He frowned. "When?"

Jill shook her head. "I just heard last night. They've started conditioning. Only her family can be there."

"Her family. Does being her father count?" His tone was cold and clipped.

She turned her head to the side, but he caught her chin and turned it back. "Is that family enough, Jill?"

"Morgan. I can't see her, either."

He stared at her hard and clearly skeptical. "Really."

"Why would I lie?" Even as she said it, she knew what he was thinking.

"Why indeed."

She dropped her gaze, not wanting him to have the upper hand, leverage against her. He was too unpredictable, too different from the laughing boy she'd known.

"I know you're angry and frustrated, but I can't change anything. I'm doing the best I can with all of this, as I've tried to from the start.

" His eyes were acetylene torches. "Honesty from the start might have helped, instead of letting me believe the worst."

Indignation rose up. "You believed it easily enough. Didn't you remember how hard I cried when we first discussed abortion?"

His hand tightened on her arm. "You suggested it, not me."

"I asked if that was what you wanted. I had to know."

"I told you no."

She closed her eyes, held them a moment, then faced him again. "I didn't know my dad was going to tell you that. They wanted a clean break, nothing you could use to ..."

"What?"

"Stay involved."

His grip loosened, but he didn't release her. "And it never-" He stopped at the sound of an engine and flashing lights behind him. She looked past him to the police cruiser pulling to a stop behind Morgan's car. Brett and Dan climbed out, eyeing them.

Morgan turned, obviously surprised to see the cops. "Is there something I should know?"

Watching Brett and Dan, she felt more awkward than she could ever remember. Why were they staring so menacingly?

"Step back-slowly," Brett said, and Dan rested his hand on his gun.

What on earth?

Morgan let go of her. "This is better than the last time."

Jill stepped off the porch. "Brett-"

"Over here, Jill." Dan motioned her.

This was not how she'd imagined their next conversation. Was this some macho jealousy thing? Had he lost his mind and brought Brett along? She went down the three stairs and the length of the walk. "What are you doing?"

Dan kept his eyes on Morgan but answered, "Your neighbor called in an assault."

She looked from his face to the townhouse across the parking lot.

She didn't have to ask which neighbor. She let out a sharp breath. "That's a mistake. You know Mr. Deerborne." She glanced back at Morgan, standing by the door with a wry look. Could their interaction have looked like assault? She pressed her palm to her face, embarrassment washing over in waves.

Dan let go of his gun and jutted his chin toward Morgan with the force of his ire. "You know him?"

She nodded, seeing the suspicion of Morgan's identity dawn in the narrowing of his eyes, the clench of his jaw. He wanted to say more, ask more, but kept his mouth shut. After a moment, he circled back around the cruiser and climbed into the driver's seat. They must still have been at Brett's to get over there so quickly. They probably had yet to go in to the station. And Deerborne would have called Brett directly, as usual.

Brett looked from her to Morgan and back. "So you're all right?

" She nodded. It wasn't police protection she needed. She glanced at the opposite townhouse, where the old man was probably pressed to the window, though the daylight reflection kept him hidden. Anyone who thought women had the market on nosiness and gossip had never met Mr. Deerborne. He made a habit of calling Brett at home over the smallest things, but he'd never called the police on her before.

As the cruiser pulled away, she joined Morgan back on the porch.

"Very interesting." Morgan settled his back against the wall and crossed his bare ankles. His legs beneath the navy shorts were tan and muscled.

Jill shoved her fingers into her hair. "Come inside. I'll explain." The sooner they were out of Mr. Deerborne's view, the better.

She led Morgan to the kitchen and poured two glasses of cranberry juice.

He picked his up and studied it. "This the strongest thing you have?"

"What ... else ..."

"Coffee? I've been driving all night."

He'd driven all night and still looked that good? "I might have some instant."

He winced. "That's all right." He drained the juice glass.

Jill took a gulp of hers, absorbing the tang. The way her head spun already, any caffeine would put her over the edge. She needed to stay calm, get calm.

"So are you going to tell me why Beauview's best are guarding your door?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Brett's my neighbor." She waved toward the townhouse outside the patio door. Then she pointed toward the front window. "And my other neighbor, Mr. Deerborne, is the self-established watchdog." She drained her juice glass. "Do you want something to eat? I baked scones yesterday, lemon pecan." She was babbling.

"Okay. But I've got to have some coffee, real coffee. I passed a Starbucks back in the strip mall." He pulled his keys from his pocket. "There won't be a SWAT team waiting when I get back ...."

She smiled, almost able to find it funny, and shook her head. "I'll let the National Guard know you're cleared."

"Yuh." He went out, and for a moment she wondered if she'd dreamed the whole thing. She leaned on the counter, staring at the door he'd left slightly ajar. His car pulled out from the lot, and she drew a cleansing breath. She had to pull herself together.

She poured another swallow and drank it, just tart enough to tighten the tissues of her mouth, leaving it refreshed and invigorated. In her mind, juice beat coffee any day. She carried both glasses to the sink and washed them up. Then with a damp cloth, she wiped her clean counters and swept a few cat hairs from the floor.

