Morgan pulled him close and whispered, "You want to wax those girls or don't you?"

"I can't act like a-"

Morgan pressed a hand to his mouth, turned so both their faces were away from the group. "Now what do nuns do?"

Todd shrugged. "Nothing fun."

Morgan grinned, responding too easily to Todd's recalcitrance. "So make your face sour. Now what?"

"Pray," Todd whispered.

"That's right. Put your hands together."

"This is stupid."

Morgan pressed Todd's hands into a flattened peak. "Now get on your knees and if they don't get it, show them you're wearing a veil."

"I'm what?"

Morgan pushed him out to the center of the circle. Todd dropped grumpily to his knees, then closed his eyes and looked heavenward with a better imitation than Morgan had expected.

"He's praying," twelve-year-old Sarah guessed.

"It's a person," Morgan reminded her.

Todd stroked the sides of his head to his shoulders, then prayed again.

"A nun!" Melanie called out, and Todd pushed up from his knees and sagged into his chair. But there was a prideful flicker behind his glare.

"Good job, Todd. Last category is 'creative cat.'" Morgan took the tub of clay from the box. He passed the clay to Stan, who looked utterly defeated when he realized he had to model DNA. Noelle could do it. She'd ice them all in the artistic category, even the sensosketch category, where the artist's eyes had to stay closed. The time in the hourglass passed before Stan had done more than wad the clay back and forth in his hands with a pained look that rivaled the roll of Todd's eyes.

"That's okay, Stan." Morgan stuffed the clay back into the tub. "We'll count on you for the datahead category." He caught Noelle's smile across the room and returned it. Rick might think chores would settle Todd with a sense of responsibility, but unless this family got to know one another, those gangs would look better than ever by the end of the summer.

As the evening progressed he felt like a camp director. Boys and girls, can't we all get along? Was he the only one who understood communication? It was a small victory that by the end of the game, he'd at least gotten them to laugh. Noelle especially, but then, she already appreciated his sense of humor. By the time Todd's family headed back to their cabin, she turned shining eyes on him and murmured, "That was nothing short of amazing."

"What?"

"The way you drew them out, got them working together."

"Once I ascertained Stan did have a pulse, and Sarah and her mother could smile, and Todd wouldn't murder anyone ..." He spread his hands. "It was clear sailing."

Rick adjusted his seat on the couch, stretched his legs. "Not everyone has your stamina, Morgan."

"Stamina? We are talking basic interfacing."

"Well, not everyone has your gift of gab."

"But Morgan's right." Noelle laid her hand on Rick's arm. "When Stan had us all rolling with his mermaid impersonation, I think everyone felt a surprising camaraderie. That family needs to laugh."

Morgan sent her a half smile. "I definitely think your asylum charade topped the event."

"So I do insane well." She polished her nails on her chest with a smile. Was it only months ago she'd hidden herself away, too broken to face life and love and laughter? "But you are the consummate ham."

"Well." He stood up. "It's good for people to push past their inhibitions." He jutted his jaw at Rick. "You might even find a latent thespian in that man you married, Noelle."

Rick shook his head. "It's not inhibition. Just not my style."

Morgan smiled. "Give me a while."

"Morgan, you've had thirty years of working on me, pushing me into things I wanted no part of. I think I am what I am."

Noelle reached up and kissed his cheek. "Just the way I like you."

Morgan ran a hand through his hair. "Well, it's getting thick in here. Guess I'll check my mail."

"I thought you didn't work on these hiatuses." Rick wrapped his arm around Noelle's shoulders.

"I have a few things hanging. Denise'll have my hide if I go completely incommunicado." Though he regularly drove his zealous professional assistant crazy that way. "Good night, lovebirds." He headed up the stairs.

CHAPTER.

5.

Jill wondered for the umpteenth time why she had come. The week had passed too quickly with all the end-of-the-year reports and evaluations, the meetings with the parents whose children she would continue to tutor. And then there'd been the blood test and the stress of waiting for those results and the thoughts and memories churned by the whole situation.

She should have skipped this event even after paying the fee. She'd done her duty for the fund, more than she could afford, and it was ludicrous seeing these people, hearing who was driving a Porsche, who practiced law, who was in jail. None of that mattered to her. She shouldn't have come. It would drain her reserves.

She saw him walk in, as though some inner radar had been tuned for that moment all evening. She hadn't been watching for him, but his entrance had drawn her gaze immediately. How could it not?

He looked better at thirty-three than he had at eighteen. What man didn't? But Morgan more so. He'd grown into himself, filled in the spare places, yet stayed fit and handsome ... heart-seizing handsome. He carried himself with confidence and ease as he joked with the attendants at the reception table. That was Morgan, quick with the jokes and smooth with the lines. He pinned his name tag on, probably the only person there whose yearbook picture wasn't adolescently stupid. He always had been photogenic, easy before the camera, something he had done better than she.

Jill felt her chest tighten as he surveyed the room. Would he see her? The new haircut Crystal had given her was so different, he might look past without knowing. Yet what was she thinking? What would she do if he saw and came over? She turned away, concentrating again on the conversation of the groupies who had reattached to her.

Her friends. The girls who had gone to every dance, who'd won every popularity contest, who had turned down dates from boys who were too dweeb or pimpled. And she'd been at the front of the line, except that she'd also excelled in academics. Now she looked at them, a couple overweight, the others attractive and sure of it, most of them married, two divorced.

She wished she hadn't come. She glanced back over her shoulder. It felt strange not to have the weight of her hair slide with the motion. The short soft edges brushed the back of her neck instead. Where was he?

