Still she loved to listen. There was nothing that soothed or charmed her more than music.

Suzanna, lost somewhere in her own heart, sighed a little as the last notes died.

“That was beautiful.” C.C. walked over to kiss her sister's hair. “I'm rusty.”

“Not from where I'm standing.”

Smiling, Suzanna reached back to pat her hand and felt the gauze. “Oh, C.C, what did you do?”

“Just scraped my knuckles.”

“Did you clean it well? When was your last tetanus shot?”

“Slow down, Mommy. It's clean as a whistle and I had a tetanus shot six months ago.” C.C. sat on the bench, facing out into the room. “Where is everyone?”

“The kids are fast asleep—I hope. Wiggle your fingers.” C.C. sighed and complied.

With a satisfied nod, Suzanna continued. “Lilah's out on a date. Mandy's looking over some ledger or other. Aunt Coco went up hours ago to have a bubble bath and put cucumber slices on her eyes.”

“What about him?”

“In bed, I imagine. It's nearly midnight.”

“Is it?” Then she smiled. “You were waiting up for me.”

“I was not” Caught, Suzanna laughed. “Exactly. Did you fix Mr. Finney's

truck?”

“He left his lights on again.” She yawned hugely. “I think he does it on purpose just so I can come over and recharge his battery.” She stretched her arms to the ceiling. “We had lobster and dandelion wine.”

“If he wasn't old enough to be your grandfather, I'd say he has a crush on you.”

“He does. And it's mutual. So, did I miss anything around here?” “Aunt Coco wants to have a séance.”

“Not again.”

Suzanna ran her hands lightly Over the keys, improvising. “Tomorrow night, right after dinner. She insists there's something Great-Grandmother Bianca wants us to know—Trent, too.”

“What does he have to do with it?”

Suzanna brushed at C.C.'s bangs. “If we decide to sell him the house, he'll more or less inherit her.”

“Is that what we're going to do, Suzanna?” “It might be what we have to do.”

C.C. rose to toy with the tassels of the floor lamp. “My business is doing pretty good. I could take out a loan against it.”

“No.” “But—”

“No,” Suzanna repeated. “You're not going to risk your future on the past.” “It's my future.”

“And it's our past.” She rose, as well. When that light came into Suzanna's eyes, even C.C. knew better than to argue. “I know how much the house means to you, to all of us. Coming back here after Bax—after things didn't work out,” Suzanna said carefully, “helped keep me sane. Every time I watch Alex or Jenny slide down the banister, I remember doing it myself. I see Mama sitting here at the piano, hear Papa telling stories in front of the fire.”

“Then how can you even think of selling?”

“Because I learned to face realities, however unpleasant.” She lifted a hand to C.C.'s cheek. Only five years separated them. Sometimes Suzanna felt it was fifty. “Sometimes things happen to you, or around you, that you just can't control. When that happens, you gather up what's important in your life, and go on.”

“But the house is important.”

“How much longer do you really think we can hang on?”

“We could sell the lithographs, the Limoges, a few other things.”

“And drag out the unhappiness.” She knew entirely too much about that. “If it's time to let go, I think we should let go with some dignity.”

“Then you've already made up your mind.”

“No.” Suzanna sighed and sat again. “Every time I think I have, I change it. Before dinner, the children and I walked along the cliffs.” Eyes dreamy, she stared through the darkened window. “When I stand there, looking out over the bay, I feel something, something so incredible, it breaks my heart I don't know what's right, C.C. I don't know what's best. But I'm afraid I know what has to be done.”

“It hurts.” “I know.”

C.C. sat beside her, rested her head on Suzanna's shoulder. “Maybe there'll be a miracle.”

Trent watched them from the darkened hallway. He wished he hadn't heard them. He wished he didn't care. But he had heard, and for reasons he didn't choose to explore, he did care. Quietly he went back up the stairs.

“Children,” Coco said with what she was certain was the last of her sanity, “why don't you read a nice book?”

“I want to play war.” Alex swished an imaginary saber through the air. “Death to the last man.”

And the child was only six, Coco thought. What would he be in ten years' time? “Crayons,” she said hopefully, cursing rainy Saturday afternoons. “Why don't you both draw beautiful pictures? We can hang them on the refrigerator, like an art show.”

“Baby stuff,” Jenny said, a cynic at five. She hefted an invisible laser rifle and fired. “Z-z-zap! You're zapped, Alex, and totally disengrated.”

