“Chester wasn’t there that day, were you, dear? If he had been, he would have gotten Cuddles out of the tree for Gracie.”

“The last time I saw him was the Saturday before that,” Mr. Lattimer said. “I always regretted not getting a chance to talk to him.”

“Why didn’t you, Granddad?”

“I went to the factory that night to get a tool I needed. I was making a cradle for Tricia Schultz. Remember that, Nora?” He waited for his wife’s head nod. “Tricia saw a picture of a fancy British nursery in a magazine and nothing would do for her but that I duplicate the cradle. She’s one of our godchildren, so I told her I’d try even though she hadn’t left me much time. The baby was due within a couple of weeks.”

“So, you went to the factory on a Saturday night?” Dylan asked. “And my father was there?”

“When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw him closing his car trunk. I thought he’d see me driving up and wait. But by the time I parked the truck, his taillights were disappearing down the road.”

“If you only saw him at a distance, late at night,” Gracie said, “how do you know it was Dylan’s father?”

Mr. Lattimer harrumphed. “I guess I’d recognize that cream-colored Mercedes of his, shinin’ like a pearl in the moonlight.”

Dylan remembered that land yacht. A beauty and hard to mistake. His mother had kept it at the Connecticut house, even after they moved to New York. “Are you sure it was the week before he died?”

Mr. Lattimer looked to his wife for confirmation.

“That fits with Gretchen’s Halloween birthday,” Mrs. Lattimer said.

Dylan’s glance sought Gracie’s across the room. She seemed to be trying to fit the pieces together, too. “The same weekend Lana disappeared.”

“Ay-uh, it was.” The old man’s head bobbed up and down like a buoy at sea. “The next day David came by with young Clay in tow. He left the boy with us while he filed the missing person report on Lana. You and Clay helped me plane the cradle rockers, remember that?”

Dylan’s stomach lurched over the coincidence that placed his father in the vicinity on the night of Lana Harris’s disappearance. His throat constricted, cutting off any comment he might have made.

“Of course.” Gracie chose to steer the conversation down a more innocuous road. “I always loved helping you in the workshop. After you come home, you’ll have to show it to Dylan. I’ll bet he’s never seen anything like it.”

“It’s not much compared to the setup we had at Old Maine.” Mr. Lattimer shrugged. “But it suits my needs.”

“I peeked inside the other day.” Dylan understood from Gracie’s veiled look that she wanted him to give the questions a rest. “But I didn’t know what half the stuff was. And I could sure use some carpentry advice before I tackle my cabin.”

“Have you been down to the dock? The last time I was out that way it looked in need of repair. Getting the cabin in livable condition must be your top priority, but the dock could be dangerous if someone tried to put a boat in down there.”

“I’ll check it out this afternoon. I have a lot of good memories of sailing and boating with my dad.”

Gracie scanned the medical chart again, then checked her watch and pushed a button.

A nurse Gracie knew from high school entered and took the chart from Gracie. “Gracie, I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Did you know Mindy’s back in the hospital?” The woman picked up Chester’s arm and wrapped it in a blood pressure cuff. “I was hoping you can stop by and see her. You know, not as a doctor, since you’re not licensed in this state, just as a friend.”

“Is it her asthma again, Gina?”

“Yep. Every time we think she’s doing fine, it flares up again, and she doesn’t bounce back as quick as she should.”

“I haven’t seen her in ages. Does she still have that American Girl collection? I’ll stop in later with something new for her.”

“Thanks, Gracie. You’re so easy to talk to, she always relaxes around you.” Gina rolled her eyes and checked Chester’s temperature. “Not like some of the other doctors that scare her.”

“You take good care of Granddad and I’ll look in on Mindy.”

“Sure thing,” Gina agreed. “He and I get along great, don’t we, Chester?”

Dylan and Gracie made their goodbyes and left Gina with her patient. They boarded the elevator and stood across from one another. Dylan was content to watch her. Gracie fidgeted beneath his regard.

“Are you going to check on Clay’s trust?” She tripped out of the elevator and into the lobby. He steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

“I’ll do what I can by phone.” They turned in opposite directions at the hospital entrance. “Will I see you later?”

“Sure, I’ll be around.” She backed a couple of steps away, hesitated, then returned. “Why’d you decide to have the DNA testing?”

Now it was his turn to fidget. “I still don’t believe Clayton’s my brother. But if he is, he deserves better treatment than he’s gotten from us.” He shrugged at her raised eyebrows. “Grandfather always said ‘Bradfords take care of their own.’”

She drew his head down and gave him a long, hot, steamy kiss that sizzled his lips, fried his brain, and made his cock as stiff as a poker.

“Thank you,” she said as she slipped away.

Hell, he’d agree Clayton was his clone for another kiss like that.

“You’re both assigned to the strawberry team,” Gracie informed a pair of ice cream volunteers at the church. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the noise in the social hall where members of the congregation manufactured the last batches of frozen heaven for the start of the festival the next day.

“Don’t worry about us, Gracie.” Jeannie lifted a bib apron over her head and tied it behind her ample frame. “Our strawberry will be so good that people will come back for seconds.”

Gracie leaned in to speak confidentially. “Gran always says your ice cream is the best.”

“She says that about anyone who volunteers.” Jeannie’s cackle shook her row of chins. “Dishing out compliments is how your grandmother gets everyone to help every year.”

“True,” Reverend Jonathon Peterman chimed in from a nearby table. “Gracious volunteers and generous praise are the keys to our success.”

His wife, Polly, provided another team with a quart of chopped cherries. “I love how everyone in the congregation pulls together to work on worthwhile projects.”

“The festival is a good way to meet people. Sooner or later, everyone stops by to help.”

“Even Clayton.” The reverend nodded at someone over Gracie’s shoulder. “Good to see you outside the hospital, Clay.”

“Hello, Reverend and Mrs. Peterman.” Clay stopped beside Gracie, tense and taut as a bow. “Gracie.”

“Didn’t David come with you?” the reverend asked. “I thought I saw his name on the list of volunteers tonight.”

“He’s not feeling well. I offered to take his place. Would you stop by to see him tomorrow, Reverend? I think he’s doing too much and should cut back. Maybe he’ll listen to you better than he does me.”

The reverend shook his head as he mashed bananas. “I’ll talk to him, but I don’t know if it’ll do much good.”

“You know what a strong sense of duty he has.” Gracie fought the urge to drop everything and go check on him. “He’ll never say no if someone needs him.”

Clay brushed his hair off his forehead. “That’s usually his greatest attribute. But right now, it’s a flaw where his health is concerned.”

“I’m surprised he let you come to work for him tonight,” Polly said. “He must really feel bad.”

“He wasn’t happy about it. Put me to work wherever you want, but I’d like to talk to Gracie first.” He shot her a guarded look. “Do you have a minute?”

“Oh, my yes,” Polly answered for her. “I can hold down the fort while she takes a break. No problem.”

“Thanks, Polly. Hang on a second, Clay.” Gracie opened one of the freezers, took out a small plastic bowl, snagged a couple of spoons, and led the way to the church parlor