"So, how much aphrodisiac do you put in those cookies?" he asked her.

She glanced at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Ever since I tasted your oatmeal raisin, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind."

"Really? I could've sworn I put all the aphrodisiac in the macadamia nut."

"In that case I'll take three," he said. "I'm Jim, and you've seduced me with your baked goods."

"Then you'd better stay away from my three-bean salad. It'll ruin you for all other women."

"If I buy all the three-bean salad, will you marry me and have my children?"

"Well, I would, Jim, but I've taken a sacred oath to stay free to bake for all the world." She capped his coffee, bagged it. "Do you really want those cookies?"

"You bet. How about a clambake? Some friends and I are sharing a house. We're going to do in some clams tonight."

"Tonight a clambake, tomorrow a house in the suburbs and a cocker spaniel." She rang him up, took his money with a smile. "Better safe than sorry. But thanks."

"You're breaking my heart," he said, and sighing heavily, he walked away.

"Oh, man, he is so cute." Peg craned her neck to keep him in sight until he'd gone downstairs. "You're really not interested?"

"No." Nell took off her apron, rolled her shoulders.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I gave him a shot?"

"Be my guest. There's plenty of bean salad in the fridge. Oh, and Peg? Thanks for being understanding about yesterday."

"Hey, everybody gets weird now and then. See you Monday."

See you Monday, Nell thought. It was just that simple. She was a member of the team, she had friends. She had deflected an overture from an attractive man without getting the jitters.

In fact, she enjoyed it, the way she used to enjoy such things. The day might come when she didn't feel compelled to deflect.

One day she might go to a clambake with a man and some of his friends. Talk, laugh, enjoy the companionship. Light, casual friendships. She could do that. There couldn't be any serious relationships in her future even if she could learn to handle one emotionally.

She was, after all, still legally married.

But now, just now, that fact was more of a safety net than the nightmare it had been. She was free to be whoever she wanted to be, but not free enough to be bound again, not to any man.

She decided to treat herself to an ice cream cone, and a detour to the beach. People called her by name as she passed, and that was a quiet thrill.

As she crossed the sand, she spotted Pete Stahr and his infamous dog. Both looked sheepish as Zack stood beside them, hands on hips.

He never wore a hat as he'd advised her to do when gardening. As a result his hair was lighter at the tips and almost always disordered from the ocean breeze. He rarely wore his badge either, she noted, but the gun rode in the holster at his hip almost casually.

It occurred to her that if he had stopped by the café and asked her to go to a clambake, she might not have brushed him off.

When the dog lifted his paw hopefully, Zack shook his head, pointed to the leash that Pete held. Once the leash was secured, man and dog walked off, heads hung low.

Zack turned, the sun bouncing off his dark glasses. And she knew instinctively that he was looking at her. Nell braced herself and went to him.

"Sheriff."

"Nell. Pete let his dog off the leash again. Mutt smells like a fish house. Ice cream's dripping."

"It's hot." Nell licked at the cone and decided to get it over with. "About yesterday-"

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Good. Gonna share any of that?"

"What? Oh. Sure." She held out the cone, felt a little tingle in the blood when he licked just above her fingertips. Funny, she thought, she hadn't gotten any tingles from the cute guy with the clambake. "You're not going to ask?"

"Not as long as you'd rather I didn't." Yes, he'd looked at her. And had seen the deliberate squaring of her shoulders before she started toward him. "Why don't you walk with me a while? There's a nice breeze off the water."

"I was wondering… what does Lucy do all day when you're out upholding the law?"

"This and that. Dog chores."

That tickled a laugh out of her. "Dog chores?"

"Sure. Some days a dog's got to hang around the house, roll in the grass, and think long thoughts. Other times, she comes on in to the office with me, when she's in the mood. Swims, chews up my shoes. I'm thinking about buying her a brother or sister."

"I was thinking about getting a cat. I'm not sure I'd be able to train a puppy. A cat would be easier. I saw a notice on the board in the market for free kittens."

"The Stubens girl's cat. They've still got one or two left, last I heard. Their place is over on Bay. White saltbox, blue shutters."

She nodded, stopped. Impulse, she reminded herself, had served her well so far. Why stop following it? "Zack, I'm going to try out a new recipe tonight. Tuna and linguini with sun-dried tomatoes and feta. I could use a guinea pig."

He lifted her hand, took another taste of her dripping ice cream. "Well, it happens I don't have any pressing plans for tonight, and as sheriff I do what I can to serve the needs of the community. What time?"

"Is seven all right with you?"

"Works for me."

"Fine, I'll see you then. Bring an appetite," she said as she hurried away.

"Count on it," he said, and tipped down his dark glasses to watch her dash back toward the village.

At seven, the appetizers were ready, and the wine was chilling. Nell had bought a secondhand table and planned to spend part of her day off scraping and painting it. But for now she covered the scarred wood and peeling green paint with a sheet.

It stood on her back lawn, along with the two old chairs she'd picked up for a song. They weren't particularly pretty at the moment, but they had potential. And they were hers.

She'd set the table with two plates, two bowls, and wineglasses-all purchases from the island thrift shop. Nothing matched, but she thought the result was cheerful and charming.

And as far from the formal china and heavy silver of her past as possible.

Her garden was coming along well, and the tomato and pepper plants, the squash and zucchini, would all be put in the following morning.

She was very close to broke again, and completely content.

"Well, now, doesn't that look sweet?"

Nell turned to see Gladys Macey standing on the edge of her lawn, gripping an enormous white purse.

"Just as pretty as a picture."

"Mrs. Macey. Hello."

"Hope you don't mind me dropping by this way. I'd've called, but you haven't got a phone."

"No, of course not. Um, can I get you something to drink?"

"No, no, don't you fuss. I've come by on business."

"Business?"

"Yes, indeed." Her tidy helmet of black hair barely moved as she gave a sharp nod. "Carl and I got our thirtieth anniversary coming up last part of July."

"Congratulations."

"You can say that again. Two people stick it out for three decades, it's saying something. Since it is, I want a party, and I just finished telling Carl he's not getting out of putting on a suit for it, either. I was wondering if you'd take care of putting the refreshments together for me."

"Oh. Well."

"I want a catered affair," Gladys said definitely. "And I want it spiffy. When my girl got married, two years ago last April, we hired a caterer from the mainland. Too snippy for my taste, and too dear for Carl's, but we didn't have much to choose from. I don't figure you're going to get snippy with me or charge me a king's ransom for a bowl of cold shrimp."

"Mrs. Macey, I appreciate you thinking of me, but I'm not set up to cater."