She held out the card. "I'm not making a… a… pass at you, Mr. Thatcher," she said softly. "Truly. I just wanted you to know I care very much about Brad. If you need to talk, here's my home number and my e-mail address." She gave a little shrug. "He's important to me, too."

He slipped the card into his pocket. "Thank you."

"I guess I'll get out of your hair now. Thanks for everything." She got out and waved.

He watched her limp up the sidewalk. The apartment unit had a floor-to-ceiling window, three stories high, and through it he could see the flights of stairs winding to the top. That meant there was probably no elevator. And she'd written Apartment 3-D on the back of his business card. Third floor. He continued to watch as she limped inside and climbed to the first landing, one plodding step at a time. Then stopped to rest. And slip off her ridiculous shoes.

Steven sighed. He was the cause of her injury, even though her shoes were ridiculous. Sitting here while she navigated the stairs alone went against everything his mother had ever taught him. Open doors, hold umbrellas, pull out chairs and assist those you've maimed. Well, Mom had never said the last one, but she would have, had the occasion come up. Helping would be the gentlemanly thing to do. Helping would also give him one last opportunity to feel her brush against him and to smell the soft fragrance that made him wonder if it was any stronger on her bare skin. He drew a deep breath. Bare skin. That particular picture was one he should put out of his mind that minute. But once there, the picture stubbornly refused to budge. It was a very nice picture.

If he was perfectly honest, he wanted to see her to her door, whatever his motivation. So do it, putz, he told himself. He didn't need to tell himself twice. He was out of his car and at her side by the time she was halfway up the next flight of stairs.

She made a face at his appearance. "Now I'm really going to feel guilty at keeping you from your kids. I'm fine. Go home, Mr. Thatcher."

He took her shoes in his right hand and offered his left arm. "Steven," he said before he realized the correction was coming out of his mouth. Once said, the wall of formality couldn't be rebuilt. Even if he'd wanted to. Which, given the picture still flashing in his mind, he didn't want to.

She took his arm, embarrassed gratitude in her expression. "Jenna. And thanks. You really don't have to." She hopped up a step, leaning on his arm. "But thanks just the same."

By the time they reached her apartment she was flushed and heated and he more so, and very glad he was wearing his suit jacket. It was a good thing he was never seeing her again. His heart couldn't take it.

"Thank you, once again." She smiled and extended her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Steven. Thank you for being there when I needed you."

He took her hand. "Thank you for caring about my son."

Her next words were cut off by a pandemonium of barking. She glanced at her door and gently pulled her hand from his. "I need to go." She gestured at the door. "I have to, um, walk the dog."

"What kind of dogs are they?"

Her eyes darted sideways. "Just one," she said brightly. "Just one dog." She glanced over to her neighbor's door and rolled her eyes. "I'm all right, Mrs. Kasselbaum. No need for concern."

Steven looked to his left, just in time to see the neighbor's door close. "Nosy neighbor?"

She rolled her violet eyes again. "You have no idea." The barking continued and she put her key in the door. "Well, um, thanks again."

Steven raised a brow. She was trying to get rid of him and he thought he knew why. "Your dog get any media attention, Jenna?"

She looked startled. "Why would you say that?"

He shrugged. "Seems to me a two-headed dog would be the toast of the talk-show circuit." He leaned forward. "That's an awful lot of barking for just one canine," he murmured and watched her cheeks color up and her brows snap together in irritation.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she snapped and opened the door. "Come in and close the door."

He followed her into her apartment, unsurprised to see two identical German shepherds crouched, teeth bared. Their barks had turned to ominous growls.

"I'm fine," she told them. "No bark. Down." Both dogs dropped to their bellies, barking ceased, but eyes still narrowed and wary. "They're trained," she said defensively.

"Impressive."

"They wouldn't hurt a fly."

Steven shook his head. "I don't know about that."

"They're trained to defend. If they perceive me to be in danger…" She shrugged.

He lifted his eyes from the dogs and looked around her living room. It was decorated in warm browns, a large soft-looking sofa dominating one wall. The far wall was covered in a collage of framed photographs. He would have liked to walk over and inspect each one, to learn more about this woman who cared for his son. But the one step he took brought new growls from the defending duo. "Why do you have two dogs trained to defend? And why all the secrecy?"

She limped over to an antique rolltop desk where every piece of paper was tidily filed in the various slots. She opened a drawer and began rummaging. "I'm a woman living alone. I thought it was safer than having a gun. Where is that ace bandage?"

He nodded. "Wise. So why the lie? Why did you say there was only one?"

"Here it is." She pulled out a rolled bandage and sat down on the chair in front of her desk. "Turn around, please."

"Excuse me?"

Her face flushed once again. "You've already seen more of me today than I show at the beach. I want to wrap my ankle and my stocking's in the way. Please, turn around."

Steven's breath caught in his throat even as he turned around obediently. The memory of those long legs with the sheer stockings was enough to suck the air right out of his lungs. He gritted his teeth at the sound of whispering silk, knowing it was sliding across that long expanse of leg. He clenched his hands into hard fists, wishing it were his own hands doing the sliding. He breathed in. Breathed out. It didn't help.

He really shouldn't be here. He should leave. Just a jew more minutes, he promised himself. He cleared his throat. "Why lie about having two dogs?" he asked.

"Because my lease says I can only have one," she answered. "You can turn back around now. I'm decent."

And to his chagrin, she was, her skirt back in place, her fingers nimbly winding the last few inches of bandage around her ankle. "So why do you have two?"

She secured the end of the bandage before looking up with a grimace. "Because I'm a sucker who can't say no to sad eyes and a wet tongue," she replied, her tone wry. "I used to volunteer at the local shelter and one day somebody brought in a very pregnant female shepherd they'd found abandoned. She had a litter of eight pups and I took one." She pointed to the dog on the left. "Jim, shoes." The dog got up and trotted back to the bedroom. "Jean-Luc here was passed over again and again because he had a bad eye, and he was coming up on his time limit." She sighed. "I couldn't let him die-I'd taken care of him from the day he was born. So I brought him home with me." She snapped her fingers. "Jean-Luc, slippers." The other dog got up and followed the path the first had taken. "Jean-Luc's eye cleared up eventually. I'm only supposed to have one dog here, but I'm on the waiting list for some places that allow two." She shrugged guiltily. "So I walk them one at a time and keep hoping everybody will think they're the same dog until I can get into one of the multi-dog apartments." She frowned. "Mrs. Kasselbaum suspects," she said darkly. "She's just the sort to rat on me to the building manager and get me evicted."

Steven shook his head, unable to hold back the smile. "Today little white lies, tomorrow you'll be robbing banks. It's a slippery slope down the path of moral decline, Dr. Marshall."