There, talking with Randy Beech and Glen Stevens, his old buddies, though they looked as if they could choke with envy. He must be wowing them, as only Morgan could. He turned and caught her eye, quite by accident, she saw in his expression. He held it only a second, then turned back to respond to Glen's question. A burst of laughter from the three of them.

"But tell me, Jill, where have you been?" Lyssa's voice had deepened from the cigarettes she'd experimented with and found she liked too well. "I heard you were back in town. The committee wanted to enlist you, but you're not in the phone book."

Jill turned back to Lyssa and saw that half the group had drifted away. "It's less complicated that way." A simple precaution any single woman might consider, even one living across the yard from patrol officer Brett Barlowe, husband of her best friend, Shelly.

Lyssa rolled her eyes. "Isn't it pathetic what we have to do to avoid the pervs?"

Jill startled. Had Lyssa read that into her comment? No, probably just shared the concern. She was divorced, lived alone, as well. Jill noted the line of lipstick across the tips of Lyssa's front teeth. She still had her overbite, though her figure had become voluptuous. Implants? Not exactly the way to avoid notice, if Lyssa was concerned about unsavory advances.

Jill shrugged. "It probably doesn't matter, but I unlist it anyway." Dan had insisted on that precaution when he came onto the scene.

Lyssa rolled her eyes. "I mean half the entries in the book are initials, like the kooks don't know that's a female?"

Jill sipped her 7-Up. Lyssa obviously had issues and probably experience. "Unlisted is safer."

Janice touched her arm. "So what are you doing these days?"

Jill turned. "I teach. Special ed." I'm waiting to learn if I can give bone marrow to my daughter, who's dying, but whom none of you know exists.

"Really?" Janice scanned the room, already dismissing her work as unimportant.

"Is there a man in your life?" The voice was husky.

Jill turned to Babs. The woman had been waiting to pry, just as she had fifteen years ago, wanting every detail, the first to sniff out a new crush or, at the other end, who was tired of whom. "No, not currently."

"Well, don't look now, but Morgan Spencer came in alone."

"I know. I saw him." She must be made of ice. She managed to say it with such lack of emotion even Babs deflated some. But not enough.

"I can't believe the two of you aren't together. I thought nothing in the world could break you up."

Actually it took very little. Only living with it all these years had been hard. Jill shrugged. "High school romance."

"Be real, Jill." This from Janice. "Have you taken a good look at him?"

No. I'm trying to avoid any glimpse, can't you tell? Of course they couldn't. She was too good at hiding it, a skill she'd developed along with the scar tissue on her heart.

"Well, he's noticed you."

Jill hazarded a glance. Morgan was seated at a small side table. Melinda Blake and her husband stood over and chatted with him, but he looked her way again, this time intentionally.

"Why don't you talk to him?" Babs was on the scent, trying to make things happen. Did nothing ever change?

Jill forced a smile. "So what are you doing, Lyssa?"

"Legal secretary. Fitch and Norton."

"Married. Two kids." Babs was clearly bored. "Really, Jill ..."

"Give it a rest, Babs." Lyssa touched her arm.

Babs rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Janice bumped Lyssa's elbow. "Hey, there's Mary, Mary McBride. Isn't she some senator?"

Lyssa turned. "State rep, I think."

"Let's go." Janice tugged and Lyssa followed.

Jill made a move, but Babs cut her off. "Here's your chance. He's all alone."

She felt desperate to go the other way, any direction but to where Morgan sat. However, that would give Babs all the ammunition she needed to spread the word through the whole assembly. Jill tipped her head. "Well, why not?"

She handed Babs her empty soda glass and turned with more nonchalance than she thought possible. Morgan was sitting alone, though not for long, she was sure. She wished she'd brought Dan as a buffer, then realized how unfair that would have been. Still, they couldn't go the whole evening avoiding each other. Already more eyes than Babs's were on them.

It was human nature. How would two old flames react to each other after fifteen years? Especially when the flame had been snuffed so mysteriously. Did any of them suspect? Not even her closest friends had been told, but did they guess? What was it her parents had said? A summer mission trip? Come on.

She drew a long breath and started toward him. It felt as if every eye in the room was on her, but that was her own nerves working overtime. With more determination than she felt, she approached Morgan's table. He watched her with the slow, suave appraisal she remembered, only now much more suave and ... cynical. He looked fantastic in spite of that.

She stopped less than two feet short of the table and managed a weak smile. "Hello, Morgan."

He raised his glass in salute. "Still the best body in the room."

She felt the fire in her cheeks, too aware suddenly of the flattering cut of her black sheath, and almost turned away without another word. But, then, he had a right to despise her. Hadn't he tried to do the honorable thing, at least as he saw it? Oh, Morgan.

"How are you?" It sounded stiff and stupid in her own ears.

He nudged the extra chair out with his foot, then stood and seated her. She remembered the feel of his hand across her shoulders as he eased the chair in. He slipped off his suit coat and hung it behind his chair before sitting down with the easy grace that came naturally to him.

His shirt fit as if it was made for him, and she realized his coat had, as well. He was obviously doing well, or had he succumbed to the reunion madness of pretending to be what you weren't? No, Morgan cared too little what people thought to do that. Why didn't he say something?

She shifted in the chair and tried again. "It's been a long time." Why did she keep saying these inane things? Morgan, I've seen our daughter. She's so beautiful. She has your eyes.

"You've graduated."

"What?"

"From Vanilla Fields." He drew a long breath in through his nose.

"Obsession."

She flushed. Of course he would be up on women's fragrances. He was always so sensual. "Yes. But I still wear Vanilla Fields sometimes."

He smirked, then glanced at her hands folded awkwardly over her maroon leather clutch on the table. "No wedding ring?" Again he sliced her with his tone.

"No."

"Divorced?"

She swallowed. "No."