Without waiting for a response, she went back to work. Holt took a seat while she added lavender and larkspur, dahlias and violas. He smoked lazily, noting that her hands were as sure and graceful as usual.

“Planting posies doesn't seem to be improving your mood today.”

“My mood is just fine. In fact, it's dandy.” She snapped a sprig off some freesia and swore. “Why shouldn't it be, just because I had to watch Jenny get in that damn car with tears running down her cheeks? Just because I had to stand there and smile when Alex looked back at me, his little mouth quivering and his eyes begging me not to make him go.”

When her eyes filled, she shook the tears away. “And I had to stand there and take it when Bax accused me of being an overprotective, smothering mother who was turning his children, his children into timid weaklings.”

She hacked her spade into the dirt. “They're not timid or weak,” she said viciously. “They're just children. Why shouldn't they be afraid to go with him, when they hardly know him? And with his wife who stood there in her silk suit and Italian heels looking distressed and helpless. She won't have a clue what to do if Jenny has a bad dream or Alex gets a stomachache. And I just let them go. I just stood there and let them get in that awful car with two strangers. So I'm feeling just fine. I'm feeling terrific.”

She sprang up to shove the wheelbarrow back to the truck. When she came back to do the mulching, he was gone. She forced herself to do the work carefully, reminding herself that at least here, over this one thing, she had control.

Holt came back, dragging the hose from around the other side of the house and holding two beers. “I'll water them. Have a beer.”

Swiping a hand over her brow, she frowned at the bottles. “I don't drink beer.”

“That's all I've got.” He shoved one into her hand, then pushed the lever for the sprayer. “I think I can handle this part by now,” he said dryly. “Why don't you have a seat?”

Suzanna walked to the steps and sat. Because she was thirsty she took one long sip, then rested her chin on her hand and watched him. He'd learned not to drown the plants, or pound them with a heavy spray. She let out a little sigh, then sipped again.

No words of sympathy, she thought. No comforting pats or claims to understand just how she felt. Instead, he'd given her exactly what she'd needed, a silent wall to hurl her misery and anger against. Did he know he'd helped her? She couldn't be sure. But she knew she had come here, to him, not only to plant flowers, not only to get out of the house, but because she loved him.

She hadn't given herself time to think about that, not since the feeling had opened and bloomed inside of her. Nor had she given herself a chance to wonder what it would mean to either of them.

It wasn't something she wanted. She wanted never to love again, never to risk hurt and humiliation at a man's hands again. But it had happened.

She hadn't looked for it. She had looked only for peace of mind, for security for her children, for simple contentment for herself. Yet she had found it.

And what would his reaction be if she told him. Would it please his ego? Would it shock or appall or amuse? It didn't matter, Suzanna told herself as she slipped an arm around the dog that had come to join her. For now, perhaps for always, the love was hers. She no longer expected emotions to be shared.

Holt shut off the spray. The colorful bed added charm to the simple wooden cottage. It even pleased him that he recognized some of the blooms by name. He wasn't going to ask her about the ones that were unfamiliar. But he'd look them up.

“It looks pretty good.”

“They're mostly perennials,” she said in the same casual tone. “I thought you might find it rewarding to see them come back year after year.”

He might, but he also thought he would remember, much too vividly, how hurt and unhappy she'd looked when she'd planted them. He didn't dare dwell on how much it upset him to picture Alex and Jenny climbing tearfully into a car and driving away. “They smell okay.”

“That's the lavender.” She took a deep breath of it herself before rising. “I'll go around and turn off the hose.” She'd nearly turned the corner when he called her name.

“Suzanna. They'll be all right.”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded and continued around back. She was crouched down, the dog's face in hers when he joined her.

“You know, if you put some day lilies and some sedum on that bank, you'd solve most of the erosion problem.”

He cupped a hand under her elbow to pull her to her feet “Is working the only thing you use to take your mind off things?”

“It does the job.”

“I've got a better idea.”

Her heart gave a quick jolt. “I really don't –” “Let's go for a ride.”

She blinked. “A ride?”

