"Ahem, well..." said Helen.

"I ... really ... I..." stammered Fiona.

"A simple yes or no from each of you will do."

Fiona blinked. And then she actually said, "Of course I'll come, Lacey."

And Helen said, "Well. Thank you for inviting me. I'll do my best to attend."

"Terrific." Lacey fluffed her hair and straightened her midnight-blue sequined sheath-no leaks yet, thank

G.o.d. "I can't tell you how much I'll enjoy having both of you there." She turned, edged around the dazed-looking Fiona and headed for the exit door, pausing before she went out to remark pleasantly, "This has been a great party. But the chickenKievwas just a tad dry, didn't you think?"

Fiona and Helen looked at each other. They both nodded.

"Yes," said Fiona.

"A little dry," Helen concurred.

Chapter 15.

During the drive home, Lacey toldLoga.n.a.ll about the incident in the ladies' room.

He did not look pleased when she related the things Fiona and Helen had said, but then a half-smile curved his lips as she described how she'd marched out of the stall and spoken right up to them.

And then he said what she already knew. "You probably would have been wiser to have spoken up right away-or to have left it alone and kept quiet until they left."

"I agree, but you know how I am." She leaned across the console and touched a finger to his lips. "And I saw that smile. You don't completely disapprove of the way I reacted."

He caught her hand, kissed the fingers,then let go to execute a turn.

"And besides," she said. "Ilike Fiona. And Helen's basically okay, too. They can be a little stuffy, but they're still good at heart-a lot like you, actually, in that respect."

"Oh, I'm stuffy, am I?"

"If the lab coat fits ... but it's okay. I love you anyway. And if I hadn't stood up to those women right then, I would have had to do it later, or ended up resenting them. This way, we all know where we stand."

"No doubt about that." He casther a look. "And what about thisL.A.opening you invented out of thin air?"

She hesitated, not sure she wanted to get into the subject of the call she hoped to receive from Belinda Goldstone.

He prompted, "Well?"

"I think I'll play that by ear."

He sent her another glance, an amused one this time. "I guess you will."

She waited a little nervously for him to say something else about the supposed art show. But he didn't. So she let it go. She'd stick with her original plan and tell him after she knew more-if it turned out there actuallywas more. It was always possible that both Barnaby and Xavier had misread the art dealer's reaction.

Maybe, in the end, there would be no call from Belinda Goldstone. That thought made her feel more than a little deflated.

But then she reminded herself of the painting she'd been working on, the one of the twins. It was coming together pretty well. Shewas working again. Shedid have talent and she wasn't going to give up, whether Belinda Goldstone offered to be her dealer or not.

Rosie was hungry when they got home. And Lacey was more than ready to feed her.Loganpaid the sitter and drove her home.

When he returned, they took Rosie to bed with them. They snuggled in, all three of them, and turned on the television in the sitting area to a channel that was playing an old Hitchc.o.c.k thriller. Rosiefell asleep first, cuddled between them.

Lacey dropped off soon after that. She woke a little later to find her husband snoring softly and her baby still sound asleep as well, sucking her tiny fist. On the television,TippiHedren screamed under brutal attack by a flock of furious crows. Lacey found the remote and pointed it at the television.

The screen went black. She kissed her baby and brushed her husband's dark hair off his forehead.

"And Fiona thinks it's mostly physical," she murmured fondly. Then she pulled the covers close and joined her family in sleep.

Fiona called the next day to apologize. "I was completely out of line to speak that way of you. I've just been agonizing that you're going to hate me."

Lacey said, "I don't hate you, Fiona. I like you. And I agree with a lot of what you said last night."

"You ... you do?" "Absolutely. MarryingLoganisthe best thing that ever happened to me. And sinceI'm the best thing thatever happened to him, I'd say we're an excellent match."

Fiona took a moment to digest that bit of logic. Then she chuckled. "Lacey, my dear, you are a breath of fresh air. Tell me, can I still count on you for Sat.u.r.day? The Aid to the Indigent rummage sale?" Lacey a.s.sured Fiona that yes, she'd be there to handle a booth. "And about those reminder calls..." "I made the first set already. And I'll call everyone again in the next couple of days." "You are an angel." "Well, I wouldn't gothat far." * * *

Atone o'clockMonday afternoon, Belinda Goldstone called.

At first, she spoke in hushed, awe-struck tones, praising the nine figure studies she'd seen in Barnaby Cole's studio, calling them fresh and exciting and "hauntingly sensual."

Then she got down to business. "As I'm sure you've guessed by now, I would like to represent your work. Now, I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but as it turns out, I have an unexpected hole in my gallery's schedule."

One of her artists, she explained, had moved toNew York. "TheSoHoscene has gone to his head," Belinda grumbled. "The wretched little ingrate has jumped ship to go with a dealer there. He was scheduled to show in March. I'd like to put you in his slot. We'd hang the paintings I saw at Barnaby Cole's studio, of course. And do you have anything else that's ready to show ... orcould be ready by then?" Lacey felt slightly dizzy. Six months. Six months until her first major show, aone-woman show. With Belinda Goldstone's gallery. "The silence is deafening," said Belinda. "Am I pushing too fast? We could wait until next October. Would that be better? That will give you a full year to-" "No. No, March should be fine."

"You sound unsure."

