"So far, so good."

He lifted his head, looked down at her. And his heart shuddered in his chest. "Something here. Some big something here."

"I don't think—"

"Yes, you do." Impatience, potent and unexpected, snapped out. "You may not want to think— I'm not real keen on it myself, but you do. I really hate using the obvious metaphor, but this is like turning a key in a lock. I can hear the goddamn click."

He pushed up, dragged an unsteady hand through his hair. "I'm not ready to hear any goddamn click."

She sat up quickly, brushed fussily at the front of her shirt. It threw her off balance that she could find his temper both irritating and arousing at the same time. "You think / want to hear one? I've got enough on my mind right now without you clicking around in my head. I need to find the first key. I've got to work this out. I need to find a job. And I don't even want a stupid job. I want…"

"What? What do you want?"

"I don't know ." She scrambled to her feet. There was a fury inside her. She didn't know where it came from or where it needed to go. Turning away, she stared at the house across the river, folded her arms firmly over her chest. "And I always know what I want."

"You're one up on me there." He rose, but didn't go to her. Whatever was pumping inside him— anger, need, fear—was too unstable to risk touching her.

The breeze was playing with the ends of her hair, as he had. All those tumbling clouds the color of old gold, like something out of a painting. She looked so slim, so perfect, standing there, half turned away from him while the dying sun shot a thin line of fire along the rise of western hills.

"The only thing I've been absolutely sure I wanted… ever," he realized, "is you."

She glanced back as nervous wings began to stir in her belly. "I don't imagine I'm the only woman you've wanted to sleep with."

"No. Actually, the first was Joley Ridenbecker. We were thirteen. And that particular desire was never fulfilled."

"Now you're making a joke of it."

"I'm not. Not really." He stepped toward her and his voice was gentle. "I wanted Joley, as much as I knew what that meant at thirteen. It was intense, even painful, and kind of sweet. Eventually I found out what that meant. I wanted other women along the way. I even loved one, which is why I know the difference between wanting a woman, and wanting you. If it was just sex, it wouldn't piss me off."

"It's hardly my fault you're pissed off." She scowled at him. "And you don't look or sound as if you are."

"I tend to get really reasonable when I'm seriously annoyed. It's a curse." He picked up the ball Moe spat at his feet, then threw it with a strong whiplash of arm. "And if you think it's a joy to be able to see both sides of an argument, to see the validity on each end, let me tell you, it's a pain in the ass."

"Who was she7'

He shrugged, then picked up the ball Moe returned, threw it again. "Doesn't matter."

"I'd say it does. And that she still does."

"It just didn't work out."

"Fine. I should be getting back now." She walked back to kneel on the blanket and tidy the remains of their impromptu picnic.

"That's a skill I admire, and nobody does it like a woman. The implied 'fuck you,' " he explained, then shot the ball in the air for Moe once more. "She left me. Or I didn't go with her. Depends on your point of view. We were together the best part of a year. She was a reporter for the local station, moved up to weekend anchor, then evening anchor. She was good, and we got to have all these arguments and discussions over the impact and value of our particular news medium. Which is sexier than it may sound. Anyway, we planned to get married, move to New York. Eventually, on the moving part. Then she got an offer from an affiliate up there. She went. I stayed."

"Why did you stay?"

"Because I'm George fucking Bailey." The ball burst out of his hand again like a rocket. "I don't understand."

"George Bailey, giving up his dreams of travel and adventure to stay in his hometown and rescue the old savings and loan. I'm no Jimmy Stewart, but the Dispatch sure as hell turned out to be my savings and loan. My stepfather, Dana's dad, had been ill. My mother shifted some of the responsibilities of editor in chief to me. I assumed it was temporary, until Joe got back on his feet. But the doctors, and my mother, wanted him out of the cold winters. And they wanted, deserved, to enjoy a retirement period. She threatened that if I didn't take over for her at the paper, she would shut it down. My mother doesn't make idle threats."

With a humorless laugh, he tossed the ball again. "You can bet your ass she doesn't. A Flynn runs the Valley Dispatch or there is no Dispatch ."