“In the boat. We've got a couple of hours before dark.”

“A ride in the boat,” she said, unaware that she amused him with her long, relieved sigh. “I'd like that.”

“Good.” He took her hand and pulled her to the pier. “You cast off.” When the dog jumped in beside him, Suzanna realized this was an old routine. For a man who didn't want to appear to have any sentiment, it was a telling thing that he took a dog along for company when he set out to sea.

The engine roared to life. Holt waited only until Suzanna had climbed on board before he headed into the bay.

The wind slapped against her face. Laughing, she clapped a hand to her cap to keep it from flying off. After she'd pulled it on more securely, she joined him at the wheel.

“I haven't been out on the water in months,” she shouted over the engine. “What's the use of living on an island if you never go out on the water?” “I like to watch it.”

She turned her head and caught the bright glint of window glass from the secluded houses on Bar Island. Overhead gulls wheeled and screamed. Sadie barked at them, then settled on the boat cushions with her head on the side so that the wind could send her ears flying.

“Has she ever jumped out?” Suzanna asked him.

He glanced back at the dog. “No. She just looks stupid.”

“You'll have to bring her by the house again. Fred hasn't been the same since he met her.”

“Some women do that to a man.” The salt breeze was carrying her scent to him, wrapping it around his senses so that he drew her in with every breath. She was standing close, braced against the boat's motion. The expression in her eyes was still far off and troubled, and he knew she wasn't thinking of him. But he thought of her.

He moved expertly through the bay traffic, keeping the speed slow and steady as he maneuvered around other boats, passed a hotel terrace where guests sat under striped umbrellas drinking cocktails or eating an early dinner. Far to starboard, the island's three – masted schooner streamed into port with its crowd of waving tourists.

Then the bay gave way to the sea and the water became less serene. The cliffs roared up into the sky. Arrogantly, defiantly, The Towers sat on its ridge overlooking village and bay and sea. Its somber gray stone mirrored the tone of the rain clouds out to the west. Its old, wavy glass glinted with fanciful rainbows. Like a mirage, there were streaks and blurs of color that was Suzanna's garden.

“Sometimes when I went lobstering with my father, I'd look up at it.” And think of you. “Castle Calhoun,” Holt murmured. “That's what he called it.”

Suzanna smiled, shading her eyes with the flat of her hand as she studied the imposing house on the cliffs. “It's just home. It's always been home. When I look up at it I think of Aunt Coco trying out some new recipe in the kitchen and Lilah napping in the parlor. The children playing in the yard or racing down the stairs. Amanda sitting at her desk and working her meticulous way through the mounds of bills it takes to hold a home together. C.C. diving under the hood of the old station wagon to see if she could make a miracle happen and get one more year out of the engine. Sometimes I see my parents laughing at the kitchen table, so young, so alive, so full of plans.” She turned around to keep the house in sight. “So many things have changed, and will change. But the house is still there. It's comforting. You'd understand that or you wouldn't have chosen to live in Christian's cottage, with all his memories.”

He understood exactly, and it made him uneasy. “Maybe I just like having a place on the water.”

Suzanna watched Bianca's tower disappear before she shifted to face him. “Sentiment doesn't make you weak. Holt.”

He frowned out over the water. “I could never get close to my father. We came at everything from different directions. I never had to explain or justify anything I felt or wanted to my grandfather. He just accepted. I guess I figured there was a reason he left me the place when he died, even though I was only a kid.”

It moved her in a very soft, very lovely way that he had shared even that much with her. “So you came back to it. We always come back to what we love.” She wanted to ask him more, what his life had been like during the span of years he'd been away. Why he had turned his back on police work to repair boat motors and props. Had he been in love, or had his heart broken? But he hit the throttle and sent the boat streaking out over the wide expanse of water.

He hadn't come out to think deep thoughts, to worry or to wonder. He had come to give her, and himself, an hour of relaxation, a respite from reality. Wind and speed worked that particular miracle for him. It always had. When he heard her laugh, when she tossed her face up into the sun, he knew he'd chosen well.