Slade shrugged. "Whatever it takes. Apparently it worked. Her landscapes seem to be pretty popular."

"Um-hmm." Carroll didn't try to conceal her pride. "The word's finally getting around."

"Where was your dad while all this was going on?" Slade asked, finally giving in to his rampant curiosity about her. In the past two weeks, in her efforts to keep him away from Kris, she had talked at length about her grandfather, her mother and her daughter. She had said nada, zippo, about herself or the men in her life.

Now it took Slade all of three seconds to decide that he'd been patient enough. He would have preferred that she volunteer the information, but since she obviously didn't intend to, he wasn't above taking advantage of the situation. If she wanted to keep him out of the basement, away from Kris, she could damn well talk.

The smile left Carroll's face. "My father took off when I was a baby." Her tone told him that the subject was closed.

"Why?"

She shot him an aggravated glance. After seeming to weigh her options, she sighed. "Good question. He never said."

"He just left?"

"Yep. In the middle of the night, just like the lodger with the paints."

"Must have been rough."

"We managed," she said briefly.

"What happened to your husband?" He slid it in fast, before she could offer him another piece of cake or change the subject. She didn't like it, and he really couldn't blame her. Her narrowed eyes told him to go to hell.

"Are you always this rude?" she demanded, temper adding color to her cheeks.

Slade's shrug was a lazy movement of his wide shoulders. "No. Only with people who are as close-mouthed as you. And then only when it's important."

Carroll's brows rose. "Important?"

His steady gaze held hers. "I need to know just how softly I have to walk around you."

"I don't think I understand." Her puzzled frown etched two vertical lines between her brows.

More to the point, she didn't want to understand, he reflected, even as he nodded and kept his voice patient. "I want to know what happened to the man in your life. As I see it, there are several possibilities. You could have had Christy without the benefit of a wedding, you could be divorced, or you could be a grieving widow." Or you could have a lover. He was wise enough to keep the last option to himself.

Carroll concentrated on lacing her fingers around the mug. "Does it really matter which it is?"

Slade nodded again. "Yeah, it does. I'd walk more softly around a grieving widow."

"How much more?"

His sudden grin startled her and sent her pulse tap-dancing, made her resolve to tether her impetuous tongue. It also answered her question: only as much as he had to. She fussed with the coffeepot. "I don't know how we got on this subject," she said carefully, "but it's not going to get us anywhere, so why don't we just drop it? I don't need a man in my life, however he walks."

Slade took a swallow of coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. He waited until some of the tension went out of her shoulders before he asked, "So what happened to him?"

Carroll closed her eyes, her sigh a gust of irritation. When she finally turned her gaze to Slade, he was placidly drinking his coffee, waiting. And he would keep on waiting, she realized with a sudden flash of insight. Waiting and asking until he finally got an answer. The neighborhood grapevine contended that he was a top-notch design engineer, doing something hush-hush for the military on his state-of-the-art computer. She didn't doubt it for a second; he had the typical engineer's annoying habit of asking questions, then digging with pit-bull persistence to get the answers.

With an impatient wave of her hand, she gave up. "It's an old story, and a dull one. He did exactly what the other two did-walk. Only I got the courtesy of an explanation. He was looking for something."

"He had you and Christy, and he went looking for more?" Slade's gray eyes registered disbelief. "He's a fool."

Carroll stared at him. "Where were you years ago when I needed to hear that from someone besides my mother and grandfather?" she finally asked with wry humor.

"Where is he now?"

"Last I heard, he was in some over-the-hill hippie, vegetarian commune."

Her casual shrug told Slade all he needed to know. She wasn't mourning the loss of a husband. She'd had the strength to rebuild her life, and she wasn't wasting any time looking over her shoulder. If her steady gaze was any indication, she was, apparently, happy.

"You're better off without him," Slade said flatly.

She nodded. "I couldn't agree more. Actually, I feel a little sorry for him. I have full custody of Christy, and he'll never see her grow up. He has no idea what he's missing."

Slade raised his mug and sipped thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving her face. He liked what he saw. Life had made her strong, yet she still had compassion for a loser ex-husband. She wasn't bitter, but she knew her own value and wouldn't let the guy within a hundred feet of her or Christy. Which was exactly as it should be.

