“Of course it is,” Roz replied.

She went though the routine, calling the credit card company, and her lawyer, then writing to both to document the incident.

She took aspirin before going down to the kitchen and pouring herself a large glass of wine.

David’s note sat propped on the counter.

 Hot date. An exceptional lasagna’s on warm in the oven. Hayley and the baby went over to Logan’s with Stella and the boys. They’re having a little painting party. More than enough lasagna for two. Dr. Studly’s in the library. Just warm up the bread, toss the salad—in the fridge—and you’re set.Buon appetito!

 David

 P.S. Appropriate CDs already loaded in the player. Nowpleasego up and put on those Jimmy Choo’s.

“Well.” She noted David had set the kitchen nook with festive plates, fat candles, a bottle of San Pellegrino, pale green glasses. And it explained why a bottle of good Italian red was breathing on the counter.

“Lasagna’s fine,” she said aloud. “But I’m not putting on those shoes to eat it.”

Content and comfortable in the thick gray socks she habitually wore around the house, she walked to the library.

He was sitting at the table, wearing his glasses and a Memphis Tigers sweatshirt. His fingers were moving quickly over the keyboard of his laptop. On the desk was a large bottle of water. David’s doing, no doubt. He’d have nagged Mitch to rotate water with his habitual coffee.

He looked . . . studiously sexy, she decided, with his intellectual glasses and the mass of thick, disordered hair. That rich brown, with just a hint of chestnut.

There were good eyes behind those glasses, she thought. Not just the color, so deep, so unique, but good, direct eyes. A little intense, unnervingly intense, and she had to admit she found that exciting.

Even as she watched, he paused in his typing to scoop the fingers of one hand through his hair. And muttered to himself.

It was interesting to hear him mutter to himself, since she often caught herself doing the same.

It was interesting, too, to feel this long slow pull in her belly, and the little dance of lust up her spine. Wasn’t it good to know those instinctive charges still had spark? And wasn’t she curious to see what would happen if she took a chance, and lit the fuse?

Even as she thought it, books flew off the shelf, slammed into each other, then the walls, the floor. In the fireplace, flames leaped in hot reds, while the air shivered with cold.

“Jesus Christ.”

Mitch shoved back from the table so fast his chair hit the floor. He managed to duck one book, then block another. As Roz rushed forward, everything stopped.

“You see that? Did yousee that?” He bent, picked up a book, then dropped it on the table. It wasn’t fear in that lovely, liquid drawl, she noted. It was fascination. “It’s like ice.”

“Temper tantrums.” She picked up a book herself, and the cold nearly numbed her fingers.

“Impressive ones. I’ve been working in here since about three.” Grinning like a boy, he checked his watch. “Nearly four hours. It’s been quiet as, you’ll excuse the expression, a tomb. Until now.”

“I suppose I set her off, as I was about to ask if you’d like to have dinner. David left a meal.”

Together they began to retrieve the rest of the books. “No question that she doesn’t like the two of us together.”

“Apparently not.”

He set the last book on the shelf. “So . . . what’s for dinner?”

She glanced over at him, smiled. And in that moment realized that beyond the lust, there wasn’t anything about him she didn’t like. “Lasagna, which David bills as exceptional. As I’ve sampled it in the past, I can vouch for his claim.”

“Sounds great. God, you smell good. Sorry,” he added when her eyebrows lifted. “Thinking out loud. Listen, I’ve been able to eliminate more names, and I’ve been transcribing the interviews we’ve done so far. I’ve got a file here for you.”

“All right.”

“I’m going to work on tracking down some of the descendants of staff, and what we’ll call the outer branches of the family tree. But what I’m seeing as the oldest living relative is your cousin Clarise—and happily she’s local. I’d like to talk to her.”

“Good luck with that.”

“She’s still in the area, at the . . .”

“Riverbank Center. Yes, I know.”

“She puts me a full generation closer to Amelia. It’d be simpler, I’d think, to approach her if you spoke to her first.”

“I’m afraid Cousin Clarise and I aren’t on speaking terms, or any sort of terms whatsoever.”

“I know you said there was a rift, but wouldn’t she be interested in what I’m doing with the family?”

“Possibly. But I can assure you, she wouldn’t take my call if I made one.”

