Helen, meanwhile, was chanting “Break-fast, break-fast” as she made her way across the kitchen in a series of bunny hops. She was wearing a bathing suit as well, a black tank suit with a white polka-dot ruffle around the hips that bounced up and down as she hopped. On her feet she wore pink plastic flipflops decorated with daisies. They made loud slapping sounds on the floor tiles. “I want
Over her daughter’s bouncing curls, Summer’s eyes met Riley’s, eyebrows lifted in question. “Sorry,” he said with an apologetic shrug, “guess you’d better add that to your list.”
Suddenly he felt like an interloper in his own kitchen. As he turned, sipping coffee, to gaze out the window, behind him he heard the refrigerator door open and Summer’s voice saying, “No cereal this morning. This morning I think we’ll have…raisin toast! And…orange juice…and bananas! How’s that?” A chorus of mixed cheers and complaints answered her.
Riley headed for the morning room, badly in need of some peace and solitude. But damned if there wasn’t that silly beetle-dog, clickety-clicking along right at his heels. He halted and looked down. The mutt stared back at him, head cocked, huge round eyes glowing expectantly.
“Okay,” Riley growled under his breath, “you can come. But no talking-you got that?” He’d have sworn the damn dog grinned.
But when Riley got to the morning room’s step-down threshold the Chihuahua came to a dead halt and refused to accompany him any farther. As the dog went scampering back to the kitchen as fast as she could go, skittering and sliding on the slippery tile, Riley shrugged and turned to the wickerand-glass-topped table where he was accustomed to sit and savor the morning sunshine along with his first cup of coffee. Then he, too, halted, much as Beatle had before him. No doubt for the same reason.
There on the tabletop, squarely in the middle of the handwoven Peruvian place mat that marked Riley’s customary place, was something that resembled a hairy, dirty and somewhat moth-eaten pillow. It was a mottled black and gray in color, with patches of bilious yellow scattered here and there, and had a plumed appendage that it flicked every few seconds in an offhand, unmistakably contemptuous manner. On the opposite end from that twitching plume Riley could just make out a face with a protruding pink tongue and a pair of marblelike yellow eyes with narrowly slitted pupils.
“Oh, good Lord,” Riley said, sighing, “what next?” He waved his arm. “Go on, cat-
In the kitchen, David was carefully picking all the raisins out of his raisin toast. “Mom, can we go swimming right after we eat?” he asked as he added one to the growing pile on the edge of his plate. “Mr. Riley said we could if you say it’s okay.”
Summer sighed inwardly but didn’t say anything about the raisins; he would eat them eventually, she knew- David had always been funny about mixing foods. “Mr. Riley is a very kind and generous man. I hope you remembered to thank him,” she added as she reached across the counter to confiscate Helen’s toast, into which the child had bitten holes where eyes, nose and mouth should be and was now wearing as a mask. “And of course, it goes without saying-”
She stopped, as the man himself suddenly appeared at her elbow. She straightened hurriedly and wiped her hands on the flannel robe. Helen seized the opportunity to retrieve her toastmask, which she proudly displayed for her host’s benefit, sticking her tongue through the mouth hole and wiggling it horribly.
Riley cleared his throat and murmured politely, “Can I see you for a moment, please?” He beckoned silently, his expression unreadable.
Mystified, Summer followed him across the kitchen and stepped down into what she decided must be one of the loveliest rooms she’d ever seen. Semicircular, with multipaned windows all around, it seemed to shimmer with light. There were blooming plants on every sill, white wicker chairs with comfortable cushions, a glass-topped table with-
Oh, God. “Oh,
“Let me guess,” said Riley, wiggling his bandaged index finger above the handle of his coffee cup “Cat and bird don’t get along?” Summer nodded. “Let’s see,” Riley drawled, “cat and dog don’t get along. Dog and bird don’t get along.” He made a sharp little sound of irony with the side of his mouth. “Mrs. Robey, I must say, you have an interesting household.”
Summer cleared her throat miserably. “Well…”
“I seem to recall reading somewhere that cats can shed at will,” Riley interrupted. “Does this-” he picked up the place mat, holding it gingerly with thumb and forefinger “-mean it’s true, or is your cat suffering from some sort of molt?” His tone was pleasant, but Summer couldn’t meet his eyes. Images of the Prince in his formal clothes shimmered in her mind-his immaculate white shirtfront and elegant black dinner jacket now covered with cat hair.
She cleared her throat and mumbled, “I’m so sorry. Please let me have that-I’ll see that it’s cleaned. If you’ll show me where your washer and dryer are-I’m going to need to wash mine and the children’s clothes, anyway-so if you have anything…” Her voice trailed off, finally bogging down in the swamp of this latest humiliation.
“Summer.”
The gentleness in his voice was a surprise. Her chin jerked upward and she sucked in a breath that burned like arctic cold as she forced herself to face him-this man she couldn’t seem to stop thinking of as the Prince; the powerful and distinguished lawyer she’d all but begged on hands and knees to take her as a client; the impossibly elegant Southern aristocrat whose peace she and her family had so completely annihilated.
He took a step toward her as if he meant to touch her, but his eyes flicked at the cat in her arms and he evidently thought better of it. He paused and brought his gaze back to hers, and she braced herself for the impact.
Once more it wasn’t what she expected. She was prepared for disapproval, anger. Censure. Contempt. Maybe even…pity, which would be worst of all. She was not prepared for the steady blue gaze that seemed to enfold her in a cloak of calm and safety. There was something invincible about those eyes, so that she instantly felt comforted, like a child in a nightmare soothed by a mother’s touch, but at the same time, frighteningly, dangerously vulnerable.
“Listen, there are bound to be some things we’re going to have to work out.” He spoke in a lowered voice so the children, who were being suspiciously quiet in the next room, would at least have to strain to overhear. “That’s to be expected.”
Summer hid her panicky swallows in Peggy Sue’s billowing fur and managed to nod. The old cat’s snarling purr drilled its way through her sternum, melted into her chest and from there through her whole body, like a slow- motion electrical charge. Her vision misted and blurred…and when it cleared, Riley Grogan was her lawyer again. Unmistakably, in spite of the silk robe, bandaged finger and beard stubble, the man she’d confronted last winter in a Charleston courtroom and pleaded with just yesterday across a desk of polished mahogany. The man in whom she’d placed her absolute confidence, and to whom she’d entrusted her children’s lives.
He glanced at his watch and frowned. “I’m gonna have to get going. You’ll run up that list for me while I’m in the shower?” He held out his coffee cup for her to take and waited, brows arched, for her affirmative. “Good-now, what else was it you wanted to know? Oh-the laundry room’s upstairs, down at the end of the main hall, door on your right. Okay? Anything else?”
Temporarily dazed, Summer shook her head. Then, as he was walking away, she followed him into the hallway and gulped out, “Oh-the phone. Is it okay if I…?” Halfway to the stairs he paused and looked back at her, the frown on his face more quizzical than annoyed. “I really should let someone in my family know what’s happened. I know my sister-if she can’t get ahold of me, she’s apt to call out the marines.”
Riley glanced toward the kitchen doorway. Summer was sure the children were too busy pelting each other with raisins at the moment to eavesdrop, but he stepped closer to her and lowered his voice before he spoke.
“By all means, call your sister. Tell her what you have to, to make sure she doesn’t worry, but don’t let her know where you are, understand? You, me and the feds are the only ones who know you’re here, and that’s the