Scones. Why had she offered him scones? If he'd driven all night, he probably wanted something hearty like steak and eggs. What was she thinking? She couldn't cook for Morgan as though he were ...someone in her life. Even if she'd had eggs or steak.

Pull yourself together. He'd come to see Kelsey, and once he realized that was impossible, he'd go away. A scone was sufficient to show hospitality. She jumped at the tap on the glass and turned to see Shelly standing on the patio. Jill hurried over and let her in. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Deerborne's call woke me." Shelly shoved her glasses up her nose. She only wore them upon waking and at night after removing her contacts. She looked around. "Doesn't look like an emergency. You're alive anyway. Did Brett come over?"

"Brett and Dan both." She pictured Dan's face fixed on Morgan.

"What happened?"

"Our favorite paranoid overreacting."

"To what?"

Jill moistened her lips. "Shelly, Morgan's here."

Shelly's eyes darted.

"He's not here this minute. He went for coffee. But he drove all night and just showed up."

"Morgan Spencer. The?"

"Yes, Shelly. The."

Shelly plopped her hands on her hips. "Did Dan see him?"

"Oh yes." Jill pictured the scene exactly as Dan must have seen it, pulling into the parking lot and up to her door.

"So tell me everything."

Jill sighed. "He wants to see Kelsey. I guess he thought I could arrange it."

"Can you?"

Jill shook her head. "She's at the treatment center in Connecticut. Even if she were in Des Moines, the family would have to want it. And they don't."

The Thunderbird's engine sounded outside and Jill braced herself. A minute later, Morgan tapped a knuckle to the door and pushed it open. Shelly gasped. Morgan had that effect.

CHAPTER.

16.

Morgan took in Jill and the other woman with a casual glance. So she'd called in reinforcements. He closed the door and joined them at the counter, setting down his double espresso. Normally he liked the morning blend, but this morning a direct infusion to the bloodstream seemed in order.

"Morgan, this is Shelly, my neighbor and best friend, and the wife of one of the officers who came earlier. Shelly, Morgan Spencer." She obviously had no terms to describe him. Understandable. He hadn't even introduced her to Noelle when she came to the ranch.

He squeezed Shelly's hand with a smile. "Hi." He could sense Jill's nerves like a leftover odor filling the kitchen. Had she run for her friend before he'd cleared the lot? He reached for his coffee and slurped it softly. Man, he needed that. The half he'd downed driving back was only now clearing the fog.

"Well, I guess I'll ..." Shelly headed toward the patio door.

Morgan raised his cup. "You don't have to go on my account." Especially if Jill needed the buffer.

Shelly caught the door handle. "You two probably want to talk."

He glanced at Jill. Did she? What would they have to say? But Shelly closed the door behind her with a wave, then started across the yard. Morgan watched her go into the opposite patio door, then turned back. Jill's hair was drying into that careless mop that was surprisingly alluring, saucy, and vulnerable at once.

She smelled faintly of apples, and he guessed her shampoo. No other fragrance covered it. It seemed an appropriate Iowa girl scent.

Jill took out a Ziploc bag of scones from the refrigerator. "I'll just warm them." She took down two salmon-colored plates and put the scones into the microwave. Soon their aroma covered hers. He was not much on breakfast, especially this early, but without sleep something in his stomach would be good.

He leaned his elbows on the counter. "Seems I'll have to guess."

She turned to him. "Guess?"

"The one giving orders was Shelly's husband. The other one ..."

He watched her color rise. He'd guessed correctly. "You should have told me your boyfriend might shoot."

"He's not. Anymore."

Morgan took a swig of espresso. "Ah, another pawn sacrificed."

She opened the door and checked the scones, then set them to heat again. "My neighbor has an overactive thyroid, and way too much time on his hands. He calls Brett over any disturbance and imagines threats in every shadow."

Threat, disturbance. Telling words. Morgan eyed her. He wanted access to his daughter, and Jill was the key to that. He'd have to play nice.

She pulled open the microwave and handed him a scone on a plate. "Butter?"

"This is fine." He doubted he would even taste it.

She took her plate to one end of the counter and sat down. He took a bite. The scone sent a burst of sweet lemon into his mouth, a pleasant surprise.

"They seemed to take this call seriously." He caught a crumb from the corner of his mouth, picturing her muscle-bound cop, another jilted suitor. She'd made it an art. But it didn't matter. Morgan swallowed the bite. She'd sent him a "Dear John" no imbecile could ignore, and he wasn't there about her. Kelsey was the part of his life he wanted reattached. Not permanently, certainly nothing detrimental to the girl, just the certainty that she actually existed, hadn't lost her life as he'd imagined too clearly.

The match in their haplotypes was proof enough, but it wasn't tangible. He needed to lay the ghost to rest before he could move on. And only seeing his flesh-and-blood daughter would accomplish that. But it was complicated if they had already moved her to Yale for conditioning. He knew what that entailed and doubted they would admit him-assuming it was true that she was there at all.

He only had Jill's word for it. He knew better than to believe her without checking it out for himself. So the best thing was to continue with his plan. "What are you doing today?"

"I'm tutoring."