Paul had been so thoroughly prepared that absolutely nothing had gone wrong. But what Jayne had thought would be a carefree week of romping through the park and sleeping out under the stars had turned into a test of their survival skills.

The same thing had happened when they’d taken up tennis. She’d watched Laureen and Alan play and it looked like fun, so she’d asked Paul if he’d pick up a couple of racquets and a can of balls while she took care of the rest of the things she had to do in town. She should have known better. Paul had purchased every conceivable item of tennis equipment, all the proper clothing the salesman insisted they’d need, and a stack of instructional videos. He’d even arranged for them to take lessons from a pro three times a week. Naturally, the fun had gone out of it.

Jayne sighed. Paul researched a subject to death while she tended to go off half-cocked. There simply had to be a happy medium.

“What is wrong, Jayne?”

Jayne opened her eyes to find Paul staring at her. “I was just thinking about tennis, that’s all. And how it’s no fun anymore.”

“I know. I have thought similarly. Perhaps it would be more enjoyable if we failed to keep score.”

“You’d go for that?” Jayne was clearly surprised. “I thought you were keeping a log of how many matches we won.”

“I deep-fived it.”

“You mean deep-sixed. Then you’re willing to play just for fun?”

Paul nodded and glanced at his watch. “We can go to the court before brunch. Unless you would rather argue first.”

“But I don’t want to . . . oh, you mean that kind of argue.” Jayne began to smile. “I’d love to, but I can’t think of anything to argue about.”

“Speak the words grumble-mumble. And then walla, walla, artichoke.”

“What?” Jayne pulled back a little to stare at him.

“It is a crowd noise. A month ago, I became the additional in a movie of the television.”

“You were an extra? How did it happen? Tell me!”

“I was walking to the office of Marc, and the director invited me to join them.”

“And you did? Just like that?” Jayne was clearly surprised. It was totally out of character for Paul to do anything spontaneous.

Paul grinned. “I knew you would say to have fun and I did. They first divided the group into two sections. One was to speak the grumble-mumble, and the other the walla, walla, artichoke. The director told us it would simulate the sound of many persons arguing. Which words do you choose to speak, Jayne?”

Jayne frowned slightly. “I think we’d better postpone this, Paul. We’re supposed to meet the gang for brunch in less than an hour.”

“It does not matter to me if we are late.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No. You are of more importance than the clock which tells the time.”

Jayne wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Paul had definitely mellowed.

Hal popped the last of a strawberry muffin in his mouth and waved Jayne away as she passed the plate. “I had three already and I couldn’t eat another bite. We’d better save a couple for Clayton and Rachael.”

“What’s keeping them?” Vanessa looked thoughtful. “I knocked at their door on the way up here, but they didn’t answer. I know Clayton’s not exactly the passionate type, but maybe . . .”

“That’s enough, Vanessa!” Hal cut her off before she could finish. “They probably just overslept like Jayne and Paul. Yesterday was quite a day, right, Jayne?”

“Right.” Jayne felt the blush rise to her cheeks and hoped she didn’t turn the color of the red cowgirl shirt she was wearing. She wasn’t sure whether Hal was referring to Paul’s return, or to everything else that had happened. “Anyone want another piece of Laureen’s quiche?”

Alan rubbed his stomach. “Just one more. My wife makes the best quiche I ever tasted.”

“That’s sweet, Alan.” Marc winked at him. “And pretty sly, too. Did you marry Laureen to get a controlling interest in her quiche?”

“No, he didn’t,” Laureen laughed. “I was a terrible cook when we got married.”

Vanessa looked puzzled. “I don’t get it. If you were a terrible cook, I don’t see why in the world he’d ever . . .”

“Vanessa!” Hal clamped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t believe you were ever a bad cook, Laureen.”

“I was, though. The first time I made breakfast for Alan, I burned the toast and the eggs were as hard as rocks.”

“And I didn’t even notice.” Alan smiled at her. “I was thinking about how pretty you looked across the table. I could have been eating cardboard.”

Grace laughed. “Now that’s true love. Moira won’t even let me try to cook. She says I break too many dishes. Five years ago, right before that last big party we had for all Moira’s clients on Thanksgiving, or maybe it was Halloween, I really can’t remember which, I had all the china sitting out on the counter, two dozen salad bowls and two dozen plates and two dozen cups and saucers in that wonderful old-fashioned gold leaf design and I reached for the silver coffeepot and . . .” Grace cut herself off in midsentence and turned to look at Moira in alarm. “Why aren’t you stopping me, Moira? I know I’m babbling.”

“I was waiting to see how long you’d go on.” Moira reached for Grace’s hand under the table and squeezed it, and then she turned to the rest of the group. “Gracie’s impossible in the kitchen. I don’t see how she can be so graceful on the stage and such a total fu . . . klutz in the kitchen.”

Jayne glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. “Do you think I should go down to check on Clayton and Rachael? They’re over an hour late.”

“I will go also, Jayne.” Paul stood up and bowed. “Excuse me. And please to hold down the rampart until we return.”

“It’s hold down the fort,” Jayne corrected automatically. “Better make some more coffee, Ellen. I think I drank that whole pot all by myself.”

Jayne frowned as they got into the elevator. “Better stop at our place, honey, just in case. Rachael gave me a key when they delivered the new dishwasher and I think I still have it.”

“They purchased a new dishwasher?” Paul looked surprised. “The one they had was under warranty.”

“I know, but Rachael bought a whole bunch of new glasses that wouldn’t fit in the rack so they traded it in for a different model. Hold the elevator. I’ll be right back.”

When they got down to the fifth floor, Paul rang the doorbell repeatedly with no result. “I am not sure that we should use the key, Jayne. It is an invasion of their privacy.”

“Oh fiddlesticks! They won’t mind. Come on, Paul. Let’s roust them out of bed.”

The apartment was silent as Jayne and Paul walked from room to room. The bed looked as if it had been slept in, but Rachael and Clayton were nowhere in sight.

Paul was clearly unsettled by the sight of the deserted rooms. “This is very curious. Where could they be?”

“Uh, oh.” Jayne rushed to the hall closet and looked inside. “Their coats are gone and so are their boots. Remember how Clayton was so hot to take the snowmobile last night? I think we’d better check to see if it’s still here.”

Several minutes later, they had their answer as they stared at the empty spot where Paul had parked the Arctic Cat. There was nothing to do but go back to the spa.

Everyone was stunned, most of all Grace. “I can’t believe that Rachael would let him start out on the thing in the dead of night.”

“Well, that’s exactly what they did.” Jayne gave a rueful laugh. “I swear, Clay doesn’t have the brains that God gave a barrel cactus!”

“Maybe they waited until morning,” Marc suggested. “It wouldn’t be as dangerous in the sunlight.”

Laureen shook her head. “I know for a fact they left before daybreak. I got up at six-thirty to start the quiche and I would have heard them.”

There was a long, tense silence while everyone imagined the worst. Then Ellen spoke up. “There was plenty of light last night. It was a full moon. I saw it from the Jacuzzi.”