"I'm not. It's just ... what you said. A lot to take in. But I have a few other paintings stored at Barnaby's. You could take a look at them. And I've been working on some things more recently, too." She was thinking of the painting of Mira and Maud, of some ideas she had that would center on Rosie-and the sketches she'd done ofLogan, asleep in the cabin inWyoming. She'd been planning to do more with those very soon.

"We must meet in person as soon as you can manage it," said Belinda. "You'll see. The next six months will fly by. We have to get started. We have to firm up the business end. And I want to visit your friend Barnaby again-but together this time-to discuss the work you have at his studio. When can you come?"

Lacey heard herself announcing that she could come right away.

Logandidn't get home until after nine that night.

Lacey fed him and listened to the details of a doctor's day: the seven-year-old who had almost died of an asthma attack, the sweet elderly widower who refused to take his meds, the thirty-five-year-old woman who had fallen off her roof trying to coax her cat down out of a maple tree.

"Compound fracture of the left tibia." He shook his head. "What a mess. Shouldn't an adult woman know better?"

Lacey wiggled her eyebrows at him. "You're asking me?"

They laughed together. The previous September, right at the end of their five-day affair, Lacey had put her foot through the ceiling of one of the upstairs bedrooms in the house that had been her mother's. She'd been searching the attic for Jenna's cat, which had vanished not long before. She'd ended up with a broken foot-and the cat had shown up over a week later, in another part of town.

"What is it with women and cats?"Loganasked. Since the question sounded thoroughly rhetorical, Lacey only shrugged.

OnceLoganhad eaten, Lacey poured him a brandy and led him upstairs. They sat on the sofa in the sitting area of their bedroom.

He swirled his brandy, sipped and set his gla.s.s on the coffee table. "Should we check on Rosie?"

"I'd say we have approximately..." She glanced at her watch, and then at the baby monitor across the room, on the nightstand by the bed, "...a half hour, and we'll be hearing from her."

"Better enjoy every second of quiet, then."

"My sentiments exactly."

He laid his arm along the sofa back. She snuggled up close and leaned her head on his shoulder.

His lips brushed the crown of her head. "It's good to be home."

"Um..." She rubbed her cheek against the starched cloth of his dress shirt, thinking how she liked this

time the best, in the evenings, when he came home to her and they sat together-talking, laughing, sharing what had happened in their respective days.

"So tell me," he said, "what's been going on around here?"

It was the moment she'd been waiting for, time to tell him her news.

Her pulse had picked up. She was a little nervous, a little worried about how he would take this, given the way he'd reacted the last time she'd mentioned the dealer who just might be interested in showing her work.

Loganlaughed, a low, pleasant sound, warm and deep in her ear. "What? Total boredom? Nothing to report?"

She ordered her silly heartbeat to slow down. "As a matter of fact, I do have some news."

"What?"

She raised her head from its comfortable niche on his shoulder. It seemed wiser, somehow, to look at him when she told him.

He frowned. "What? Is something wrong?" "No. No, not at all." "Then...?" Her mouth had gone as dry as a long stretch of desert road. She gulped, licked her lips. "Lacey? What's the matter?" "Nothing. Really. I only..." "You only what?" She said it. "Belinda Goldstone called today." He just looked at her. She gulped again. "Belinda ... offered me a show-myown show-at her gallery, six months from now."

"Your own show," he repeated, each word slow and cautious.

She nodded. What was he thinking? She couldn't tell. She barreled ahead. "She needs to meet with me

right away. So I said I'd fly down toL.A.tomorrow, and stay at least until Sat.u.r.day. We'll get to know

each other a little, make some decisions about what to include in the show-well, I mean, beyond those nine paintings I told you about, the ones of you?" She made herself pause, aware she was talking way too fast.

A black hole of silence followed. Cold fingers of dread tracked their way down her spine. He wasn't taking this well. He wasn't taking it well at all.

She didn't know what else to do, so she babbled out more information. "And Friday night, as it turns out, there's a show opening at Belinda's gallery. So I said I'd be there for that. It will be a great way to get the word out that she'll be handling my work."

She stopped again, for a breath-and because it seemed that she ought to give him a chance to talk.

He didn't talk. He just went on staring at her. She couldn't bear that. She prattled on. "I'd love for you to go, too, if you could manage it. I booked a flight for me and Rosie today, while I was making all the other arrangements, but I'm sure I could find one for all of us, if you'd come. I'm leaving tomorrow, staving with my friend Adele. But if you come, we can just go ahead and get a-"

He raised a hand. She fell silent in mid-sentence.

"Let me get this straight," he said. "You're dragging Rosie toL.A.with you. And you're leaving tomorrow." His voice was utterly flat.

She stared at him, shocked by the look of pure disdain in his eyes.

"Well?" he demanded.

She made herself answer in a low, careful tone, all her former manic brightness fled. "Yes,Logan. I'm leaving tomorrow. And as for Rosie, well, what else would I do? She's nursing, so I have to be around to feed her."

"You're dragging her all overL.A.with you, to meet an art dealer? And to some art party?"

"No. I'm not dragging her anywhere. I have it all worked out. Adele loves babies. She's promised to baby-sit."

"All right. So you're flying toLos Angelestomorrow to meet Belinda Goldstone. You're taking our daughter with you, and some artist friend of yours has promised to watch her."