Tomorrow, she was going back to Acadia Springs, and whatever she learned there, she decided she was going to tell Patrick everything.

“You know what I can’t believe?” Patrick said over the salad and chicken breast and the homemade bread she’d taken out of the freezer and warmed.

“What?”

“ Shannon really likes you.”

Briana almost choked on a cherry tomato. “If that’s like, I never, ever want to be on her bad side.”

He chuckled. “She’s mellowed, believe me. You should have seen her before she and John got together.”

“Patrick, the woman threatened me with violence if I ever hurt you or your kids.”

“Remind me to buy her a bigger Christmas present,” he said with a grin.

She tried to kick him under the table, but her aim wasn’t great.

“You know,” he said, catching her hand in his, “people hurt each other. It happens. You can’t not risk your heart on the chance it could get broken.”

She nodded, although he had no idea she’d been sent here to deliberately hurt him.

“Janie hurt me. And the kids. She never meant to, of course. No one plans to die suddenly one morning out of the blue. When she was first gone, I used to wish I’d never met her. Then I wouldn’t have had to face her dying.” His voice grew a tad husky, and he paused to take a sip of wine. “But I wouldn’t have Dylan and Fiona if I hadn’t loved Janie, and I can’t imagine the world without them.”

She felt tears prick her eyelids. “And she was able to leave a part of herself behind.” How could she be so lucky that such a man had fallen in love with her? “It must have been so difficult for you to lose her when the poor kids were so young.” She recalled Shannon ’s earlier words about Janie’s pregnancy.

“It was hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. I was angry at her for a long time. You know, those stages of grief everyone tells you about and you don’t believe you’re in?”

She didn’t completely, of course, but she nodded anyway, wanting him to continue.

“After I finally got it through my head that she was gone, I was furious that she’d left me. Furious that she’d left the kids.” He shook his head, broke apart a piece of bread but didn’t eat it. “It sounds awful to even say that, but it’s true. I was mad at her, mad at God, mad at the world.”

He looked up at Briana and smiled, the sad, wise smile of a man who’s been through a tragedy and lived to talk about it. “I knew I was finally starting to heal when I realized how grateful I was to her for those kids.”

She nodded and reached across the table to clasp his hand, so warm and leathery from all those years of firefighting. He squeezed back, linking their fingers. “Anyhow, I survived and the kids survived. Loving you is the same. There’s risk involved. You could get sick. I could get sick. One of us could die. You could end up not being willing to take on another woman’s children. I understand the risks and, for the first time in three years, I’m ready to take them.”

The tears now filled her eyes. “I think I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” she said. “I’m going to try so hard to make you happy.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Shannon had it wrong. So wrong. Hurt happens. Bad things happen. My happiness is not your responsibility. I love you. That’s my choice.”

“Right. I understand that. And I’m making a choice, too.” She suddenly felt the need to lighten the atmosphere. “I’m making a choice to drag you back to bed.”

They made love twice more during the night, and when she awoke in the morning, she found herself alone in bed. The noise of the shower had woken her. She pondered the idea of slipping out of bed and joining Patrick under the pounding spray, but felt too lazy.

Instead, she lay there, sleepily remembering last night. She knew she’d never forget it as long as she lived.

She dozed a little until he came out, fresh, damp and smelling of her shampoo. “I used one of your pink plastic razors,” he said, rubbing his hand along his jaw as though it hurt. “Those things should be banned.”

“They’re not meant for men with sexy Irish beards,” she informed him.

He stared down at her for a long moment, as though imprinting her face on his memory. This was how he’d look, she thought, if he was heading off to war and might never see her again. Torn between wanting to stay and knowing he had to leave.

“I have to go,” he said, as though that were news.

“Do you want some coffee before you go? I could thaw some homemade muffins.”

“I’d love to, but if I stay any longer, we’ll end up back in that bed, and I’ll be late getting the kids. I don’t want them overstaying their welcome at Aunt Shannon’s.” He kissed her and grinned down at her. “We want her to volunteer again.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Soon, and often.”

“See you tomorrow at the office.”

“Right.” Reality started to creep back, but Briana wouldn’t let it. The day was sunny, she felt well-loved, and there was a nice drive ahead of her. By tonight, with luck, she’d know the name of the culprit who’d ruined her uncle’s career, and it wouldn’t be O’Shea.

Patrick kissed her quickly on the lips, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a longer, sweeter goodbye kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered, then drew away and left the room swiftly.

“I love you, too,” she said.

THE SECOND DRIVE up to Acadia Springs was even more gorgeous than the first. She sang along to her favorite CDs, enjoyed the scenery and delighted in being newly in love. Since the retirement community was an hour inland, it was dryer and warmer than the coastal city she’d left.

As Briana drove, she mostly replayed scenes from the night before, warming with a glow of pleasure as she relived what had to be the most remarkable night of her life.

For the second time she pulled up in front of a neatly kept bungalow adjacent to a luscious green golf course. This time, she was pleased to see the drapes open, no papers on the front porch and a late-model Ford sitting in the garage. Having already worried about how she’d approach Joseph Carlton, she’d finally settled on the truth, or some version of it, anyway.

It seemed to her that lies had caused the trouble her uncle was in, and maybe the truth would be a good start for fixing things.

Consequently, when she rang the doorbell of number 233 Palm Avenue at two o’clock that Sunday afternoon, she was ready to come out about who she really was.

A woman in her seventies answered the door, wearing a bright sun-orange baseball cap and tennis gear. “Oh,” she said, looking startled. “I thought you were my doubles partner.”

“No, ma’am,” Briana answered with a smile. “My name is Briana Bliss. I work for the city of Courage Bay. I’m looking for retired officer Joseph Carlton of the Courage Bay police department. Would he be in?”

“Yes, of course. Come right in.”

“Thank you.” As she stepped inside, the nervousness she’d tried to keep at bay on the drive up returned. She had a feeling that, finally, she was going to get the truth.

The woman disappeared down a hall, and a few minutes later Briana heard an older man say, “It’s all right, May. You go on and play tennis.”

A short muffled conversation took place, out of her sight, and then an older man came down the hall toward her. Briana would have guessed ex-military from his stern bearing and upright posture if she hadn’t known he was a former police officer.

His hair was salt-and-pepper and a thin mustache graced his upper lip. Behind his glasses, his gray eyes were wary.

He looked at her a long moment, then, with a small sigh and an infinitesimal slump of his shoulders, he motioned her toward the living room.

“You are the Officer Carlton who served on the Courage Bay police force in the eighties?” Briana asked.