His ears turned red, she discovered, when he yelled.

It was getting dark when they reached the northern part of the state. Just beyond the pretty town of Grayling they left the freeway for a two-lane highway that seemed to lead nowhere. Before long they were driving through dense woods.

"Northeastern Michigan was nearly stripped of timber by the lumber industry during the 1800s," he said. "What you're seeing now is second- and third-growth forest. Some of it is pretty wild. Towns in this area are small and scattered."

"How much farther?"

"Only a little over an hour, but the place is run-down, so I don't want to get there after dark. There's supposed to be a motel not far from here, but don't expect the Ritz."

Since she couldn't imagine him worrying about the dark, she suspected he was stalling, and she curled deeper into the seat. The headlights of an occasional oncoming car flickered across his features, casting dangerous shadows beneath those male underwear model cheekbones. She felt a shiver of foreboding, so she closed her eyes and pretended she was alone.

She didn't open them again until he pulled up in front of an eight-unit roadside motel made of white aluminum siding and fake brick. As he got out of the car to register, she thought about making sure he understood that she wanted a separate unit, but common sense intervened.

Sure enough, he returned from the office with two keys. His unit, she noticed, was at the opposite end from hers.

Early the next morning she awakened to door pounding and poodle barking. "Slytherins," she grumbled. "This is getting to be a bad habit."

"We're leaving in half an hour," Kevin called from the other side. "Get the lead out."

"Hut, hut," she muttered into her pillow.

She dragged herself into the cramped shower and even managed to run a comb through her hair. Lipstick, however, was beyond her. She felt as if she had a colossal hangover.

When she finally emerged, he was pacing near the car. The lemony patch of sunlight that splashed over him revealed a grim mouth and unfriendly expression. As Roo took advantage of the shrubbery, Kevin grabbed her suitcase and tossed it into the back of the car.

Today he'd decorated his muscles with an aqua Stars T-shirt and light gray shorts. They were ordinary clothes, but he wore them with the confidence of those who were born beautiful.

She fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses, then glared at him resentfully. "Don't you ever turn it off?"

"Turn what off?"

"Your basic ugliness," she muttered.

"Maybe I should just drop you off at a funny farm instead of taking you to Wind Lake."

"Whatever. Is coffee too much to hope for?" She shoved on her glasses, but they didn't do a whole lot to shut out the blinding glare of his irritating beauty.

"It's in the car, but it took you so long to get ready that it's probably cold by now."

It was piping hot, and as they pulled back out onto the road, she took a long, slow sip.

"Fruit and doughnuts were the best I could do for breakfast. They're in that bag." He sounded as grouchy as she felt. She wasn't hungry, and she concentrated on the scenery.

They might have been in the wilds of the Yukon instead of a state that made Chevrolets, Sugar Pops, and soul music. From a bridge crossing the Au Sable River she saw rocky cliffs rising on one shore and dense woods stretching on the other. An osprey soared down over the water. Everything seemed wild and remote.

Occasionally they passed a farm, but this was clearly timber country. Maple and oak competed with pine, birch, and cedar. Here and there, golden straws of sunlight penetrated the canopy formed by the trees. It was wonderfully serene, and she tried to feel peaceful, but she was out of practice.

Kevin swore and jerked the wheel to avoid a squirrel. Getting closer to their destination definitely hadn't improved his mood. She spotted a metal highway sign that indicated the turnoff for Wind Lake, but he flew past it. "That's the town," he grunted. "The campground is on the far side of the lake."

They drove for another few miles before a decorative green-and-white sign with a Chippendale top edged in gilt came into sight.

Wind Lake Cottages

Bed & Breakfast

established 1894

Kevin frowned. "That sign looks new. And nobody said anything to me about a bed-and-breakfast. She must have used the old house to take in guests."

"Is that bad?"

"The place is musty and dark as sin. I can't believe anybody would want to stay there." He turned onto a gravel lane that wound through the trees for about half a mile before the campground emerged.

He stopped the car, and Molly caught her breath. She'd expected to see rough cabins decaying on their foundations. Instead, they'd driven into a storybook village.

