Tess Haviland had not asked for help repairing her cellar window. He'd decided it was best if he didn't think too much about her and her blue eyes, her artistic hands, why she kept lying about what she'd seen last night.

Across the street, over the rocks and across the narrow, sandy beach, the ocean beckoned. He was already teaching Dolly how to sail, and he wondered if a love of the sea was in Thorne blood. He doubted it. They'd been a pragmatic lot. To most of them, the sea was probably just where they'd made their living. It was what they knew.

Except, perhaps, for Jedidiah. He'd been a romantic, a man who'd accused a prominent local citizen of beating his wife, of cowardice and a lack of honor. He'd been an outsider in Beacon-by-the-Sea, the upstart who'd just finished building his small estate on a point near the village. Whatever else he was, Jedidiah had loved the sea. Andrew was sure of it.

Lauren Montague's cream-colored Mercedes pulled alongside the road in front of his house. The Mercedes was an older model, no doubt because Lauren wouldn't want to look ostentatious. She climbed out of the driver's seat and waved at him over the hood, the sunlight catching the highlights of her hair.

Andrew got to his feet and walked over to the porch steps, wanting to avoid having to ask her to have a seat. It wasn't gracious of him, but Lauren wasn't high on his list of people he wanted popping over for a visit.

She tucked strands of her straight, windblown hair behind her ears as she came up the walk, skirting Dolly's bicycle. "I hope I'm not interrupting-I'll only be a minute."

"Not a problem. What's up?" She smiled. "It's a gorgeous day, isn't it?" "I suppose." "Oh, Andrew. You're such a Puritan." Not bloody likely, he thought. "I brought a present for Dolly," she said. She stood at the bottom of the steps, as if not sure she should proceed further. She was always self-con-sciously cheerful and energetic around him, worse since Ike's abrupt departure last year. Although they'd never discussed it, Andrew knew she felt guilty over her brother's role in Joanna's decision to climb Mount McKinley, blaming herself in part for not reining him in. Periodically, she'd show up with gifts for Dolly, as if they could provide absolution for herself.

Andrew walked down and joined her on the walk. He could hear the tide going out, seagulls crying as they hunted for easy food. "She's upstairs looking for a stuffed animal."

"I can just leave it with you." She opened her expensive leather tote and withdrew a clear plastic bag. Through it, Andrew could see purple and red flowers, frothy white flowers, a bit of pink ribbon. Lauren handled it gently. "It's a garland. I was in a crafty mood and made it myself, with flowers from my garden. Dolly can wear it as a crown. I know she loves her crowns."

She thrust the garland at Andrew and stepped back quickly, as if she didn't dare get too close. He eyed the flowers. "I'll give it to her when she comes downstairs."

"Don't make her write a thank-you note like last time. It was adorable, but, Andrew, she's only six. She can't be expected to write thank-you notes."

After Lauren's last gift, Dolly had scrawled "Thank you" in milky pink gel ink and had drawn a picture of a cat. She'd spent a lot of time on the cat. Andrew shrugged. "Okay. No thank-you note."

A knowing smile lifted the corners of Lauren's mouth. She was an odd mix of contrasts. Elegant, breezy, gracious, often tactless. Andrew hoped her need to give Dolly little gifts would run its course.

She shifted, glancing out at the street. She could hold her own with high-powered executives, at fundraisers and cocktail parties, with her husband's brainy friends, but Andrew and his six-year-old daughter put her at a loss. "I suppose I should be running along."

"Thanks for stopping by."

She gave him a chiding smile. "Always so polite."

"Not always."

She left, and Andrew gave Dolly the garland when she burst back onto the porch with a stuffed whale he'd forgotten she had. Of course, she loved the garland. She gasped in delight, and after he helped her open the bag, she put the flower crown on her head.

"Oh, Daddy, I am a princess!"

He laughed, and they set about pouring more lemonade and playing stuffed animals. Dolly tried to boss him around, wanting him to do precisely what she wanted him to do when she wanted him to do it, but he held his own.

When she got home, Lauren grabbed the poodles and let them chase her around the yard until she was panting and sweating. The dogs collapsed in the shade, their little chests heaving. She wished she could lie there with them in the grass, knowing nothing more than they did.

She didn't know where Richard was. She didn't care.

This was her problem, and hers alone.

She sank onto a teak bench, surrounded by rhododendrons and white lilacs. She could hear the trickle and gurgle of the nearby waterfall fountain, a new addition to her gardens, carefully constructed of stone and water plants. Ordinarily she would have found its sounds soothing, but today they were irritating, everything setting her on edge.

After leaving Andrew's house, she'd turned around on the dead-end side street where Jedidiah Thorne had built his carriage house. Tess Haviland's car was parked in the driveway. She was out of sight, probably calculating whether she'd do better selling the place as is or fixing it up first. As is wouldn't cause Lauren a problem: she could snap it up herself. But if Tess decided to fix it up, or if she took an interest in the carriage house and kept it for herself, that could be a disaster.

Lauren brushed away tears that were hotter even than her flushed skin. If only she could go back a year, arrive at the carriage house sooner…and stop Andrew Thorne from killing her brother.

It must have been an accident, an act of passion and pent-up rage. Oh, God, she thought, who could blame him? He was raising his and Joanna's little girl alone. Ike had infected his wife like a virus, insidiously eroding all her defenses.

What must Andrew think now, with Tess next door?

He hadn't looked concerned when Lauren had brought him the garland. Despite his rough upbringing, he was nothing if not stoic, losing control only that one time in the carriage house, with tragic results.

The thought of him propelled Lauren to her feet. All her life, she'd been the one in the background doing what needed to be done to protect her brother, cleaning up after he'd been rude, impulsive, reckless or otherwise impossible.

She'd always made sure his excesses didn't hurt anyone else. She would do so again, no matter how unappealing her options, how much she still loved her brother and always would, and missed him-no matter how much she hated what she'd known for a year.

Her beautiful, outrageous brother was dead.

She had to concern herself with the living, with what was right.

Marcy, her favorite of the three poodles, rolled onto her back, and Lauren laughed, sinking onto the grass and rubbing the animal's stomach. "You know just what I need, don't you?" She felt the dog's quick heartbeat, let it strengthen her resolve. Marcy had been hit by a car two years ago, and yet, as tiny and broken as she was, she'd pulled through. "Let a little of your luck rub off on me, sweetheart, okay? Don't be stingy, because I'll need it."