Michael Flynn Hennessy, she thought. So Flynn was a family name and a legacy. "If she knew you wanted something different…"

He managed to smile. "She didn't want something different. I could've gone, just kicked the dust off my heels and gone with Lily to New York. And all the people who work at the paper would've been out of a job. Half of them, maybe more, wouldn't have been picked up by whoever started another paper. She knew I wouldn't go."

He studied the ball in his hand, turned it slowly, spoke softly. "She never did like Lily anyway."

"Flynn—"

He gave in to Moe's desperate excitement and heaved the ball. "Before I make it sound pitiful and pathetic—I did want to go, then. I loved Lily, then. But I didn't love her enough to pack up and go when she gave me the ultimatum. She didn't love me enough to stay, or to give me the time to work things out here and meet up with her."

Then you didn't love each other at all, Malory thought, but she remained silent.

"Less than a month after she'd landed in New York, she called and broke our engagement. She needed to concentrate on her career, couldn't handle the stress of a relationship, much less a longdistance one. I should be free to see other people and make a life, while she was going to be married to her job.

"And in six months she was married to an NBC news exec and moving steadily up the ladder. She got what she wanted, and in the end so did I."

He turned back to Malory. His face was calm again, the deep green eyes clear as if the fury had never been behind them. "My mother was right—and I really hate that part. But she was right. This is my place, and I'm doing exactly what I want to do."

"The fact that you see that says a lot more about you than about either one of them."

He threw the ball one last time. "I made you feel sorry for me." "No." Though he had. "You made me respect you." She rose, walked to him and kissed his cheek. "I think I remember this Lily from the local news. Redhead, right? Lots of teeth."

"That'd be Lily."

"Her voice was entirely too nasal, and she had a weak chin."

He leaned over, kissed her cheek in turn. “That's a really nice thing to say. Thanks."

Moe raced back and spat out the ball on the ground between them. "How long will he do that?" Malory asked.

"For all eternity, or until my arm falls off."

She gave the ball a good boot with her foot. "It's getting dark," she said as Moe raced happily off. "You should take me home."

"Or I could take Moe home and we could—ah, I see by the way your eyebrows have arched and your lip has curled that your mind is in the gutter. I was going to say we could go to the movies."

"You were not."

"I certainly was. In fact, it so happens I have the movie section in the car, for your perusal."

They were all right again, she realized, and wanted to kiss him—this time in friendship. Instead, she fell into the rhythm and played the game out. "You have the entire paper in the car, because it's your paper."

"Be that as it may, I'll still let you pick the flick."

"What if it's an art film with subtitles?"

"Then I'll suffer in silence."

"You already know there aren't any such films playing at the local multiplex, don't you?"

"That's neither here nor there. Come on, Moe, let's go for a ride."

It had done her good, Malory decided, to step away from the puzzle and the problems for an evening. She felt fresher this morning, and more optimistic. And it felt good to be interested in and attracted to a complicated man.

He was complicated, she thought. Only more so because he gave the impression, at least initially, of being simple. And so that made him yet another puzzle to solve.

She couldn't deny that click he'd spoken of. Why should she? She wasn't a game player when it came to relationships—she was cautious. It meant she needed to find out if the click was merely sexual or tangled around something more.

Puzzle number three, she decided as she hunkered down to continue her research.

Her first phone call of the morning left her stunned.

Moments after hanging up, she was tearing through her old college textbooks on art history.

The door of the Vane house was wide open. A number of burly men were hauling furniture and boxes in, or hauling furniture and boxes out. Just watching them gave Flynn a backache.

He recalled the weekend years before when he and Jordan had moved into an apartment. How they, with Brad's help, had carted a secondhand sofa that weighed as much as a Honda up three flights of stairs.

Those were the days, Flynn reminisced. Thank God they were over.

Moe leaped out of the car behind him and without waiting for an invitation raced straight into the house. There was a crash, a curse. Flynn could only pray that one of the Vane family antiques hadn't bit the dust as he hurriedly followed.