"No." Kate shook her head, the color draining from her face. "That's not the way it was. He proposed because he loved me. Because, just like he said, he didn't want to… to…"

Her words trailed off; Luke smiled. "He didn't want to lose you. Isn't that what you had been about to say?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Think back to the times Richard and I almost came to blows over things as inconsequential as tennis matches or hands of poker-to the competition over grades. He was not about to be bested by me, poor scholarship student, worthless dreamer. I know how he laughed about my dreams of being a novelist." Luke leaned across the table, eyes narrowed. "Who's laughing now?"

"It's not true," she whispered, eyes bright with tears. "That's the way you might have felt, but not Richard."

"How can you look me in the eye and lie this way?"

"He's my husband. We have a good marriage. A happy one. Marrying me had nothing to do with some adolescent competition with you."

"Whatever gets you through the night, babe."

This time it was Kate who stood, who prepared to leave. And Luke who grabbed her hand, stopping her. He looked her dead in the eyes. "And what about you, Kate? Did you say yes to Richard because you loved him? Or because you loved the cushy future you would have with him?"

"Let me go."

"Not until you answer me."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You wanted honesty, sweetheart. You wanted to dredge up the past. Well, here it is, in all its glory."

For a moment she simply stared at him. In her eyes he saw her hurt, that he had wounded her deeply. He felt a moment of regret. In that moment he wished he could take it back, all of it, every word.

Then he reminded himself of the way she had used him, and he firmed his resolve. He dropped his hand. "See, sometimes the past is better left alone."

"Yes," she whispered, "I do see now. I won't trouble you again." She collected her things, then lifted her baby carrier. She met his eyes once more. "You never used to be mean, Luke. You are now. I'm sorry about that."

"Haven't you heard? Nice guys finish last."

"You were never last in my book, Luke. Never."

And then she walked away, out of his life, head held high. Luke watched her go, ignoring the feeling of loss that settled over him, the urge to chase after her.

Kate Ryan was now a permanent part of his past.

Late that afternoon, exhausted and heartsick, Kate arrived home. Richard was still out, thank goodness. She didn't know what she was going to say to him about today, about her meeting with Luke.

She sighed and dropped her keys onto the entryway table, shifting her sleeping daughter in her arms. Richard had assumed she was going into The Bean; she hadn't told him otherwise. If he had known about her plans, he would have been angry and jealous, he would have insisted she not go.

Kate sighed. She had been so certain she was doing the right thing, so certain that tonight she would be telling Richard how she had repaired the rift in her, Luke's and his friendship, certain that she would be feeling so pleased and proud of herself.

Now, she wished she had told him. Now, she felt like a fool. An optimistic, naive idiot. Some things couldn't be changed. They couldn't be made better by time or good intentions. Just as some wounds never healed, they festered instead.

Emma whimpered and snuggled closer to Kate's shoulder, trying to get comfortable. It had been a long day for them both, Kate thought, carrying Emma to her nursery. She laid her carefully in the crib, then as quietly as possible, raised the guard rail. Through it all, Emma didn't even stir.

Kate drew in a deep, shuddering breath and curled her fingers around the crib rail, gazing down at her sleeping daughter, at her beautiful, peaceful face. It wasn't true, what Luke had said to her about Richard's reason for proposing to her. They had been married for ten years. They were happy. They had a good marriage. The kind built on love, not on some juvenile competition. He took his wedding vows seriously, just as she did.

Kate turned away from the crib and busied herself straightening the nursery. She had left in such a hurry that morning, she hadn't had a chance to clean up from her and Emma's play.

She bent, collecting the rattles, shakers and stuffies from the play mat, then carried them to the basket she kept for them next to the rocking chair. Her mind drifted once more to her confrontation with Luke, to the things he'd said. And what of herself? she wondered. Had she been motivated by something other than love? By greed, as Luke had suggested?

She dropped the toys into the basket. He thought she was a gold digger. That she had married Richard for his money, for his standing in the community.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she made a sound of annoyance, struggling to remember, to go back to that thrilling but tumultuous time of her life. To recall her feelings and examine them. All of them. Honestly.

She had loved Richard. She had loved him from the moment she met him. Sure, he had behaved badly sometimes. He'd been young and cocksure and accustomed to having his way. And yes, he had broken her heart more than once.

But even with his faults, she had longed to marry him; she had prayed he would ask her. Because dating him had been thrilling. Because most of the time, he had been charming and attentive, fun-loving and generous. He had made her feel special. And cared for.

Had his money, his affluence and influential family colored her feelings for him? Sure they had, Kate admitted. How could they not? They were a part of who Richard was. That didn't mean she hadn't loved him. It didn't mean she was a gold digger.

Kate crossed to the baby's dresser and began straightening the framed photos and knickknacks that decorated its top. She frowned. Her favorite photo was missing. The one of Richard holding Emma her first day home.

She looked on the floor, behind the dresser, in the crib. When she didn't find it in any of those places, she stopped in the middle of the room, hand on hips, frowning. It had to be here. She had looked at it this morning, after Richard left for the club.

She brought a hand to her head, trying to remember. She and Emma had been in here, playing on the quilt. Richard had come in to say goodbye; she had stood and kissed him. As she had turned to return to Emma, the photograph had caught her eye, and she'd smiled.

So, where was the photo now?

From the hallway outside the nursery came the creak of a floorboard. A soft whoosh, like a soft breath being expelled.

Kate froze, suddenly, completely terrified. She brought a hand to her throat, her mind filling with the image of her bed from that morning, of the indentations in the pillow. Of her lingerie hanger peeking out from under the bed.

She turned slowly to face the doorway. And found it empty. Legs shaking, she crossed to the door and peered out into the hallway. It, too, was empty.

"Richard?" she called. "Is that you?"

Silence answered her. She held her breath, straining to hear the slightest sound, a stirring or a rustle, even as she told herself she was being silly. Old houses creaked. They groaned and sighed.

But photographs didn't go missing on their own. Hangers didn't walk from the closet to the bed.

She wasn't alone.

Heart thundering, Kate crossed to the crib and picked up her daughter, careful not to jostle her. The infant moaned and stirred, then snuggled into Kate, still deeply asleep.

Kate carried her out of the room and toward the front of the house, moving as quietly as she could. She had left the car carrier and diaper bag in the foyer. She reached it and hands shaking, squatted beside the carrier and gently laid Emma in it. She snapped the harness, then stood and turned toward the door.