A shady rectangular Common sat at the center, surrounded by small gingerbread cottages painted in colors that could have spilled from a box of bonbons: mint with tangerine and toffee, mocha touched with lemon and cranberry, peach with blueberry and brown sugar. Wooden lace dripped from tiny eaves, and fanciful spindles bordered front porches no larger than a trundle bed. At one end of the Common sat a charming gazebo.

A closer inspection showed that the flower beds in the Common were overgrown, and the loop of road that surrounded it needed fresh gravel. Everything bore an air of neglect, but it seemed recent rather than long-term. Most of the cottages were tightly shuttered, although a few had been opened up. An elderly couple emerged from one of them, and Molly spotted a man with a cane walking near the gazebo.

"These people shouldn't be here! I had all the summer rentals canceled."

"They must not have gotten the word." As Molly gazed around, she experienced the oddest sense of familiarity. Since she'd never been anywhere like this, she couldn't explain it.

Across the road from the center of the Common was a small picnic area with a sandy, crescent-shaped beach directly behind it and, beyond that, a sliver of the blue-gray water of Wind Lake against the backdrop of a tree-lined shore. Several canoes and a few rowboats were overturned near a weathered dock.

She wasn't surprised that the beach was deserted. Although the early-June morning was sunny, this was a North Woods lake, and the water would still be too chilly for all but the hardiest swimmers.

"Notice the complete absence of anyone under the age of seventy!" Kevin exclaimed as he stepped on the accelerator.

"It's early. A lot of schools aren't out yet."

"It'll look this way at the end of July. Welcome to my childhood." He swung away from the Common onto a narrower lane that ran parallel to the lake. She saw more cottages, all of them built in the same Carpenter Gothic style. Presiding over them was a beautiful two-story Queen Anne.

This couldn't be the dark, musty place he'd described. The house was painted a light cocoa with salmon, maize, and moss green accents decorating the gingerbread trim above the porch, over the gables, and on the porch spindles. A round turret curved on the left of the house, and the broad porch extended around two sides. Petunias bloomed in clay pots by the double front doors, which held matching panels of frosted glass etched with a design of vines and flowers. Ferns spilled over brown wicker stands, and old-fashioned wooden rockers held cheery checked pillows in colors that matched the trim. Once again she had the sense of being plunged into an earlier time.

"I don't frickin' believe this!" Kevin vaulted out of the car. "This place was a wreck the last time I saw it."

"It sure isn't a wreck now. It's beautiful."

She winced as he slammed the door, then got out herself. Roo broke free and headed for the shrubs. Kevin gazed up at the house, his hands planted on his hips.

"When the hell did she turn this into a bed-and-breakfast?"

Just then the front door opened, and a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties emerged. She had faded blond-and-gray hair caught up in a clip with strands escaping here and there. She was tall and big-boned, and her mouth was wide, topped by prominent cheekbones and bright blue eyes. A flour-dusted blue apron protected her khaki slacks and short-sleeved white blouse.

"Kevin!" She hurried down the steps and gave him a vigorous hug. "You sweet boy! I knew you'd come!"

To Molly, Kevin's hug in return seemed perfunctory.

The woman gave her an assessing look. "I'm Charlotte Long. My husband and I came here every summer. He died eight years ago, but I still stay in Loaves and Fishes. Kevin was always losing balls in my rosebushes."

"Mrs. Long was a good friend of my parents and my aunt," Kevin said.

"My, I miss Judith. We met when my family first came here." Her sharp blue eyes returned to Molly. "And who's this?"

Molly extended her hand. "Molly Somerville."

"Well, now…" Her lips pursed as she turned back to Kevin. "You can't read a magazine without hearing about that marriage of yours. Isn't it a little early to be seeing someone else? I'm sure Pastor Tucker would be disappointed that you aren't trying harder to make things work with your wife."

"Uh, Molly is my…" The word seemed to stick in his throat. Molly sympathized, but she wasn't going to be the one to say it.

"Molly's my… wife." He finally managed to get it out.

Once again Molly found herself under the scrutiny of those blue eyes. "Well, that's good, then. But why are you calling yourself Somerville? Tucker's a good, proud name. Pastor Tucker, Kevin's father, was one of the finest men I ever knew."

"I'm sure he was." She'd never liked disappointing people. "Somerville's also my professional name. I write children's books."