh, Mack! Congratulations. I can hardly believe it. His name. What's his name?"

"Ian Alexander. The Alexander's for my stepfather-"

"And Ian after our dad. Great choice."

"We think so."

"Is Jenna...?"

"She's right here. A little tired."

"I'll bet. I promise I won't keep her long."

Jenna came on the line. "Lace. h.e.l.lo."

Lacey's eyes blurred with sudden moisture. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "Hey. A

beautiful boy, huh?" "Yep. You're an auntie." "Oh, Jen. I can't believe it. I ... I want to see him." "Then come. Bring Rosie. AndLogan. Come see us." Both sisters were silent. Lacey knew that Jenna was thinking the same thing that she was. Loganwould find some reason why they couldn't go. Jenna hitched in a tight little breath. "It's all right," she said, her voice weary. "I understand. Maybe someday..." "Yes," Lacey agreed. "Someday soon..." Why did that feel like such a complete lie? "...and I should let you go now, shouldn't I?" "I'll call you, in a day or two, after we're out of this hospital and back home where we belong." "Yes. Oh, please do." "We ... we don't talk enough anymore, Lace." Lacey closed her eyes and murmured, "I know." "What? I can hardly hear you." Lacey spoke right into the mouthpiece this time. "I said, I know. We don't talk enough. I keep meaning to call you, but..." But what? There was really no excuse.

Except that she and Logan had a good life. And Jenna wasn't part of it. Jenna was someone Lacey and Logannever talked about. Logancertainly never mentioned her. He'd loved Jenna for over a decade, had wanted to marry her. She had helped to make his house a beautiful home. Yet it was as if he'd prefer to pretend that she simply didn't exist. Then again, maybe Lacey had it wrong. Yes,Logannever mentioned Jenna. But Lacey never talked about her either.

Jenna said, "Let's not allow ourselves to drift apart."

Lacey brushed away more tears. "It's a deal."

"I love you."

"Oh, and I love you, too."

Jenna laughed then, a tired sound, but a cheerful one. "My husband is grabbing the phone from me now.

He seems to think I've talked long enough. I'll call..."

"Okay. Bye."

Mack came back on. "Think about it," he said. "Come for a visit. Talk it over with that husband of

yours. I think it's about time we all started letting bygones be bygones."

It was good advice and Lacey knew it. "All right," she said.

"What was that?"

"I said, all right, Mack. I'll talk to him."

Chapter 14.

That evening, Lacey toldLoganthat Jenna and Mack's baby had been born. He said, "Be sure to congratulate them for me." They were sitting in the family room, on the long sofa there. She toed off her shoes and folded her legs under her, to the side. "I thought I'd send them a baby swing. I love the one we got for Rosie. Keeps her happy for long stretches of time."

"A baby swing sounds good to me."

She leaned her head against his arm, which rested along the sofa back. Her heart was racing. But she kept her voice offhand. "Oh, and Jenna asked us to come toKey West. For a visit. Mack mentioned the idea, too."

She felt his bicep flex beneath her cheek. "Lace, I can't get away right now. Not so soon after a two-week trip toWyoming."

She sat up straight and sought his eyes. "All right. Then when?"

He hesitated, but finally gave out reluctantly, "Maybe next spring."

In the spring. Six or seven months. That wouldn't be so bad, if she could get a definite commitment. "The spring then. In April? I'll tell Jenna when she calls."

He was already shaking his head. "Let's just wait until April and think about it then."

"ButLogan-"

"I can't make any promises about seven months from now." His tone had cooled, and there was an

underpinning of steel in it. "That's all there is to it." Okay, Lacey thought. We've danced around this long enough. Now, we'd better get down to a little honesty on the subject. "Logan, what's the real problem here?"

"I told you. I can't-"

She didn't let him finish. "Is it that you still feel uncomfortable at the thought of seeing Jenna and Mack again?"

He didn't answer for a moment. Then he admitted, "Yes. The idea does make me uncomfortable. ButJenna is your sister. And I suppose we'll have to see her andMcGarrity now and then." "We'llhave to see them?" He looked at her levelly. "That's what I said. Please don't ask me to pretend it's something I'm looking forward to."

She stared right back at him, eye-to-eye. "I'm not asking you to pretend anything. I'm asking you to start thinking about putting all the old garbage behind you." "Fine. I'll do that. To the best of my ability." She let out a long breath. "To the best of your ability?" "That's what I said." She bit her lower lip, released it. "That's just great." She found she didn't want to sit there with him, not right then. She slid her feet to the rug and padded to the big window that looked out on the redwood deck. The outside lights were on, illuminating the new deck furniture they'd bought the other day, as well as the old willow tree that grew right next to the backyard steps. The willow's leaves were still summer-green. But soon enough, those leaves would begin to turn.

It was September again. In a few weeks, it would be a full year since she had knocked on his door, offering a shoulder to cry on and a four-layer devil's food cake. A full year. In that time, she had learned that she loved him. She had borne his child. And she had come to believe that he loved her.

And was that the real problem here, the one she was trying to get them both to deal with?

She believed he loved her. But he had never said he did.

In some ways, it seemed that Jenna's gentle, loving spirit stood between them still. And never more so

than now, when he refused to take the steps requiredto put old hurts away for good.

She heard him approach. He put his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, but then made her body relax

beneath his touch. She felt his breath, warm across the crown of her head. "Lace. Just give it a little more time, all right?"

"How much more time?"

He didn't answer, but his hands tightened a fraction on her shoulders, a signal that he wanted her to lean