"I still do."
"Still looking for treasure?"
"Of course."
"What was the name of the girl who tossed herself off the cliff?"
"Seraphina."
"Right. Seraphina. A romantic little tale."
"A sad one."
"Same thing. Josh used to laugh about you and Margo and Kate haunting those cliffs and looking for Seraphina's lost dowry. But, I figured he secretly wanted to find it himself."
"We look every Sunday now. Margo and Kate and I, and my daughters."
That brought him up short. He'd forgotten for a moment that this small, delicate woman had given birth to two children. "You've got kids of your own. Girls."
"Yes." Chin lifted, she turned back. "Daughters. My daughters."
Something here, he mused, and wondered which button he'd pushed. "How old are they?"
She hadn't expected him to ask, even out of politeness. And she softened all over again. "Ali's ten. Kayla's seven."
"You got started early. Girls that age usually go for horses. They can come by and see mine whenever they like."
More of the unexpected. "That's kind of you, Michael. I don't want them to get in your way."
"I like kids."
He said it so simply that she believed him. "Then I'll warn you, they're both eager to see them. And I suppose you're eager to see the stables." Out of habit she glanced at her watch, and winced.
"Got an appointment?"
"Actually, yes, I do. If you don't mind taking the rest of the tour on your own, I really have to change."
To get her hair done, he imagined, or her nails. Or to make her fifty-minute hour with some society shrink. "Sure."
"I left the keys in the kitchen," she continued, juggling details. "There isn't a phone. I didn't know if you wanted one. There's a jack. Somewhere. If you need anything, you—"
"I'll be fine." He slipped a check out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Rent."
"Oh." She slipped it into her own pocket, sorry that she couldn't welcome one of her brother's old friends as a guest. But the rent would go a long way toward new ballet shoes and drawing lessons. "Thank you. Welcome to Templeton House, Michael."
She went to the door and down the steps. He walked to the side window and watched her cross the rolling lawn toward Templeton House.
"And there I was," Laura muttered, "standing in the bathtub." She sighed, grateful for a lull in the customer flow in Pretenses so that she could vent to her friends. "Wearing rags. Holding a scrub brush. Stop laughing."
"In a minute," Kate promised, holding a hand to her aching stomach. "I'm perfecting the image in my mind first. The elegant Laura Templeton caught fighting pesky bathtub ring."
"Ring, hell. It's more like bathtub plague. And maybe I'll think it's funny in a year. Or two. But right now it's mortifying. He just stood there grinning at me."
"Mmm." Margo touched her tongue to her top lip. "And if memory serves, Michael Fury had one hell of a grin. Is he as wickedly, dangerously handsome as ever?"
"I didn't notice." Laura sniffed and gave her attention to rubbing a fingerprint off the glass display case.
"Liar." Margo leaned closer. "Come on, Laura. Tell."