Carroll wasn't beautiful, he reflected. She didn't have the anorectic, hollowed-cheekbones and exotic glamor found in fashion magazines. She was small-boned and barely came to his chin. Slim, but not excessively so, with a neat little bottom that had kept him awake more nights than he wanted to count. Her steady blue gaze reflected intelligence and a lively sense of humor. Straight blond hair framed her face and usually looked as if she had been running her hands through it. No, she wasn't beautiful, Slade reflected, but the sum total of what she was had a lethal effect on him.

He leaned back and was idly considering the state of his hormones when Santa Claus threw open the door.

Chapter Two

Slade blinked at the sight before him and silently corrected himself. First you'd have to swap the old man's blue sweatsuit and hightop tennies for an outfit of red velvet, fur and boots; then he would be Santa Claus. Kris had blue eyes that actually twinkled beneath thick snowy brows, ruddy cheeks, a glistening white beard that fanned out over his chest and a frame that needed no artificial padding. He also had a booming voice and an inextinguishable supply of enthusiasm. Fanaticism might be a better word, Slade decided.

"Slade!" Kris beamed at him, slamming the basement door and pulling up a chair next to Slade's. "The very man I want to see. The word's out that you're a hotshot engineer. Exactly what is it that you do?"

After a slight pause, Slade said briefly, "Right now, I'm designing a type of radar for the military."

"Ah." Kris blinked and returned to his primary concern. "Ever do much with electricity?"

Slade nodded cautiously. "Some."

"Ha!" Rubbing his hands in satisfaction, Kris chortled, "Just what I thought. I need your help."

Eyeing the old man's expectant smile with fascination, Slade demanded, "You want my help?"

"Right." Kris nodded, pleased by what he apparently considered an eager volunteer.

"Mine?"

"Sure. Can you come down to the basement? I want to show you something."

"Wait a minute." Slade held up a restraining hand. "I have a slight problem of my own that we need to discuss."

Kris blinked, his blue eyes thoughtful. "You mean the power?"

Slade nodded grimly.

"About it going off, you mean?"

He nodded again.

Kris's face brightened. "I knew you were going to fit in around here, boy." He swiveled around to Carroll and demanded, "Didn't I tell you that you were wrong about him?" Turning back to Slade, he said, "I suppose when it went off, you knew I needed help."

"Not exactly."

"And you came right over," he continued, ignoring Slade's terse reply. "What a neighbor!"

"Kris-"

"Ready to pitch right in and help. I didn't even have to ask!" He jumped to his feet. "Well, that's the way things work sometimes. You worry and fret about a problem, and then you turn around and find the answer sitting in your kitchen." He opened the basement door. "Come on down and let me show you what I'm wrestling with."

"Kris, I'm not-"

"Teh, don't be modest," the old man urged, his cheeks rosy with barely suppressed excitement. "It should be a snap for someone like you. I know what I want. I just don't know how to get it. Come on, we've only got four weeks." Taking in Slade's puzzled expression, he added, "Until Christmas Eve." Bounding down the stairs, he called back over his shoulder, "That's when all the lights I've strung around town go on and stay on for a week."

"Well, hell." Slade glared in frustration at the empty doorway, then swung around to Carroll, his frown deepening when she grinned. "He doesn't listen."

"I know."

"The only reason I came over here was to tell him to stop that damned testing during the day."

"I know."

"What does he mean, all?"

"He's going to dazzle us in degrees. Some lights go on in two weeks, more the following week, and more-"

"I get the idea." He ran a hand through his dark hair, making it stand on end. "He's hell-bent on getting me involved in this idiotic project."

"You're absolutely right." At that point, she honestly didn't know who needed protecting, her grandfather or Slade. "Why do you think I've been trying to keep you two apart?"

"To save his neck."

Carroll nodded thoughtfully. "There is that," she admitted. "But actually, I've been thinking of you, too. I know how Kris is. He works on the premise that everyone has the same enthusiasm for his schemes that he does, and before his unsuspecting victims know what's happened, he's suckered them in."