"Jenna," she corrected and narrowed her eyes warily. "You won't tell, will you? Because if you plan to, I'll have to kill you and feed you to the boys."

Steven shuddered. "No, I promise your landlord won't hear it from me."

She nodded once. "Well, all right then. So long as we're clear. Oh, good, here they come. What took you guys so long?"

To Steven's amazement both dogs came trotting back, one holding a pair of running shoes in his mouth, the other a pair of oversized fuzzy slippers with Tweety Bird's head on the toes. "I wouldn't have believed that if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. They must have spent a lot of time in obedience school."

She grinned and his heart stuttered. '"I tried to teach them to fetch pizza and beer from the fridge, but they kept confiscating the goods en route." She scratched each dog behind the ears in turn.

"But you didn't teach them to defend in obedience school."

She shook her head while slipping her wrapped foot into Tweety Bird. "No, there was a rash of robberies near here when I first moved in so I found a training facility out past Pineville." She looked up from tying her running shoe on the uninjured foot. "I hate guns, so I put the boys to work for their kibble."

Pineeville. Steven glanced at his watch and grimaced as she got up and limped to her coat closet. He still had hours of paperwork to do before bed tonight and he still hadn't talked to Brad.

"So are you ready to stop procrastinating?" she asked from inside the closet.

Steven frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She reappeared, a golf club in one hand. "You've been put-ting off talking to Brad." She followed up the accusation with a smile. "It's okay. I procrastinated myself today, grading his test, then calling you. A bit of apprehension is perfectly normal. I don't mind being a temporary distraction under the circumstances. But it's time to go home, Steven." She picked up a leash from her lamp table and clucked her tongue. One of the duo jumped up and she snapped the leash on the dog's collar. "Good boy." She opened the door and waited for him to follow.

"I am not procrastinating."

She shrugged. "Okay." She looked over her shoulder. "Make sure that door closes behind you."

He closed the door and followed her down the stairs, the dog happily behind at her side. Once at the bottom, she stopped on the sidewalk next to his Volvo.

"I'm not procrastinating," he repeated, a bit more weakly this time. "I don't think."

She smiled again. "Well, it's either that or I'm utterly fascinating and a brilliant conversationalist-and I know that's not true." She hesitated, then lifted her hand to his upper arm and squeezed. "Have courage, Steven."

She was standing close enough that he caught the faint scent of coconuts. Without her ridiculous shoes the top of her head was level with his chin. She'd fit perfectly in his arms. He knew it instinctively. Just as he knew she was wrong about one thing. He did find her utterly fascinating. With her face lifted up, her forehead was inches from his mouth. He looked into her eyes and for a brief moment thought about pressing a kiss to her forehead, then took a mental step back. It was crazy. Sheer lunacy. But he still wanted to.

God knew he didn't get everything he wanted.

"Thank you," he said, his voice husky. "For Brad."

She took a few steps backward, leaning on the golf club, the dog matching her step for step. "Go home, Steven. Take care."

Friday, September 30_} 7:30 P.M.

Steven pulled into his driveway and simply sat for a moment, trying to quiet the riot in his mind. He was having a devil of a time focusing on anything. His brain would flip from Brad to Samantha Eggleston to Jenna Marshall's violet eyes and her soft voice telling him to have courage. Then back to Brad and the whole damn slide show would begin again, accompanied by the rhythmic throbbing in his head. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel and closed his eyes.

Brad. His son who had changed before his eyes. His son who was the most important person in the world right now. His son who needed him. His son who had responded to every overture in the last month with hostility and a defensive wall Steven had found unscalable.

A knock on his car-door window had him nearly jumping out of his skin. But he had to smile at the little freckled face whose nose was currently smushed against the glass, whose mouth was distorted into a terrible grimace by little fingers. Steven narrowed his eyes, then responded with a horrific face of his own, his eyelids pulled back, every tooth exposed, then stuck out his tongue.

They held their individual poses, each waiting the other out until Nicky folded and pulled back from the window. There had been a long time when Nicky couldn't play. He still rarely laughed and never slept through the night. Steven could only hope soon they'd reach the end of those horrible days, never to return. He climbed from the car and pulled his baby into his arms, hugging him tight. Nicky pushed against him, struggling against the hug and Steven immediately loosened his hold. It had been that way since "the incident" six months ago. Physically unharmed, his son's spirit had been broken. Steven missed Nicky's giggles and spontaneous laughter.

But he missed Nicky's hugs most of all.

Steven hoisted his littlest boy high.

"Sorry, baby."

Nicky pursed his lips. "I'm not a baby."

Steven sighed. "Sorry, I forgot. You keep doing that growing thing, no matter how many times I tell you to stop."

Nicky lifted a brow. "The book didn't work either."

Steven chuckled. It was their favorite parley these days. He'd threaten to stunt Nicky's growth by putting a book on his head and Nicky would grab the heaviest book he could carry. His little arms were growing stronger-last week he'd grabbed the thickest dictionary on Steven's shelf. "I'll just have to get a bigger book."

"Can't. Aren't any bigger in the whole house, Daddy."

'Then we'll have to go to the library." He lifted Nicky to his shoulders and jogged toward the house, bouncing Nicky all the way. "Duck," he said just before they passed through the front door. Inside, Steven drew a deep breath. "Smells good. What was for supper?"

"Pot roast with mashed potatoes." Nicky wiggled until Steven set him on the hardwood floor. "Aunt Helen saved you a plate. She said you were going to get fat from all that fast food."

"And wasn't that just so kind of her," Steven said dryly.

Nicky poked him in the stomach. His still very flat stomach. "She said you'd never be able to catch a pretty wife if you got fat."

Steven rolled his eyes. Catching him a wife was Helen's mission in life. He crouched down and motioned Nicky to come closer. "We guys got to stick together. Warn me true. Does Helen have a new lady lined up?"

Nicky covered his mouth with both hands. And winked.

Steven laughed aloud even as he dreaded this latest battle with his aunt. A tenacious matchmaker, she never gave up. He ruffled Nicky's red hair. "Benedict Arnold."

"Who's that?"

"A traitor." Steven straightened and looked around, seeing neither of his other two sons. "Where are your brothers, honey?"

"Matt's playing video games." His face fell. "Brad's in his room."

Steven looked up the stairs, wishing he knew what to say when he reached the top. "Can you do me a favor, Nicky? Can you tell Aunt Helen I need to take a shower and head back out?"

"But-" Nicky started, then sighed. "Okay, Daddy."

The beleaguered acceptance hurt more than a temper tantrum. He was spending more and more time away from home these days. "Nicky, what do you say we go fishing next weekend?"

His baby's face brightened marginally. "Promise?"