“Disintergrated, dummy, and I am not either. I threw up my force field.” “Nuh-uh.”

They eyed each other with the mutual dislike only siblings can feel after being cooped up on a Saturday. By tacit agreement, they switched to hand

to-hand combat. As they wrestled over the faded Aubusson carpet, Coco cast her gaze to the ceiling.

At least the match was taking place in Alex's room, so little harm could be done. She was tempted to go out and close the door, leaving them to finish up themselves, but she was, after all, responsible.

“Someone's going to get hurt,” she began, in the age-old refrain of adult to child. “Remember what happened last week when Jenny gave you a bloody nose, Alex?”

“She did not.” Masculine pride rose to the forefront as he straggled to pin his agile sister to the mat.

“Did too, did too,” she chanted, hoping to do so again. She scissored her quick little legs over him.

“Excuse me,” Trent said from the doorway. “I seem to be interrupting.”

“Not at all.” Coco fluffed her hair. “Just some youthful high spirits. Children, say hello to Mr. St. James.”

“’Lo,” Alex said as he struggled to get his sister into a headlock.

Trent's answering grin struck Coco with inspiration. “Trenton, might I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“All the girls are working today, as you know, and I have just one or two quick, little errands to run. Would you mind terribly keeping an eye on the children for a short time?”

“An eye on them?”

“Oh, they're no trouble at all.” She beamed at him, then down at her grandniece and grandnephew. “Jenny, don't bite your brother. Calhouns fight fair.” Unless they fight dirty, she thought “I'll be back before you know I'm gone,” she promised, easing past him.

“Coco, I'm not sure that I—”

“Oh, and don't forget about the séance tonight.” She hurried down the steps and left him to fend for himself.

Jenny and Alex stopped wrestling to stare owlishly at him. They would right tooth and nail but would unite without hesitation against an outside force.

“We don't like baby-sitters,” Alex told him dangerously.

Trent rocked back on his heels. “I'm already sure I don't like being one.” Alex's arm was around his sister's shoulders now, rather than her neck.

Hers slipped round his waist “We don't like it more.”

Trent nodded. If he could handle a staff of fifty, he could certainly handle two sulky children. “Okay.”

“When we went back to Boston last summer for a visit, we had a sitter.” Jenny eyed him with suspicion. “We made everybody's life a living helL”

Trent turned the chuckle into a cough. “Is that so?”

“Our father said we did,” Alex corroborated. “And he was glad to see the back of us.”

The infant profanity was no longer amusing. Trent struggled to keep the burn of anger out of his eyes and merely nodded. Baxter Dumont was obviously a prince among men. “I once locked my nanny in the closet and climbed out the window.”

Alex and Jenny exchanged interested glances. “That's pretty good,” Alex decided.

“She screamed for two hours,” Trent improvised.

“We put a snake in our baby-sitter's bed and she ran out of the house in her nightgown.” Jenny smiled smugly and waited to see if he could top it.

“Nicely done.” What now? he wondered. “Have you any dolls?” “Dolls are gross,” Jenny said, loyal to her brother.

“Off with their heads!” Alex shouted, sending her into giggles. He sprang up, flourishing his imaginary sword. “I'm the evil pirate, and you're my prisoners.”

“Uh-uh, I had to be prisoner last time.” Jenny scrambled to her feet. “It's my turn to be the evil pirate.”

“I said it first”

She gave him a hefty shove. “Cheater, cheater, cheater.” “Baby, baby, baby,” he jeered, and pushed her back.

“Hold it!” Trent shouted before they could dive for each other. The unfamiliar masculine tone had them stopping in their tracks. “I'm the evil pirate,” he told them, “and you're both about to walk the plank.”

He enjoyed it. Their children's imagination might have been a bit bloodyminded, but they played fair when the rules were set. There would have been any number of people he knew socially who would have been stunned to see Trenton St. James JJI crawling around on the floor or firing a water pistol, but he could remember being closed in on rainy days himself.

The play went from pirates to space marauders to Indian rampage. At the

end of a particularly gruesome battle, the three of them were sprawled on the floor. Alex, rubber tomahawk in hand, played dead so long he fell asleep.

“I won,” Jenny said, then with her feather headdress falling over her eyes, cuddled against Trent's side. She, too, in the enviable way of children, was asleep in moments.