“Look, I understand about family schisms, but in this case—”

“You don’t understand Clarise Harper. She dropped her surname years ago, choosing to go legally by her first and middle names. That’s how entrenched in the Harper name she is. She never married. My opinion being she never found anyone soft or stupid enough to take her on.”

Frowning, he hitched a hip on the table. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t want me contacting her, because—”

“I hired you to do a job, and don’t intend to tell you how to go about it, so don’t get your back up. I’m telling you she’s chosen to banish me and mine from her plane of existence, which is just fine by me. The one good thing I can say about her is once she’s made up her mind on something, she follows through.”

“But you don’t have any objection to me talking to her, involving her.”

“None. Your best bet is to write her—very formally—and introduce yourself, being sure to use the doctor part, and any other impressive credentials you might have at hand. If you tell her you intend to do a family history on the Harpers, and play up how honored you would be to interview her, and so on, she might agree.”

“This is the one you kicked out of the house, right?”

“In a manner of speaking. I don’t recall telling you about that.”

“I talk to people. She’s not the one you chased off with a Weedwacker.”

Amusement, very faint, ran over her face. “You are talking to people.”

“Part of the job.”

“I suppose. No, I didn’t chase her with a Weedwacker. That was the gardeners. And it wasn’t a Weedwacker, come to that. It was a fan rake, which was unlikely to do any serious damage. If I hadn’t been so mad and thinking more clearly, I’d’ve grabbed the loppers those idiots had used on my mimosa trees. At least with those I could’ve given them a good jab in the ass as they skeddadled.”

“Loppers. Would those be . . .” He made wide scissoring motions with both arms.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Ouch. Back to your cousin. Why’d you give her the boot?”

“Because when I invited her, to my lasting regret, to a family barbecue here years ago, she called my sons disreputable brats and stated—she without chick or child—that if I were a proper mother I’d’ve taken a switch to them regularly. She then called Harper a born liar, as he was entertaining some of his young cousins with stories about the Bride, and told him to shut his mouth.”

He angled his head. “And still she lives.”

Temper had brought a flush to her cheeks, but his comment had a small smile curving her lips. “She was on shaky ground already as she constantly criticized my parenting, my housekeeping, my lifestyle, and occasionally my morals. But nobody stands on my ground and attacks my children. While I did consider murder, knowing my quarry, I was certain banishment from Harper House was a more painful punishment.”

“As I believe I said before, you’re a hardass. I like that.”

“Good thing, ’cause that’s not going to change at this late date. In any case, on her way out the door, she cursed my name and said it was a black day when Harper House came into my grasping, incompetent hands.”

“She sounds delightful. I’ll write her tomorrow.”

“Just don’t mention you’re working for me.”

“It wouldn’t be hard for her to find out.”

“True enough, but the less you mention me the better. Anything else on your mind?”

“Other than wondering how you manage to work all day and still look amazing, no. Nothing that springs, anyway.”

She waited another moment, nodded. “You’re not going to mention it.”

“What would it be?”

“The visit my son paid to you last night.”

“Oh.” Because she was watching his face, she caught the flicker of surprise that moved over it before he picked up the glasses he’d taken off and began to polish them with his sweatshirt. “He told you?”

“Yes. He was angry, so he acted rashly.”

“Like grabbing a fan rake instead of loppers.”

Her laugh snuck out. “Very like. We have, both of us, horrible tempers. Which is why we both make a concerted effort not to lose them. It doesn’t always work. I’d like to apologize for his behavior.”

“I can’t accept.”

There was distress, something he rarely saw from her, in her eyes. “Mitch, I know he overstepped, but he’s young and—”

“You misunderstand. I can’t accept an apology when there’s no need for one. From either of you. He was looking out for you.”

“I don’t need, or want, looking out for.”

“Maybe not, but that’s not going to stop someone who loves you from trying. We discussed, came to understand each other, and that’s all there was to it.”

“And you’re not going to elaborate on that.”

“It was between him and me.”

“You men do have your codes of honor.”

“You weren’t going to tell me about this latest harassment.”

For an instant, she thought of the phone call from New York, then tucked it away again. “Nothing to tell. I’m dealing with it.”

“What’s happened since last night? You’re good, so I must’ve caught you off guard. What else happened?”